The Identical Boy (11 page)

I
t
was late and Ally was sat on her bed, earphones clamped in place and spilling muffled rock music into her darkened room. The bedside lamp cast a weak light into the space, shining across Ally's nervously jigging legs, throwing shapes into the gloom.

She was home alone, apart from Mr Pooch. Her Mum had called to say she was pulling a double shift. Some case or other.

All Ally could think about was the forest inside Sam’s house. About the screaming grey-green blobs with twisted versions of his face. Like discarded copies. Failed attempts.

Ally didn't hear the first tap at the window.

The whole situation with Sam was too much. This wasn’t real life; this was fantasy. This was a horror movie. It wasn’t something she could deal with. She should leave it. Bury her head in the sand. Pretend she hadn’t seen anything, she’d never gone to Sam’s house, she’d never let herself inside or discovered the scary within. She wasn’t Sam’s babysitter anymore. Wasn’t part of his life. Why should she put herself on the line? Why should she be the one to take it on?

Tap-Tap.

Ally already knew that wasn’t an option, no matter how much she’d like it to be. She was going to have to try and convince her Mum that something was up, that was all there was to it. She couldn’t leave Sam to it; he was in terrible danger. She knew it. She had to help her little Sammy boy, because no one else was going to.

Tap-Tap.

So what was the connection between Sam’s twin and Mark? Was there a connection? What was she even thinking? That the little creepy Sam clone killed Mark? He was just like Sam, arms like pipe cleaners, legs she could snap with a flick of her little finger. He surely didn’t have the strength needed to attack Mark.

But then… those foul creatures full of teeth. Ally knew. Ally knew that the identical Sam had killed Mark. And maybe Mark the bully would only be the start….

TAP-TAP-TAP

Ally pulled one of the earphones out. 'What the…?'

TAP-TAP-TAP

'Oi! Who’s throwing stones!' she yelled, but she knew it wasn't stones. It sounded more like someone was knocking at the glass with their knuckles. Which was mad and impossible, so she shouted about stones instead.

TAP-TAP-TAP

She tossed the earphones aside and stood, eyes on the curtains that covered the view to the outside.

TAP-TAP-TAP

'Who is that?'

TAP-TAP-TAP

Ally walked towards the curtains. 'All right, this isn’t funny.'

TAP-TAP-TAP

Ally took a breath, then reached a hand out towards the curtain, pulling it aside, revealing a face in the black, looking back at her. She fell backwards and to the floor with a scream, the curtain swinging back into place, hiding what she'd just seen.

What she
thought
she'd just seen. It had been too brief a flash, and too dark outside, to fully take in what she was seeing, but she felt sure it had been a male face.

Ally quickly got her breath under control. 'Stupid baby. Home alone, and you're jumping at your own reflection.'

Yeah, yeah, that’s it, that’s all, just jumping at your own reflection.

She thought that, but she didn't mean it. She wanted to mean it, but she knew what she'd seen had not merely been her own face reflected in the glass. It had been someone outside looking through at her, which was impossible, because her room was in the converted attic, three stories up.

Ally stood, never taking her eyes off the curtains. 'Okay, all right, okay….'

She took a step forwards, reaching out a hand and silently cursing it for shaking so.

One breath, two breaths, three—

Ally grabbed the curtain and pulled it aside with an aggressive cry.

There was no face looking back at her.

She stepped to the window. Pressing her nose against glass, she looked around all the angles she could for any sign of movement, of a hastily abandoned ladder even.

Nothing.

She tossed the curtain back in place. 'Stupid baby.'

There was no one there. Of course there wasn't. It must have been her mind playing tricks on her after all. All this business with Sam, Mark’s murder, and the room full of trees and monsters had her all riled up, that’s all there was to it. The window was way too high for anyone to be eyeballing her from directly outside without the aid of a ladder, therefore there had been nobody outside.

Ally tried to shake it off as she went to check the house was all locked up anyway. If she didn't she'd never be able to settle back down. She walked through the silent house, checking that all of the upstairs windows were secure. Then she padded down the thickly carpeted staircase and pushed the front door’s deadbolt into place. Nothing was getting through there in a hurry. A quick look around the rest of the windows and the back door, and Ally finally let herself feel a little at ease again. She was alone, and she was certain that's how she would remain. The house was secure from the outside world. No one was getting inside.

Even so, she felt weird about going straight to bed, so grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV as she fell back onto the couch.

At this time it was all crap. She turned on a shopping channel and watched two old people try to sell her on a ten-CD compilation of Country songs. 'No sale,' she said. ‘Who even buys CDs anymore, you relics?’

THUD

Ally’s heart stuttered.

Something was upstairs.

She turned off the TV.

