The Bloodline's Curse

The Duplicate

It was an ordinary Wednesday evening in early autumn, and the house was filled with the quiet hum of routine. Upstairs, sixteen-year-old Hannah  sprawled across her bed, a mess of books and papers around her as she worked on her Physics homework. She could hear the pots clanging downstairs as her mom prepared dinner. The smell of roasting vegetables and garlic wafted up, making her stomach rumble. She couldn't wait to be done with her assignment and sit down to eat.

Her mind drifted to last weekend, when she and her mom had gone apple-picking, filling baskets with the crispest apples they could find. Her mom had laughed so hard when Hannah dropped one and tried to catch it, only for it to roll downhill. They'd baked a pie together that same night, eating warm slices with melted vanilla ice cream. Hannah loved moments like those, when it was just the two of them.

Her mom's voice interrupted her thoughts, calling her downstairs for dinner. Hannah perked up, feeling the pleasant ache of hunger. She jumped off her bed, brushing the crumbs from her snack off her jeans, and started for the stairs.

But as she reached the hallway, a hand suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her into the laundry room. She nearly screamed, her heart pounding, before she realized who it was—her mom, her real mom. But something was wrong. Her mother's face was pale, her eyes wide and bloodshot, as if she hadn't slept for days. She looked... terrified.

"Mom?" Hannah whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. "What's wrong?"

"Don't go down there, honey," her mother whispered back, her voice shaky. "I heard it too."

Hannah felt a chill run down her spine. The fear in her mother's voice was unmistakable, and it made everything suddenly feel wrong. She struggled to process what her mom was saying, the words twisting and knotting in her brain. "What do you mean, you heard it too?"

Her mom's grip on her shoulders tightened. "That... that voice. It sounds like me, but it's not. I don't know what it is, but it's trying to lure you downstairs."

As they huddled in the small laundry room, hidden in the shadows, Hannah's gaze flicked to the slightly ajar door. She could still hear the other voice, echoing from the kitchen. It sounded exactly like her mom's—a gentle, warm tone, now with an edge of impatience.

"Honey, dinner's getting cold!"  the voice called again.

Hannah's stomach turned, and she pressed herself closer to her mom. "What's happening, Mom? I'm scared."

Her mom's hands shook as she stroked Hannah's hair, her usual warmth replaced by a tense, protective hold. "I don't know. It started a few nights ago, after I heard it for the first time. It called for you tonight. I was afraid it would... I don't know, take you. But we can't let it."

Suddenly, slow footsteps echoed up the stairs, each one deliberate and heavy. The voice called again, closer this time.

"Hannah, I said dinner's ready, sweetheart."

Hannah held her breath, gripping her mother's arm tighter. The sound of those footsteps felt wrong, almost mechanical, as if the person making them was mimicking her mother's usual light steps but getting it just slightly off.

Her mother leaned down, eyes wide with desperation. "We have to get out, now," she whispered, glancing at the small window in the laundry room. "Quietly. Before it finds us."

But as they began to inch toward the window, the laundry room door creaked open. Both of them froze. Standing in the doorway was her mother—or at least, something that looked exactly like her mother.

Hannah's mind spun, caught between terror and disbelief. Her mom was right beside her, gripping her hand. But here was another mom, identical, down to the faded apron she always wore while cooking. The room fell silent, thick with tension, as the two mothers stared each other down, one in the doorway and the other holding Hannah protectively.

"Come here, darling," the mother at the door cooed, her voice almost too sweet. "It's just dinner."

Hannah's heart hammered. Her eyes darted from one mother to the other, her mind scrambling to make sense of the impossible. Which one was real?

The mom beside her leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't listen to her, Hannah. She's lying."

But the mother in the doorway just smiled, the expression cold and empty. "It's alright, sweetheart. You know it's me. Come here."

A wave of panic rose inside her. She remembered the pie they'd made, the taste of warm apples and cinnamon, the sound of her mother's laughter. Could an imposter know those things?

Hannah took a shaky breath, fighting to stay calm. Then an idea sparked in her mind. "What did we do last summer, during our vacation?" she asked, her voice trembling.

The mother beside her stiffened, while the one in the doorway let out a soft laugh. "We went to the lake, remember? You swam all afternoon, and we had ice cream by the dock."

Hannah's stomach sank. That was a special day, but something about the way the imposter said it felt wrong. She had memories of the lake, but they weren't from last summer—they were from years ago.

The other mom beside her finally whispered, "We didn't go anywhere last summer... you were sick."

It hit Hannah like a punch to the gut. She'd been sick all summer, bedridden with a terrible fever, dreaming of running through fields and swimming in clear lakes. Her real mother wouldn't have forgotten that.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Hannah made her choice. She grabbed her mother's hand—the real one—and bolted toward the window. The figure at the door let out a blood-curdling shriek, a sound so inhuman it made her ears ring. As they climbed out, the creature's face twisted and morphed, the serene smile stretching into a horrific snarl.

They hit the ground outside, stumbling over each other, but they kept running. The cold air stung Hannah's face, but she barely felt it, the adrenaline in her veins urging her to keep moving, keep going, away from that house and whatever horror was inside.

They finally stopped at the edge of the yard, both of them panting and clutching each other. Hannah turned to her mom, who was shaking as she held her daughter close.

"Mom," she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. "What was that?"

Her mother swallowed hard, her face pale and drawn. "I don't know," she said, hugging Hannah tight. "But it wanted you, and it was willing to lie to get you."

They stood together under the pale glow of the streetlights, the house looming in the distance, silent and still. But in the back of her mind, Hannah knew—whatever it was, this wasn't over. It had almost taken her tonight, and she had a gut feeling that it would try again.