Shadow Self

We are all haunted by this shadow self, the Mr. Hyde to our Dr. Jekyll, calling to us from the depths of our psyche.

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Paul’s eyes snapped open to the shrill beeping of his alarm clock. He let out a groan and slammed his hand down on the clock to silence it. Another dull day ahead, just like all the others.

Yippie.

He hauled himself out of bed and dragged his feet to the cold tile of the bathroom. As he waited for the shower water to heat, he glimpsed his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles. His stubble had grown in patchy and unkempt.

“You’re a real sight for sore eyes,” he muttered to himself.

The hot water stung as it pelted his skin. He scrubbed himself mechanically, as if on autopilot. Wash, lather, rinse, repeat. After he toweled off, he ran a comb through his wet hair.

Staring at his foggy reflection, he let out a long sigh. “Time to make the donuts,” he said and dressed in his faded uniform and dragged himself to work.

The automatic doors slid open with a hydraulics hiss as Paul shuffled into the fluorescently lit tomb of the local Hi-Lo Mart. The gratingly saccharine jingle began worming its way into his eardrums immediately.

“Hi-Lo, Hi-Lo, High Quality, Low Prices!” trilled the recorded voice, as synthetic as the week-old “fresh” bread on Aisle 9.

He punched in, took his place behind register 7, and began scanning items.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

He tried to focus on the task at hand, mumbling a rote, “Hi, $42.47, please,” as he rang up a woman buying laundry detergent, garlic bread, diapers, and a two family-sized frozen pizzas.

Beep, beep, beep.

Plastic bags crinkled, coins clattered, mundane chatter hummed around him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a golden glow: Lucy at register 3.

Her curly blonde hair bounced lightly as she handed her customer their receipt, flashing a brilliant smile that brightened the whole dreary store. Her eyes crinkled at the corners in that cute way, and her cheeks dimpled as she wished the customer a genuine ‘Have a Hi-quality day!’ Even the buzzing fluorescent lights could not compete with the warm glow of Lucy’s smile.

Around noon, his shift took their allotted 25-minute breaks. Paul sat in the cold break room alone and picked at a soggy sandwich he had packed. He glanced up to see Lucy laughing with a coworker at another table. The same smile warming up the dingy backroom made him feel even more alone.

After a grueling ten-hour shift, Paul shuffled back out to his car and made the trek back to his well-worn sofa, where he mindlessly flipped through the TV channels.

Nothing of interest.

He let out a defeated sigh, turned off the TV, and saw his reflection in the black screen.

But there was something else. A face. Peering out at him from the darkened glass.

Paul recoiled and wiped a hand over his eyes.

It was his own face — only distorted and the eyes nothing but sunken pits of darkness. The mouth curled into a sneer.

He blinked hard. When he looked again, the face was gone. Just his own tired reflection staring back.

You’re losing it, Paulie.

A feeling of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He glanced around as if something might lurk in the shadows. After rechecking that the front door was locked, he retreated to the safety of his bed, but sleep did not come easy.

The next morning, Paul stood before the bathroom mirror shaving, this time. As he leaned in, the mirror rippled.

He froze.

Over his right shoulder, a shadowy figure loomed in the bathroom doorway.

Paul whipped around. No one was there. Just the empty, dimly lit doorway.

He turned back to the mirror. His haggard reflection stared back. Then, in the glass’s corner, a face materialized.

Paul staggered back. The phantom figure hovered at the mirror’s edge — his own face, but warped. Eyes black. Skin corpse-pale. The hand clutched a long knife, raised and ready to plunge into Paul’s back.

Paul cried out, stumbling against the sink. He slammed his eyes shut, both hands muffling another guttural scream. When he forced his eyes open, only his shaken reflection remained.

No phantom.

He touched his neck, half-expecting the cold kiss of the knife’s edge. Nothing there save the drum of his racing pulse.

Over the next few days, the phantom stalked Paul’s every waking moment. It lurked in the periphery: a dark flutter at the edge of drawn curtains, an inky shadow skulking behind his own reflection. Each time Paul whipped around to confront it, the apparition vanished like a cockroach when the lights flick on.

Even at the Hi-Lo register, that prickling sense of being watched clung to Paul like stale cigarette smoke. Driving home, he pressed the gas pedal to the floor, eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the shadowy backseat.

At home, doors were triple-locked, curtains permanently drawn. But neither latch nor chain could bar his tormentor, which oozed under doorways as murky tendrils of dread. Sleep brought no respite, only fitful nightmares where the phantom watched from the room’s dark corners.

Paul now choked down Chinese takeout in paranoid mouthfuls, barely tasting the sesame and soy as it curdled in his stomach. The phantom was always near, permeating the apartment’s very atmosphere like the lingering stench of rotting produce at Hi-Lo’s back docks.

The night loomed ahead, where anything could crawl out from the darkness.

