The Night of the Hollow Hunt

Chapter Four: Shadows of Doubt

Antonio's breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the figure huddled in the corner of the porch. It was Fawkes—or at least, it looked exactly like him. The pale skin, the dark curls, the terrified expression—it all matched. But how could that be? Fawkes was standing right beside him, barely able to keep his feet under him, leaning heavily against Wren for support.

"Don't trust him," the figure whispered again, its voice shaky, pleading. "Don't trust any of them."

Antonio's pulse raced as the words sank in, a creeping sense of unease tightening around his chest. He stepped back, glancing between the Fawkes by his side and the one in the corner. His mind scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing, but the reality felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

Wren's eyes widened as she turned to Antonio. "What the hell is this? How can there be two of him?"

Jaxon, standing at the entrance to the porch, looked like he was about to bolt. "This is messed up, man. This is so messed up!"

The Fawkes beside them groaned, lifting his head weakly, his eyes glassy with confusion. "What... what's happening?" he slurred, his body sagging against Wren.

Antonio's throat was dry, his mind struggling to piece together a rational explanation, but nothing made sense. There were two Fawkes—one weak, barely conscious, and the other crouched in the corner, whispering warnings of mistrust.

"Antonio," Wren said, her voice laced with urgency, "what the hell do we do?"

The Fawkes in the corner stirred, shifting in the shadows as if preparing to stand. His eyes darted nervously to the other Fawkes, the real one. "You have to listen to me," he whispered. "That's not me. It's something pretending to be me."

Antonio felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. Was it possible? Could this house be messing with their minds, their perception of reality? Or was this some kind of sick game, designed to make them turn on each other?

"We can't stay here," Jaxon stammered, taking a step backward. "We need to get out of this house—now!"

Antonio turned to Wren, his heart hammering in his chest. "Get Fawkes out of here. I'll figure this out."

Wren hesitated, her eyes flickering between the two versions of Fawkes. The real one groaned again, his weight slumping harder against her. "Antonio, this is insane."

"I know," Antonio said through gritted teeth. "But just get him to the backyard. I'll deal with this."

With a reluctant nod, Wren guided the weakened Fawkes toward the glass door that led to the backyard, pulling it open as quickly as she could. Jaxon, his face pale and his hands shaking, followed close behind them, casting a terrified glance at the Fawkes in the corner before slipping out into the night.

Antonio stayed behind, his eyes locked on the crouched figure in the corner. It—he—hadn't moved, though the tension in the air grew thicker with each passing second. Antonio's gut twisted as he considered the possibility that this was a trap, another twisted trick the house had devised to keep them from leaving.

"You're not Fawkes," Antonio said, his voice hardening as he stepped closer to the figure. "You can't be."

The crouched figure lifted his head, his eyes hollow with fear. "I am. I'm him. The thing with them... it's not me. You have to believe me."

Antonio's mind spun. There was no logical explanation for what was happening. But nothing about this house had been logical from the moment they stepped inside. The house seemed to shift, to manipulate reality itself. Maybe it was possible for it to create doppelgängers—distorted versions of themselves.