The Duplicate at Dawn

3 min read

Story Premise 3 min read (421 words)

"The attic air hung thick and still, a testament to decades of undisturbed dust. Elara, perched on an overturned crate, felt the familiar tingle of nervous excitement. Her friends, Maya and Chloe, huddled closer, their faces illuminated by the single, sputtering candle. Tonight was supposed to be about ghost stories and dares, a rite of […]"

The attic air hung thick and still, a testament to decades of undisturbed dust. Elara, perched on an overturned crate, felt the familiar tingle of nervous excitement. Her friends, Maya and Chloe, huddled closer, their faces illuminated by the single, sputtering candle. Tonight was supposed to be about ghost stories and dares, a rite of passage in their stifling suburban town. They’d unearthed an old, wooden board from a forgotten trunk, its surface etched with curious symbols and a lone, unblinking eye at its center.

Their makeshift séance began with hesitant questions, the planchette gliding sluggishly under their collective touch. It was a silly game, Elara told herself, a way to chase away the boredom of summer break. Then, the planchette shot to ‘YES’ with unnerving speed, followed by a series of frantic movements spelling out a name Elara didn’t recognize, then a single, chilling word: ‘SEPARATION’. A gust of wind, impossibly strong for the sealed attic, snuffed out the candle, plunging them into suffocating darkness.

Elara woke to the clatter of ceramic on wood. Sunlight, sharp and unwelcome, pierced through the thin curtains of her bedroom. Her mother stood in the doorway, a bewildered expression on her face. “Elara, darling, why did you come home so late last night? I saw you slip through the back door before dawn. You were so quiet.”

Confusion washed over Elara. “What are you talking about, Mom? I was at Maya’s. We never left her house. We fell asleep in her living room.”

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “No, sweetie. I distinctly saw you. Your little brother, Leo, even asked me why you were being so secretive, sneaking around before sunrise. He saw you too, playing with your phone on the porch.”

Leo, a boy of sharp observations and unsettling honesty, emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, I saw her. She looked… tired.”

The words struck Elara with a force that stole her breath. The planchette’s frantic message: ‘SEPARATION’. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that the girl her mother and brother had seen was not her. And if it wasn’t her, then where was she? The oppressive silence of her room seemed to mock her, the sunlight no longer a comfort, but a stark illumination of a terrifying, impossible truth. She was home, yet a part of her, an identical copy, had also been home, or perhaps, was still out there, a phantom born from a game played in a dusty attic.

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