'Mr Pooch, is that you, you dumb dog?' She stood and headed off to investigate. 'Here doggy, doggy…. You hungry?'

She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked upwards into the dark. 'Mr Pooch? Here boy—' She began to ascend the stairs, her stomach starting to twist and knot. This was stupid; it was just the dog. Just fat old Mr Pooch, tumbling around, that’s all. There was no one outside the window, and there was no one upstairs but for a dumb dog that was too lazy to respond to its master’s call. The house was all locked up, no one and nothing was getting inside without her say-so.

She reached the top of the house, the door to her bedroom in front of her.

A floorboard creaked behind it.

'Mr Pooch?' Ally walked towards the door. She thought perhaps she should stop. Stop and leave the house. Go to her mate Kelly's place and stay there. But she already knew she was going to open the door. Somehow she couldn't stop herself. Didn’t want to stop herself. She had to see.

Ally reached out, gripped the handle, and turned, pushing the door open.

The first thing she noticed was the breeze pulling at her t-shirt from the open window. Now, that had been shut before, right? Yeah. It had been closed. Locked, too. She was certain. Then she took a step inside the room and her foot found its way onto something that squelched. She looked down and saw the blood and what remained of her dog.

'Mr Pooch?'

'That's a nice name for a dog.'

Ally looked up as a boy stepped out of the shadows in front of her. His shirt was wet with blood, and red was smeared thickly across his face and teeth. In one hand, he held what looked to Ally like her dog’s now-useless heart. He took a bite from the un-beating muscle and chewed slowly, gazing at her calmly, before swallowing.

He looked like Sam.
It
looked like Sam, but Ally knew it wasn't Sam. It looked like him, but actually, right now, it somehow bore no true resemblance. The picture was there, but the essence skewed.

'Who are you?' asked Ally.

‘I’m Sam’s best friend.'

It took another bite from the heart, as though it were merely an apple, before dropping what was left of it to the carpet. It hit with a wet thud. For some reason Ally had expected it to bounce; she almost laughed as she realised she was thinking about that. Her dog’s un-bouncing heart. Strange the things you focus on as the end approaches.

'I want to run. Why can't I run?'

'Because I don't want you to. I thought you might cry now. Most do.'

'What are you?'

'I'm Awake,' replied the boy.

Ally thought of her Mum.

He was upon her in the time it took to blink.

The only boy

Sa
m
awoke, terrified. Sweat coated his body and his breath came in stuttered bursts.

He'd dreamt that he had been to Ally's house. Not him. Not exactly him. He saw through another’s eyes. Saw her terror. Saw her wide-eyed and screaming with fear.

Hair stuck tight to his damp forehead, and he shivered as the night air wrapped its arms around him. It felt like the cold was trying to claim him as its own.

Sam’s friend was stood by the bed, his arms, chest, and face streaked with dark red splatters.

'What did you do?' Sam asked.

'You know. You saw.' Sam watched as the boy's tongue extended unnaturally from his mouth and caressed his hands. Cleansed them of gore.

'I don't think you're my friend at all,' said Sam. He hugged his knees, the strange cold beginning to penetrate his being. He knew this boy wasn't his friend. Never had been. He was a monster. Sam had been used.

The boy stopped his grooming and looked at Sam. 'You're wrong. I'm your only friend.'

‘Well, I don’t want to be friends anymore. I just want you to leave now. I want to be all alone again. Just me.’

The boy cocked his head to one side and frowned. ‘That’s a pity.  I want to stay.’

‘Please. Please go.’

'Do you remember the day I became Awake? A ball of grey, mewling flesh kicking its way into existence.'

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Look how far I’ve come. I’ve you to thank for that.’

Sam’s fault. All Sam’s fault. No. No, no, no; he hadn’t known. He’d been lied to. Things had been hidden. It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely. Couldn’t be.

'Why did you kill Ally?'

The boy stopped and seemed to think about this. 'I followed my nature.'

'You killed Mark, too,' said Sam, flatly.

The boy smiled, his eyes distant for a moment, 'I let you see a little of that, too. What a good, fine friend I am. Real friends always share the fun times.’

‘I hate you. I didn’t want that. I didn’t. I just wanted a friend!’

‘You can’t complain now. Not really. You saw things. You ignored them. You wanted a friend so badly.’

Sam hung his head. Was the boy right? Was it Sam’s fault Ally was dead? Could he have done something? Anything?

'Are you going to kill me too?' Sam asked.

'Hush, now. Of course not. I do have a heart.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark mound of muscle. He dropped the heart in front of Sam and laughed good-naturedly. 'D'you get it?'

Sam looked at the heart, sat on the covers at his feet. He wished he could give it back to Ally. Put each piece of her back together again. That she would open her eyes, wondering what colour to dye her hair that day.

