She isnt me
Those three simple words on my screen, arranged just so, gave me the most profound sense of dread I had experienced to date. Nine letters, and one overwhelming sinking feeling in my gut.
I turned to Sophie, as casually as I could muster. “Where’s your phone, hun?”
She swallowed, still looking at the TV. “I left it at Harriet’s earlier. I was going to tell you tomorrow. Don’t worry, can’t do anything about it now.” Normally, she’d be glancing up and down between both screens; I never understood how she managed to split her focus between them. Yet here she was, eyes fixed on the movie in a way I’d never seen before, hardly even looking away to twirl noodles around her fork.
“Fair enough,” I murmured, trying to mask my unease. There was definitely something wrong with Sophie. Something felt off. Thinking back, she hadn’t looked me in the eye since I came home with dinner. She had simply served up the chow mein and sat in front of the TV to wait for me. Maybe she was frustrated at having left her phone with her friend earlier. She’s usually attached to that thing like an IV drip - maybe she was feeling the withdrawal from her social media feed, but was too embarrassed to admit. Maybe she too was hiding how she felt behind a mask of nonchalance. Maybe.
I opened up the message again, checked the sender again to be sure. ‘Sophie Mobile’. Okay. It’s just a prank, I told myself, half-convinced. Just a cruel prank. They both know I have an anxiety disorder, and they’re messing with me. Very funny, I wrote out, give Soph her phone back tomorrow k?
Lowering my phone, I tilted my head to Sophie and offered a goofy smile, like we often do with each other in quiet or awkward moments. She didn’t turn away from the TV. I could make out the half-reflection of one eye in the side of her glasses. Aside from occasionally chewing a mouthful, she seemed vacant.
My phone vibrated and my heart almost leapt out onto my plate of noodles. Never before had I hidden anything from my wife, let alone whilst sharing a sofa with her. This was new and difficult territory for me. I hoped she wouldn’t notice me checking the text, or at the very least, wouldn’t comment if she saw. Excuses were not my strong suit. My mouth dry, I tilted my phone towards me, lit the screen, and that sinking feeling came back for Round Two.
The girl your with isnt me
Swallowing my fear like a pill without water, I slowly thumbed out a reply. Ok Harriet, it’s late, drop it
Face firmly in the mask, I tried to strike up a conversation. “How was Harriet earlier?”
“Fine.” Fork raised. Noodles in. Chew.
I nodded like it was no big issue and tried to turn my attention to the movie, something Soph had chosen about a bunch of teenagers stranded at sea. They’d forgotten to lower the ladder before all jumping off their boat for a swim. The realisation had just struck them, and fear was starting to take hold.
“Bet they’re kicking themselves about that ladder,” I offered.
“Yeah.” Another mouthful of noodles. She was definitely avoiding conversation.
My pocket gave another subtle buzz. I carefully looked, and wished I hadn’t.
Harriet is dead. She killed her. Get out
A chill ran down my spine, strong enough to physically lift me to my feet. Sophie definitely noticed, tilting her head ever so slightly in my direction. “Where are you going?”
I feebly threw back a “kitchen…get a drink,” the best I could scramble together, the room beginning to spin as I left. I threw my plate onto the countertop with a crash and leaned over the kitchen sink, breathing heavy, convinced I was going to be sick. I ran the water cold and splashed the sweat from my face. Everything felt wrong.
“Your drink?”
I turned to find Sophie standing in the doorway, facing me for the first time that evening, but I was struggling to focus. Behind her, the kids in the water were panicking - someone had been hurt, and blood was spreading around the hapless group.
“Your drink,” Sophie repeated, firmer this time. Her form came back into clear focus as she set down a glass of water - my own glass of water, untouched. The glass of water I had left in the other room, before departing to get a drink. Somehow, my stomach found somewhere lower to sink.
As I stumbled for a response, my phone buzzed again. My hand instinctively reached for it, and to my dismay Sophie noticed. “Who keeps texting you tonight?” she demanded, her stance rigid, her gaze burning right through me. Words wouldn’t come.