Paul jolted awake to a loud splintering coming from the bathroom.

He fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp. What the hell was that? A burglar? In his paranoid state of late, his mind jumped to the worst plausible conclusions.

Paul crept to the baseball bat, leaning in the corner of his bedroom. Ever since the disturbing visions began plaguing him, he had taken to keeping it close. The smooth wood had a nice heft in his sweaty palms.

Approaching the bathroom door, Paul pressed his ear to it. Only silence. Gripping the bat, he tapped the door open with his foot.

The room was dark and thick with shadows. Hadn’t he kept the light on? Paul’s fingers found the light switch and flicked it on. He squinted against the sudden brightness; the bat raised to strike.

There. Next to the shattered remains of the bathroom mirror, a figure stood. Watching him. Paul froze. It was his own face, staring back. The phantom had fully crossed over from reflection to flesh. Its icy eyes followed him as he took a faltering step back.

He tightened his grip on the bat as he saw the same knife from his visions in the Double’s hand.

“What the hell are you?” Paul shouted, voice quaking.

The figure’s lips twisted into a toothy, wolfish grin. “I’m you.”

Paul shook his head. “That’s impossible. I-I’m me.”

The figure tilted its head. “I’m the you that you bury deep down and ignore. The frustrated, furious you. Kept under lock and key. Well,” it straightened up, “no longer.”

It took a step toward Paul, who retreated until his back hit the hallway wall. “I-I don’t understand. What do you want from me?”

The Double cornered him, the knife brushing Paul’s throat.

“What I want is for you to stop fucking hiding from yourself,” it hissed. “Stop letting the world walk all over you while you just stand there like a passive, impotent dog. You’re pathetic.”

The doppelgänger pressed the knife harder against Paul’s neck; not enough to cut, but enough to hurt.

It continued, spit coating Paul’s white face. “You are so weak! There’s so much festering — rotting inside you, isn’t there? So many things you want to do but never will. You’re too afraid. Of judgment. Consequences… Me.”

It leaned close enough for Paul to smell its noxious breath. “Humans are capable of anything without society’s restraints. No rules we won’t break. No taboo too depraved. Why keep pretending you’re the hero in your story? Be the villain for once, you pathetic puppet.”

Paul stared into the hollow eyes of his doppelgänger, still struggling to comprehend how this being could have crossed over from his imagination into flesh and blood.

As if reading his thought, the entity turned and circled the room slowly, trailing the knife along the bathroom wall so it screeched against the tiles. “I’ve emerged to show you the truth about yourself that you try so hard to deny.”

Paul’s voice quaked. “What truth?”

“That you’re shackled. Working your lifeless job, paying taxes, being an oh-so-very-good boy. You’ve been domesticated, pal. Made complacent. Obedient. Neutered. You do what’s expected of you, never what you want.”

It paused, regarding Paul with an icy stare. “When was the last time you did something dangerous? Spontaneous? Even remotely thrilling? You’ve lost your edge. Your spark. Your manhood is nothing but shriveled grapes. How do you think that reflects on me? You’re just sleepwalking through a sanitized, pointless existence. Society’s so-called morality chains people down. Good little rule-followers too afraid to color outside the lines. Is that the life you want?”

“No, but — If we all did whatever we wanted — “

“ — we’d be free,” the Double turned and pointed the knife at Paul. “Deep down you’d love to break loose, huh? To take whatever you want — to hell with the consequences. Don’t deny it. Remember,” it said as it tapped the blade against its temple, “I know you.”

Paul’s breaths came faster as he shook his head.

“I’m trying to show you who you really are under all the layers of artificial civility,” the Double said. “Peeling them back like an onion.”

It grabbed Paul’s jaw and forced him to meet its hollow gaze.

“Let’s discuss Lucy, shall we?” it said and trailed the knife lightly along Paul’s collarbone. “Sweet, innocent, golden, Lucy… You want her, don’t you?”

Paul squirmed, a trickle of sweat sliding down his temple. “I — she’s my friend.”

It laughed. “Oh! A friend? She never talks to you!” It leaned in. “I know your thoughts when you look at her. The urges you pretend not to have. Tell me, when’s the last time you allowed yourself to indulge those primal urges?”

Paul turned his head. “I respect her too much. She deserves better than some workplace fling.”

It grabbed his chin again and forced their eyes to meet. “There it is. Hiding behind your plastic morals, again. Afraid to act. You’re pathetic — I’m tired of saying it!”

Paul wrenched his face from its grip. “So I should just make some crude advance? Not care how it makes her feel?”

The doppelgänger smiled. “You think too small. I’m talking about freeing yourself from the lie that you’re a good man. Take what you want from her — on your terms.”

A part of Paul felt nauseous at the thought. “No! Using someone like that, it’s wrong. I’d never forgive myself.”

It shrugged. “Because society’s programming shackles you. I’m offering you freedom from all that nonsense.”