'Now, I become you. And you become me. I’m going to send you Between. You'll like living there. Well. You might.'

Sam shivered. 'Why do I have to live there?'

'I can't just leave and stay gone. Eventually the faceless man who rules Between will take me back unless I balance things out. That’s your job. I don't want to be Between; I want to be Awake. The horrors are much more vivid here. The fear. The delicious, filling fear. So you will take my place and I will take yours. We'll balance each other out. You already signed the blood contract agreeing.'

'But—’

‘You signed it willingly to keep me here, didn’t you?’

‘Yes! Yes, but I didn’t know what I was doing!’

‘That’s not my fault. If you’d asked, I would have told you.'

The cold had spread throughout Sam’s body now, from toenails to ear-tips.

‘Please! There must be another way. Maybe you could find another house to live in?’

‘No. I like this one. One of us must go Between.’

‘I don’t want to go. I won’t go!’

The boy sighed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, okay, why don’t we let our parents decide?’

***

Sam’s Mum and Dad sat at one end of the kitchen table, side by side. Sam and the boy sat opposite. Sam noticed how his Mum looked upon the boy with proud adoration.

‘You did sign the blood contract, didn’t you?’ asked Sam’s Dad.

‘Yes, but—'

‘Now, now,’ interrupted Mum. ‘No use having “buts” now. You either did or you didn’t—and you did, didn’t you? You signed the contract.’

‘I didn’t know what I was signing!’

‘Do not raise your voice to your mother!’ said Dad, indignantly.

‘Don’t think badly of him,’ said the boy, turning to look at Sam with something approaching pity. ‘He’s just a little scared. Change is always scary.’

Mum reached a hand across the table to the boy. ‘Heart of gold you’ve got. A heart of bloody gold!’

‘Okay, fair is fair, Suppose you did stumble into the contract with your eyes closed,’ said Dad. ‘Seems unfair to me to deny the boy over there his due, just because you were too daft to ask a few questions. But I’m not a monster, so let’s hear both sides, and Mum and I will play fair and give both arguments their due weight.’ Dad nodded in Sam’s direction, indicating he expected him to go first.

‘I’m your son! I’m your
real
son! You’re supposed to love me no matter what.’

‘Well, technically yes. I’ll give you that,’ said Dad, grumbling.

‘Bit of an underhand trick, pulling that out, Sam,’ said Mum, frowning.

Dad turned to the boy. ‘And you, why should we keep you?’

The boy smiled. ‘Because I’m not him.’

Sam’s parents looked at each other and nodded.

‘Well, we’re convinced. Welcome to the family!’ Sam’s Dad reached a big paw across the table and shook the boy’s hand.

Sam stood, kicking his chair back as he did so. ‘I’m your son! He’s not even a person, not really! He’s a monster, a murderer!’

Mum nodded. ‘Well, nobody’s perfect.’

The boy went to join his parents at the other side of the table, Mum fussing at his face with a spit-dabbed hankie, rubbing at some dried patches of blood.

‘Look at the mess on you. I told you playing with that Ally girl would get you in bother. ’

The boy looked up at his Mother, then over at Sam, his mouth a wide grin of needle teeth. How strange Sam had not noticed those teeth before.

‘Please! You can’t send me away!’

Mum and Dad looked at him with what looked like disgust.

‘Don’t make a show of yourself now, Sam,’ said Dad.

‘I think we all know you were a bit of a balls-up. Never did take to you, did we?’

‘Never did take to you,’ agreed Dad. ‘There’s nothing of me in you, I know that much.’

Sam sank back into his chair, his knees now jelly. ‘This isn’t right. He’s evil. I won’t go, you can’t make me! I’ll… I’ll call the police!’

The three stared evenly at Sam, regarding him as if he were nothing more than an irritating fly, waiting to be squished and gotten rid of.

‘Let’s give him one last chance. It’s only fair,’ said the boy.

‘What d’you mean, sugar plum?’ asked Mum.

The boy grinned, his needle teeth gleaming.

‘Let’s play a game of hide and seek. If I find Sam, I stay and he goes. If I don’t find him, I’ll leave.’

‘Heart of bloody gold,’ said Mum, her voice cracking as she dabbed with the spit hankie at the tears welling in her eyes, smudging the skin around them with blood.

‘Just two rules. One: I have only two minutes to find you. If I fail, you stay. Two: you can’t leave the house. That’s cheating. Leave the house to hide and I win. You go Between, and I stay here.’ The boy smiled wide. ‘Do we have a good deal?’

Sam narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t trust you.’

Mum gasped. ‘Don’t talk to your brother like that!’

Dad shook his head angrily. ‘And after he’s nice enough to give you a chance of staying, too. He didn’t have to! We certainly didn’t want him to, but that’s the boy all over! Caring to a fault.’