A motion caught my eye. The plate of half-eaten chow mein I had set down was shifting, pulsating. Among the noodles were dark worms, subtly squirming and undulating. The nausea returned in a crashing wave as I pictured them inside me, alive and writhing around, not knowing how many I had already consumed. Clutching my gut as if to keep it from churning, I pointed at the plate. “What did you put in the food?”
She didn’t respond, but stepped closer to the kitchen counter and set the glass down. The water within shimmered unnaturally in the starker light of the kitchen, as if laced with glitter. Her eyes shone through her glasses as she leaned over the counter. “Have you had much to drink today? I think you’re dehydrated.”
I ran. I swept the plate and the glass off the counter in her direction, and I ran without looking back. My knees were weak with whatever she had slipped into my food, but I made it into the garage, snatching up my car keys on the way. I scrambled into the front seat, slamming the door behind me and hitting the locks just as Sophie - or not-Sophie - tried the handle. I backed up against the passenger door, gasping for every breath.
My chest was taut. Everything was spinning. I knew I was losing consciousness. I had dropped the keys somewhere, and as much as I tried to reach for them, I found only bruises, flailing my limp arm helplessly between the door and gearbox. I felt something trickle from the corner of my mouth.
She stooped to glare at me through the driver’s side window. Her glasses reflected the garage lights overhead, setting her eyes ablaze. For a moment I thought of those stranded kids in the movie, how they must be huddling together in the blood right about now, the sharks circling. Waiting to strike. I thought of those sharks, and the darkness came.
I awoke, my head a fog, to find the car locks and windows intact. A note sat on the windscreen, facing inwards, written with an unfamiliar hand.
Darling, I’m worried about you. Locked garage up. Gone to Harriet’s. Back soon. Stay there. x
I checked my phone. Three texts.
01.40 Tell me u ok
03.12 Shes here
06.34 Sorry about Harriet. Everything OK. Back soon. Stay there. x
I revved the car into life and floored it, pressing against the garage door, the wheels spinning on the concrete floor. The door didn’t budge. I backed up as much as the garage would allow, and slammed my foot onto the accelerator. Metal met metal with a sickening screech, but the door hardly gave at all. Again I reversed and surged forwards, three times, four. Five. I could see a crack of light as the door weakened. Six. Seven. Daylight was flooding in, it would only take a few more. Eight. Nine.
At number ten, the front end of my car made it through the garage door entirely, jagged metal scraping against the windscreen. Maybe one more, and I’d burst through those teeth and out of the shark’s maw.
As I backed up again, I caught sight of legs through the door. She had returned. Not-Sophie was just outside, watching. She stood in front of the garage door, steadfast and still, blocking my path. Her position said one thing, loud and clear. You’ll have to go through me.
I almost hesitated.
I tried to call Harriet. No answer. I thought about calling the police, but talked myself out of it. They wouldn’t look too kindly on a fugitive rolling up in the murder weapon.
The car somehow managed thirty miles until the crushed bodywork and hampered engine let it down. I imagine there were a few pieces of not-Sophie caught up in the mess of metal; she was dragged along further than I had expected.
Abandoning the mess of a vehicle by the roadside, I set off into the woods. The forest was deep, and I took a meandering route through. On the other side I eventually came across a car rental company, took their most affordable option, and headed off in a different direction.
Days have passed, and I haven’t been tracked down. I’ve been listening attentively to the news; there hasn’t been any mention of the horrific hit-and-run incident. I can only assume that means a victim hadn’t been found.
In my dreams I see the red smear in the road I left behind. I see the misshapen husk of not-Sophie. I see a swirl of those black worms she tried to feed me. I see her broken carcass haul itself upright, bent and disjointed. I see the worms fall from her open wounds.
I can’t keep going like this, living out of an overdue rental car, waking to screams that echo around the truck stops. I hardly recognise myself in the mirror - my eyes are sunken, my skin pale. My hair is coming out in clumps. I look hollow. I’ve never suffered from nosebleeds before, but it feels like I’ve always got a tissue in my hand, fighting a constant stream. Whatever damage those black worms had begun to cause, I doubt they’re finished with me.
I don’t know what happened to my Sophie. I don’t know what that thing was in her place. I need answers. Or else, I need this to be over.
I need to go back.