The Ones That Look Like Us

The first thing Whitney noticed was the silence.

Every morning, she woke to the same sounds — her dad making coffee downstairs, the neighbor’s dog barking at passing cars, and her little brother arguing with someone on his video game.

But today, there was nothing.

Whitney checked her phone.

7:42 a.m.

She was late.

She jumped out of bed and rushed into the hallway.

“Dad?”

No answer.

Her brother’s bedroom door was open. His bed was neatly made, which was strange enough on its own.

“Justin?”

Still nothing.

Whitney hurried downstairs.

Two plates sat on the kitchen table. A mug of coffee rested beside her dad’s chair. Steam still curled from the top.

“Dad?”

She walked toward the back door and stopped.

It was wide open.

Cold air swept into the kitchen, carrying a few dead leaves across the floor.

Whitney’s stomach tightened.

“Something’s not right.”

She stepped outside.

Her dad’s car was still in the driveway. So was her brother’s bike.

Then she noticed something lying in the grass near the woods behind their house.

Her dad’s phone.

Whitney picked it up. The screen was cracked, but it still worked. There was a voice recording open.

She pressed play.

For several seconds, all she heard was her dad breathing.

Then his voice came through, quiet and shaky.

“Whitney, if you find this, don’t come looking for us.”

She froze.

A branch snapped somewhere in the woods.

Whitney slowly lifted her head.

“Dad?”

Another snap.

Closer this time.

Every part of her wanted to run back inside and lock the door.

Instead, she stared into the trees.

Someone was standing between them.

At first, Whitney thought it was her father.

Then the figure stepped into the morning light.

It had her father’s face.

But when it smiled, Whitney knew it wasn’t him.

Whitney couldn’t move.

The thing wearing her father’s face stood at the edge of the woods, smiling.

“Whitney,” it called.

The voice sounded exactly like her dad’s.

Almost.

Her real dad always stretched out her name when he was annoyed. This voice said it too perfectly, like it had practiced.

Whitney backed toward the house.

“Where’s Justin?”

The thing tilted its head.

“Your brother is with me.”

“Where?”

Its smile widened.

“Come and see.”

Whitney’s hand tightened around her father’s phone.

She remembered the recording.

Don’t come looking for us.

She ran.

The moment she turned, she heard footsteps racing through the grass behind her.

Whitney slammed the back door and locked it. Then she pushed a kitchen chair beneath the handle.

Silence.

She stared through the window.

Nothing was there.

Her hands shook as she unlocked her dad’s phone again.

Maybe there was something else. A message. A photo. Anything.

That was when she noticed the recording was longer than she’d thought.

She pressed play again and skipped past her dad’s warning.

For a few seconds, there was only static.

Then her father whispered.

“It can copy people. Their faces. Their voices. But it doesn’t know everything they know.”

A loud crash sounded in the recording.

Her dad started speaking faster.

“If it comes to the house, ask it something only the real person would know.”

The recording ended.

Three knocks came from the front door.

Whitney nearly dropped the phone.

“Whitney?” her brother called from outside. “Open up!”

She rushed toward the door, then stopped.

“Justin?”

“Yeah! Hurry!”

His voice sounded frightened.

Whitney reached for the lock.

Then she remembered her father’s recording.

Ask something only the real person would know.

“What did you break last Christmas?”

There was a pause.

“What?”

“Last Christmas. You broke something and made me promise not to tell Dad. What was it?”

Silence.

Then Justin laughed.

Not his normal laugh.

A slow, empty laugh.

“Whitney,” the voice said. “Open the door.”

She stepped backward.

The doorknob began to turn.

“Whitney.”

She ran upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom.

Her phone had no signal.

Neither did her dad’s.

Then she heard the front door open downstairs.

She had locked it.

She had put a chair under the handle.

But something was inside.

Footsteps moved through the kitchen.

Then the living room.

Then the stairs.

One step at a time.

Whitney looked around desperately.

Her window opened onto the sloped roof above the garage. She could climb down and run to a neighbor’s house.

She pushed the window open.

Then she heard a whisper from underneath her bed.

“Whitney.”

She stopped breathing.

A hand slowly reached out from the darkness.

Whitney stumbled backward.

Justin crawled out.

His clothes were muddy, and there was a cut above his eyebrow. He pressed one finger to his lips.

“Don’t scream,” he whispered.

Whitney stared at him.

“How do I know you’re really Justin?”

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom door.

“You already know how.”

Whitney hesitated.

“The thing downstairs couldn’t answer me.”

“I heard.”

Her stomach tightened.

He had been listening.

Whitney looked at him carefully.

“What did you break last Christmas?”