‘That’s okay,’ said the boy. ‘I understand why he’s lashing out.’

‘Selfless. That’s what you are,’ said Dad.

‘Mummy loves you,’ said Mum to the boy, beaming; two crimson streaks, a mix of tears and blood, rolling lazily down her cheeks.

‘I will count to one hundred, Sam,’ said the boy. ‘And then … I’m coming to get you.’ He closed his eyes, ‘One.’

Sam stepped back, panic clawing at him—

‘Two.’

Sam looked back at his parents, but they were looking away; they only had eyes for the boy—

‘Three.’

Sam ran.

‘Four.’

Out of the kitchen ran Sam, but where to go? He knew this house top to bottom; every nook, every hidey-hole, much better than the boy, he was sure—

‘Eleven, twelve.’

Upstairs! He passed the front door, almost pausing. Perhaps the only way out of this was to leave the house and run to the police station. Tell them all about the boy and what he’d done to Mark the Bully, and to Ally. What he was doing to Sam right now!

‘Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two.’

Sam knew that wasn’t a real option. He took the staircase two steps at a time, his foot catching and sending him tumbling over halfway up, shins jarring on the steps and causing him to cry out, more in shock than pain.

‘Twenty-Nine, Thirty.’

He pushed himself up and scaled the remaining stairs in a second. As he looked one way and then the other down the upstairs corridor, the boy’s unhurried counting still sounded as though it were being spoken directly into his ear. Sam had a vision of Mark running through the field as Sam counted—the bully terrified, Sam delighting at Mark’s fear.

‘Forty-One, Forty-Two, Forty-Three.’

Sam ran for his parents’ room; they had a wardrobe behind which was a hidden alcove. He could pull the wardrobe forward and wiggle into the hidden space, the boy would never know to look there.

‘Fifty, Fifty-One.’

Sam pulled at his parents’ door. It didn’t move! He pulled again and again, but the door refused to budge; it was locked. His parents’ door was never locked! Never had been.

‘Sixty, Sixty-One.’

Sam panicked now, really panicked. Where to go next? His brain was a bubbling mess; the alcove had been the perfect place. The only perfect place he could think of. So what now? Where else was there?

‘Sixty-Nine, Seventy.’

Unthinking, Sam ran for his own bedroom, praying that its door wasn’t now magically locked, too. The door opened easily and Sam tumbled within, the room seeming to lurch at a queasy angle.

‘Seventy-Eight, Seventy-Nine.’

Where could he hide? There was nowhere! There was nowhere! Trying to swallow down a sob, Sam threw open the trunk at the end of his bed and scrambled inside, pulling the blankets within over his body to shield him before pulling the lid down.

‘Eighty-One, Eighty-Two.’

Sam’s breath was loud inside the wooden box. It seemed to boom and bounce around. He tried to calm himself down, to slow down his chest. Stay quiet. Stay still. He wouldn’t be found. Would be found. Wouldn’t.

Something nipped at his ankle.

It was a sharp pinprick. A splinter from the trunk, maybe? Another nip, to his wrist this time, like tiny needles jabbing into the flesh. Sam slapped at it and felt something cold and moist on his wrist.

He pulled the blanket aside and lifted his wrist to his eyes. A thin strip of light between the body of the trunk and the lid illuminated his wrist enough to see the cause of the sharp pain. It was a small piece of leathery egg. The egg the boy had hatched from into the Awake world.

The piece moved. Writhed upon his wrist. Sam gasped with disgust and pulled the egg piece from his wrist, crying out as it tore away from the flesh, leaving a red raw wound. Another bite now, and another. Sam wiggled in the confines of the trunk as piece after piece of the egg attached themselves to him like leeches.

He kicked the lid of the trunk open and tumbled out, pulling the egg from his flesh piece by piece, each time opening a fresh, painful wound.

‘One Hundred. Ready or not, here I come,’ said the boy.

Sam’s heart lurched in his chest, trying to escape.

He threw the last of the egg back into the trunk and slammed the lid down. Within, he could hear the pieces banging against the lid, eager to bite again.

Sam opened his bedroom door a crack and listened for the boy.

‘I wonder where you could be? Perhaps the downstairs toilet?’

Sam opened the door a little wider and crept from his bedroom. Where now? Where was left to go?

‘No Sam in there. The basement, maybe?’

The basement! There was a door in the kitchen that led down, down, down into a basement.

An idea formed.

Sam inhaled slowly to calm himself, then headed for the top of the stairs and looked down. The way was clear. Gently, and avoiding the squeaking fourth step, Sam ghosted down the staircase. He stopped briefly to peer through the open door of the front room. He could see his parents inside, seated upon the couch, watching television. They wanted him gone. Didn’t care. Never had. Sam felt sad-angry-afraid.