Shade doppelganger Ethan Campbell Shade doppelganger Ethan Campbell An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book Shade doppelganger Shade doppelganger Ethan Campbell Ethan Campbell An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Shade doppelganger T he sun hung low in the sky , casting Cedar Creek in shades of amber and rust. Kar- en Jones zipped up her brown fleece jacket, breathing in the cool autumn air as dry leaves skit- tered across the sidewalk like tiny, frantic creatures. It was a quiet morning in the small Idaho town, the kind of day that begged for a warm coffee and a stroll through Main Street. But something felt off, a subtle wrongness she couldn’t quite place. She adjusted her scarf, glancing at the people pass- ing by. Mrs. Donahue, her elderly neighbor, gave Karen a polite nod, her watery blue eyes darting away as if she’d been caught staring. A pair of teen- agers near the gas station whispered to each other, sneaking glances in Karen’s direction before quickly looking away. Even the usual cheeriness of Mr. Blake, the postal worker, seemed subdued as he muttered a distracted “Good morning” without meeting her gaze. Ethan Campbell Karen shrugged it off, chalking it up to small-town peculiarities. She’d lived in Cedar Creek her whole life, and the quirks of its residents were as much a part of the town as the towering pines that framed its borders. But as she walked toward Grady’s Coffee House, the feeling of unease deepened. The bell over the door jingled as Karen stepped inside, the warm scent of roasted beans and baked goods wrapping around her like a blanket. She smiled at Tara, the barista, who stood behind the counter in her usual green apron. “Hey, Karen. Back already?” Tara’s voice was light but laced with confusion. Karen frowned. “Back?” Tara blinked. “Yeah, you were just here like twenty minutes ago. You ordered a mocha and a cranberry muffin. Left in a hurry, too. Everything okay?” Karen felt a chill creep up her spine. “Tara, I hav- en’t been here all morning.” The barista’s smile faltered, and for a moment, the bustling coffee shop seemed unnaturally quiet. The hum of conversation and clinking mugs faded into the background as Karen’s words hung in the air. Shade doppelganger Tara’s brow furrowed, her gaze flitting to the door as if expecting someone else to walk in and explain ev- erything. “Huh,” Tara said finally, forcing a laugh. “Maybe I’m just losing it. Long shift, you know? What can I get you?” Karen hesitated before ordering her usual black coffee. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling as she paid and stepped aside to wait for her drink. She glanced around the shop, half-expecting to see her double sitting at one of the corner tables. But every- thing seemed normal—or as normal as it could be when the world suddenly felt like it was tilting on its axis. Outside, the wind had picked up, scattering leaves across the pavement. Karen clutched her coffee cup tightly as she walked down the street, her eyes scan- ning the small crowds for anything... or anyone... out of place. She’d almost convinced herself that Tara’s comment had been a simple mistake when she saw it. Across the street, stepping out of Dahl’s General Store, was a woman with Karen’s face. Same short brown hair, same olive-green jacket, same deter- mined stride. For a moment, Karen thought she was Ethan Campbell looking into a mirror, but there was no mistaking the reality of it. The woman glanced over her shoulder, locking eyes with Karen. She smiled. Karen froze. Her grip on the coffee cup slackened, and hot liquid spilled onto her hand. She flinched but barely felt the sting as she stared, wide-eyed, at her double. The woman turned and walked briskly down the street, weaving through the crowd with a casual confidence that sent shivers down Karen’s spine. “Hey!” Karen shouted, her voice cracking with panic. She bolted across the street, narrowly avoiding a passing truck. “Wait! Stop!” But by the time she reached Dahl’s, her double was gone. Karen spun in place, scanning the sidewalks and alleyways, but it was as if the woman had van- ished into thin air. People around her stared, some with curiosity, others with unease, but no one offered any explanation. Feeling the weight of their gazes, Karen turned and hurried home, her heart pounding in her chest. The house was quiet when she arrived, the kind of oppressive silence that seemed to amplify every creak and groan of the old structure. Karen set her coffee down on the kitchen counter, her hands trem- Shade doppelganger bling. She couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her mind: the woman’s face, her smile, the way she’d dis- appeared without a trace. “I’m just tired,” Karen muttered to herself. “That’s all. I’m overthinking this.” She tried to distract herself with chores, but every shadow seemed to stretch a little too long, every re- flection in the windows lingered a little too late. As dusk fell, the whispers