“Dad’s watch.”

She stared at him.

That was right.

But it wasn’t enough.

“And what did I do with it?”

“You hid it.”

“Where?”

For the first time, Justin hesitated.

Only for a second.

His eyes moved around the room.

Then toward her closet.

“In there.”

Whitney followed his gaze.

Her closet.

A cold feeling crept through her stomach.

She hadn’t said where she had hidden the watch.

But Justin had always known.

Hadn’t he?

Before she could think about it any longer, footsteps stopped outside her bedroom.

Three gentle knocks came from the other side.

Then their father’s voice spoke.

“Kids?”

Whitney and Justin looked at each other.

“Open the door,” the voice said. “It’s me.”

Justin shook his head.

Then another voice came from the hallway.

Whitney’s voice.

“Justin, open the door.”

His eyes widened.

Whitney felt the blood drain from her face.

Outside the bedroom, something wearing her voice began to laugh.

And from somewhere deep in the woods, they heard their real father scream.

Whitney grabbed Justin’s hand.

“We have to get Dad.”

Justin stared at her.

“Didn’t you hear his recording? He said not to come looking for him.”

“I know. But we can’t leave him out there.”

The bedroom doorknob moved.

Slowly.

Once to the left.

Once to the right.

Then it stopped.

“Whitney,” her own voice whispered from the hallway. “You know you want to open the door.”

Justin pointed toward the window.

They climbed onto the garage roof.

Whitney went first, lowering herself over the edge before dropping onto the wet grass.

Justin followed.

The moment his feet touched the ground, something slammed against Whitney’s bedroom window.

They looked up.

A face was pressed against the glass.

Whitney’s face.

Same brown hair.

Same eyes.

Same frightened expression.

Then it smiled.

“Run!” Whitney shouted.

They sprinted toward the woods.

Branches scratched Whitney’s arms as they followed a narrow trail between the trees.

“Where did you last see Dad?” she asked.

“Near the old shed.”

Whitney knew the place. It had been abandoned for years, hidden deep in the woods beyond their property.

As they ran, she noticed marks carved into the trees.

Long scratches.

Three on one tree.

Three on the next.

Then three more.

“Were those here before?”

Justin shook his head.

“No.”

Somewhere behind them, a branch snapped.

Whitney turned.

Nothing.

“Keep moving,” Justin whispered.

They hurried on.

After a few seconds, Whitney looked at him.

“How did you get back into the house without me seeing you?”

Justin glanced at her.

“Through your bedroom window.”

Whitney slowed.

“My window was locked.”

Justin stopped too.

For half a second, neither of them spoke.

Then he shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t. You opened it when you were trying to get out.”

Whitney stared at him.

He was right.

She had.

But he had been underneath her bed when she opened it.

Unless he had been watching her the whole time.

Come on,” Justin said. “We need to find Dad.”

Whitney followed him, but the uneasy feeling stayed with her.

A few yards behind them, hidden among the trees, something whispered in Whitney’s voice.

“Through your bedroom window.”

Justin spun around.

“What was that?”

Whitney stared into the woods.

Nothing moved.

“They’re listening,” she whispered.

Then a voice came from somewhere ahead.

“Whitney!”

Dad.

She stopped.

Justin pulled her arm.

“Don’t.”

“But what if it’s really him?”

“What if it isn’t?”

The voice came again.

“Help me!”

Whitney turned toward it.

A figure stumbled through the trees.

Her father.

His shirt was torn. Blood ran down one side of his face.

“Whitney! Justin!”

Whitney started toward him.

Justin blocked her.

“Ask him something.”

Whitney’s heart pounded.

“What did Mom give me on my tenth birthday?”

Their father stopped.

His face went blank.

For one terrible second, nobody moved.

Then he smiled.

“A bicycle.”

Whitney stepped backward.

Her mother had given her a silver necklace.

The thing rushed at them.

Whitney and Justin ran.

They reached the old shed and threw themselves through the door.

Justin slammed it shut while Whitney pushed an old wooden cabinet against it.

Something crashed into the other side.

Once.

Twice.

Then silence.

Justin pointed toward the corner.

“Whitney.”

A man was lying on the floor.

Their father.

His hands were tied behind his back.

“Dad!”

They rushed over.

He looked up weakly.

“Don’t touch me.”

Whitney froze.

“What?”

“Ask me something first.”

She understood.

“What did Mom give me on my tenth birthday?”

“A silver necklace,” he answered immediately. “You lost it two days later and cried for a week. I found it under the washing machine.”

Whitney dropped to her knees and hugged him.

“It’s really you.”

Justin untied the ropes.