It traced the knife down Paul’s chest. “Unchain yourself. Claim her as yours. Stop being a puppet.”

In his mind, he saw Lucy, smiling her golden smile. Imagined smelling her golden curls. Then, unbidden, taking her forcefully, his choice alone.

Paul’s breath came in shallow gasps as he slumped down the bathroom wall. The doppelgänger loomed over him.

“I’ve tried reasoning with you,” it said coldly. “But you cling to your paltry morals like a pathetic child clinging to its mother’s tit. So, I will give you one last chance.”

It kneeled and placed the tip of the blade under Paul’s chin. Paul’s eyes watered as he met the cool darkness of its stare.

“Embrace me. Rid yourself of the festering rot inside that society demands you suppress — or I will open your throat right here.”

The doppelgänger pressed the blade harder.

“I will countdown from three. Decide. Three…”

Paul trembled as the knife nicked his skin. Warm blood trickled down his neck.

“Two…”

The blade edged deeper into his skin. Paul clenched his jaw.

“One — “

With a cry, Paul grabbed the doppelgänger’s shoulders and slammed it backwards onto the tiled floor. He landed on top and pinned the duplicate down with his knees.

It laughed. “I guess that’s a no?”

“If you so much as look at her, I’ll kill you, I swear it!” Paul roared.

“Oh! Perhaps you have some spark left after all — too little, too late, but it’s there. Whatever. Lucy will be mine in the end. You’ve already lost.”

The doppelgänger moved with the fluid menace of a viper and flipped Paul onto the hard tiles. Paul smashed its ribs with his elbow, reveling in the wet snap of bone, but the creature barely flinched.

Its now obsidian eyes flashed with predatory hunger as it kicked Paul aside like a rag doll. His head cracked against the porcelain tub, white stars exploding across his vision.

Through the dazed fog, its waxy face swam into view. With delicate precision, it traced Paul’s cheek with the knife’s edge, leaving a crimson trail of blood.

“Poor weak Paulie,” it crooned, voice grating like coffin nails. Its now claw-like fingers twisted through his hair, wrenching back his head to fully expose his throat. The knife kissed his jugular.

Summoning his last dregs of fury, Paul thrashed in its steel vise. Pain shrieked through his right arm, so acute he nearly vomited. The knife had sliced flesh, arteries, and down to marrow, unleashing a gush of fresh blood. Paul swung his mangled arm and blood splashed across the creature’s face, painting its eyes scarlet.

It recoiled with a shriek and pawed at its blinded eyes. Seizing the distraction, Paul smashed his head against its face, pulverizing cartilage and bone. The creature dropped the knife and rolled, wrapping Paul in a bear-hug. It raked its razor fingertips down his back, flaying skin from muscle.

With a primal roar, Paul summoned a final burst of adrenaline-fueled strength. He wrenched himself free and mounted the creature, straddling its waist.

Primal bloodlust seized Paul and scorched away the last traces of the man he once was.

In that moment, the fragile bonds of civilization fell away and revealed the beast that lurks within all human hearts. Paul became a stranger to himself, like an actor who breaks character and can no longer grasp the role he is meant to play. The Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll called to him from the depths of his psyche.

Paul stared down into the abyss of his unleashed id and saw it staring back up at him from the bathroom floor.

With demented glee, Paul caved in the doppelgänger’s face with jackhammer punches, blow after blow, reducing it to a pulpy mask.

Gone was the gentle soul who winced at the sight of blood; in his place a wild-eyed beast who delighted in the wet crunch of shattering bone beneath his fists. With a final monstrous cry, Paul grabbed the knife and buried it to the hilt in the creature’s sunken chest.

It convulsed once and slumped into stillness.

Paul staggered upright on rubbery legs, his life leaking from the tattered ruins of his forearm. Yet through the thickening fog of blood loss, he thought he saw the corpse’s waxy fingers twitch ever so slightly.

He could do nothing as he crashed to the floor, and his consciousness faded.

A few days later, Paul strolled through the doors of the Hi-Lo Mart to begin his shift. Lingering soreness and stiffness plagued his body and dark bruises mottled his face, but he still had a bounce in his step.

Lucy looked up from her register and spotted him. “Paul?! W-what happened to you?”

Paul gave a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, y’know. Got a little roughed up at the bar last night — you should see the other guy, tho.”

Lucy’s eyes went wide.

Paul laughed. “Nah, I’m just kidding. Took a nasty tumble down the stairs. You know me, ever the Mr. Graceful.”

Lucy shook her head. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, tough guy.” And, for the first time, she gave him one of her golden smiles.

Paul rubbed the back of his neck. “So, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab dinner with me after work tonight? My treat!”

Lucy’s face lit up. “I’d love to! There’s that new Thai place I want to check out down the street.”

“Great, it’s a date then,” Paul said.

And flashed a toothy, wolfish smile.