began. At first, Karen thought it was the wind. The faint murmurs seemed to come from the walls, slipping through the cracks like a draft. She turned on ev- ery light in the house, her heart hammering as she moved from room to room. In the living room, she caught a glimpse of move- ment in the corner of her eye. She spun around, but the room was empty. Her breath came in short, shal- low gasps as she backed toward the hallway mirror. When she glanced at her reflection, her blood ran cold. Her reflection wasn’t moving. Karen lifted her hand slowly, watching as the mir- rored version of herself stood still, its unblinking Ethan Campbell eyes fixed on hers. A faint smile curled its lips, and Karen stumbled backward, a scream lodged in her throat. The lights flickered, plunging the room into momentary darkness. When they came back on, the reflection was normal again. Karen clutched her chest, her mind racing. She grabbed her phone and called Sarah, her best friend. The phone rang twice before Sarah’s familiar voice answered. “Hey, Karen. What’s up?” Karen’s voice trembled. “Sarah, something... some- thing’s wrong. I think I... I think I’m losing it.” There was a pause. “Karen, are you okay? You sound really freaked out.” “I’ve been seeing things,” Karen said, her words spilling out in a frantic rush. “People keep saying I’ve been places I haven’t, and today I saw someone who looks exactly like me. Exactly. And now there’s... there’s something in the house. I swear, Sarah, my re- flection just moved on its own.” Sarah’s tone softened. “Karen, listen to me. You’re probably just stressed. Have you been sleeping okay? Maybe you should see someone, like a doctor or...” Shade doppelganger “I’m not crazy!” Karen snapped, her voice crack- ing. “I know what I saw.” Another pause, longer this time. “Okay,” Sarah said carefully. “I’ll come over. Just sit tight, all right?” Karen hung up, clutching the phone like a lifeline. She sank onto the couch, her body trembling. The whispers had stopped, but the silence was worse. It felt alive, pressing in on her like a predator waiting to pounce. When the knock came at the door, Karen jumped. She rushed to the front door, relief flooding her as she pulled it open. But the figure standing on the porch wasn’t Sarah. It was her. The doppelgänger smiled, its eyes glinting with something dark and malevolent. Karen stumbled backward, her voice caught in her throat as the figure stepped inside and closed the door behind it. “Hello, Karen,” it said, its voice eerily calm. “We need to talk.” Ethan Campbell I. Karen Jones’ life began to unravel the moment Ce- dar Creek started noticing her twice. It began innocuously enough: a neighbor’s passing comment, uttered with the casual warmth of small- town familiarity. Karen was bagging groceries at Davis’ Market when Mrs. Hooper shuffled past her, leaning heavily on her walker. “Good to see you again, dear,” Mrs. Hooper chirped, her voice like brittle paper. “Weren’t you just at Tilly’s Diner this morning? Treating yourself to pancakes, eh?” Karen froze mid-swipe, the cereal box trembling in her hand. “No,” she said slowly, forcing a polite smile. “I hav- en’t been to Tilly’s in weeks.” Shade doppelganger Mrs. Hooper blinked, her wrinkled face pucker- ing in confusion. “Well, I swear it was you. Same red scarf, same little smile. You even waved at me when you left.” Karen forced a laugh that sounded brittle. “You must’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’ve been here all morning.” Mrs. Hooper’s eyes clouded briefly, but she only nodded and shuffled away. Karen tried to shake it off, yet as the day wore on, a strange unease clung to her, as stubborn as the late winter chill outside. By the following week, the sightings multiplied. “Karen,” her boss at The Book Nook said one after- noon, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve got to stop leaving early without telling me. Customers have been asking about you.” Karen blinked, bewildered. “I didn’t leave early.” “Yesterday?” Mrs. Delaney arched a skeptical brow. “I saw you walk out at 2:30. Clear as day. Wearing that green jacket of yours.” “I was here all afternoon,” Karen insisted, her voice faltering. “You can check the security cameras if you don’t believe me.” Ethan Campbell Mrs. Delaney hesitated, her suspicion fading to something softer. “You’ve been stressed lately. Maybe you’re just... forgetting things?” Karen’s protests stuck in her throat. The conver- sation ended with an uneasy truce, but the doubts gnawed at her all the same. She hadn’t left early. She hadn’t been to Tilly’s. She hadn’t waved at Mrs. Hooper. And yet... people swore she had. One drizzly Tuesday night, Karen’s best friend, Molly, arrived unannounced. Molly was the type to appear in her Jeep at odd hours, bearing wine and an uncanny ability to pry secrets from Karen like loose teeth. Karen answered the door, visibly frazzled. “Molly, it’s late.” “And you look like death warmed over,” Molly shot back, pushing past her with a bottle of merlot. “Something’s eating you. Spill.” Karen sighed, closing the door. “It’s nothing. Just work stuff.” Shade doppelganger Molly plopped onto the couch, swirling the wine like a practiced interrogator. “Is this about the weird gossip going around?” Karen’s stomach dropped. “What gossip?” Molly raised an eyebrow. “Come on. People keep saying they’ve seen you places you haven’t been. Like, a lot . Yesterday, Sharon at the diner told me you were chatting up some guy at the counter—said you looked pretty cozy.” “That’s insane,” Karen blurted. “I was at work all day.” Molly’s gaze sharpened. “Karen, are you okay? You’re not, like, sleepwalking or...” “No,” Karen snapped, too sharply. She stood, pac- ing. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not me. It can’t be me.” Molly studied her for a long moment, then leaned forward, her voice softening. “Have you seen a doc- tor? Maybe...” “It’s not in my head,” Karen said, her voice trem- bling. “I know where I’ve been, Molly. I’m not crazy.” Ethan Campbell Molly hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Then let’s figure this out. Together.” Karen wanted to believe her, but the growing knot of dread in her chest made it impossible. The confrontation happened three nights later. Karen had been unable to sleep, her thoughts spin- ning in a tight, suffocating loop. At 2:17 a.m., she found herself staring out her bedroom window, the glass fogged with her breath. Snowflakes drifted lazi- ly through the glow of the streetlights outside. And then she saw her. Standing across the street, illuminated by the sick- ly yellow light, was Karen Jones. Another Karen Jones. The figure wore her face, her body, her clothes. But her expression ...oh, God, her expression. It was empty and cold, like a mannequin’s come to life. Karen stumbled back from the window, her pulse pounding in her ears. When she dared to look again, the double raised a hand in a slow, deliberate wave. “No,” Karen whispered. “This isn’t real.” Her double’s lips moved, forming silent words. Shade doppelganger Karen couldn’t hear them, but she could feel them, a cold, clawing sensation deep in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the hallucination to vanish. When she opened them, the double was gone. In- stead, Karen’s own reflection stared back at her from the glass. Except... it wasn’t her reflection. It smiled. And then it spoke. “You’re living on borrowed time, Karen.” The voice was hers, but distorted, as if dragged through static. Karen screamed and lashed out, her fist shattering the window. Glass rained onto the floor as icy air rushed in, slicing through the room like a blade. When she turned, the bedroom was empty. Karen woke up hours later, slumped against the wall, her hands streaked with dried blood. The bro- ken window gaped like an open wound, the curtains fluttering in the frigid wind. Scratches lined her arms, deep and angry, as if she’d clawed herself in her sleep. A low, mocking laugh echoed in her memory, faint but undeniable. Ethan Campbell Outside, Cedar Creek stirred to life, oblivious to the horror that had taken root in its quiet heart. And as Karen stared at the shattered glass, she knew one thing with chilling certainty: the double wasn’t fin- ished with her yet. Shade doppelganger II. Karen’s nerves were raw by the time the rumors reached her ears. Cedar Creek had always been a quiet town, the kind where gossip spread faster than wildfire and lingered like smoke. But now, Karen herself was the spark setting off whispered conversa- tions and sidelong glances. The tipping point came when she overheard two customers at Davis’ Market, speaking in hushed tones as she bagged their groceries. “She’s been acting so strange,” the woman said, glancing over her shoulder. “And I swear, I saw her at the park yesterday. But then I saw her again at the post office, not five minutes later.” Karen’s hands faltered, the plastic bag crinkling loudly. The man nodded, leaning closer to the wom- an. Ethan Campbell “It’s creepy, that’s what it is. Like there’s two of her.” Karen’s stomach twisted. She fled the market as soon as her shift ended, her mind racing. The town was talking about her—about the double. Desperate for answers, Karen found herself at the Cedar Creek Library the next day. The building, a relic from the 1930s, smelled of dust and old paper. The librarian, Martha Green, was a frail woman with thinning white hair and a penchant for folklore. Kar- en approached the counter, hesitating. “Martha,” she began, her voice trembling. “Have you ever heard of... people seeing doubles of them- selves?” Martha’s pale blue eyes sharpened. She leaned forward, her bony fingers clasping the edge of the counter. “You mean a Fetch?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen blinked. “A... Fetch?” Martha nodded slowly. “An old legend. A Fetch is a ghostly double, an omen of death. If you’ve seen yours, the only question is not if but when. ”