Their father struggled to stand.

“We need to leave. Now.”

“What are those things?” Whitney asked.

“I don’t know.”

A scraping sound moved across the shed roof.

Dad looked up.

“But they’ve been here longer than we have.”

The scraping stopped directly above them.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Then came three knocks.

Dad’s face went pale.

“What?” Whitney whispered.

He stared at the ceiling.

“When I was a kid, my father told me never to answer three knocks in these woods.”

Whitney remembered the marks on the trees.

Three scratches.

Three knocks at the front door.

“It’s a sign,” Dad said.

“A sign of what?”

Before he could answer, Justin screamed.

Whitney spun around.

There were two Justins standing beside her.

Both looked terrified.

Both pointed at the other.

“That’s not me!” they shouted at exactly the same time.

Whitney backed away.

Dad grabbed a rusted shovel from the wall.

One Justin began crying.

“Whitney, please. You know me.”

The other shook his head desperately.

“He copied me! Don’t listen to him!”

Whitney tried to think.

Then she remembered Christmas.

“What did you break last Christmas?”

“Dad’s watch,” both Justins answered.

At exactly the same time.

Whitney’s stomach dropped.

Then she understood.

Of course they knew.

She had already said it.

The Justin who had crawled from beneath her bed had heard the question. Whatever had been outside the bedroom could have heard them too.

Every question she asked was teaching them.

Every answer was giving them another piece.

Dad seemed to realize it at the same moment.

“Stop asking questions,” he said.

One Justin smiled.

Then the second one smiled too.

“You figured it out,” they said together.

Above them, something knocked three times.

And this time, the answer came from beneath the floor.

Three knocks.

Everyone froze.

Then a weak voice called from below.

“Whitney?”

Both Justins stopped smiling.

Dad tightened his grip on the shovel.

The voice came again.

“Whitney, help me!”

It was Justin.

Whitney looked at the two boys standing in front of her.

Neither spoke.

Dad moved toward an old rug in the corner of the shed and pulled it away.

Underneath was a wooden trapdoor.

“I never knew this was here,” he whispered.

The handle shook.

“Please!” Justin cried from below. “They locked me down here!”

Whitney stared at the trapdoor.

Then at the two boys.

Then everything clicked into place.

The thing outside the front door hadn’t known about Dad’s watch.

The one beneath her bed had.

Because it had been listening.

She had given it the answer.

And every time she tested them after that, she had taught them something new.

The Justin who had crawled from beneath her bed had never been her brother.

Neither of the boys standing in front of her was.

“Dad,” she whispered. “Open it.”

The two copies moved at once.

“No!”

Dad swung the shovel, forcing them backward, while Whitney pulled open the trapdoor.

A narrow staircase disappeared underground.

Justin was at the bottom.

His hands were tied, and his face was covered in dirt.

“Whitney!”

She ran down and untied him.

Above them came a crash.

Then another.

Whitney helped Justin up the stairs.

Dad stood near the door, holding the shovel in front of him.

The copies were gone.

“Where did they go?” Whitney asked.

Dad stared at the broken window.

“Back into the woods.”

“We should go home.”

“No,” Dad said. “We leave the woods completely.”

They stepped outside.

The morning sun was finally breaking through the trees.

For the first time, Whitney could see the scratches clearly.

Three marks carved into almost every trunk.

She looked at her father.

“What does the sign mean?”

Dad was quiet for a moment.

"When I was little, my father told me a story. He said something lived beneath these woods. It couldn’t make its own face, so it borrowed ours.”

“Why three knocks?”

“He said the first knock means it’s watching you. The second means it knows you.”

Dad looked toward the shed.

“The third means it can become you.”

Whitney’s stomach turned.

They hurried toward the road.

As they walked, Whitney stayed close to Justin.

She still needed to know.

She leaned toward him.

“What’s my middle name?”

Justin whispered the answer directly into her ear.

“Rose.”

Whitney nodded.

Another question.

“What did you give me for my birthday?”

Again, he leaned close enough that only she could hear him.

“That ugly green bracelet.”

Whitney pulled away.

“It wasn’t ugly.”

“It absolutely was.”

She almost laughed.

That was Justin.

But Whitney didn’t ask anything else.

Not out loud.

They were listening.

They reached the edge of the woods.

Their house stood across the yard.

A police car was parked in the driveway.

Dad stopped.

“Police?”

Whitney felt relieved for the first time all morning.

Someone must have heard something.

An officer stepped out of the house.

Then another.

The first officer saw them.

His face went pale.

“Stay where you are!”

Dad raised his hands.

“What’s going on?”

The officer slowly reached for his radio.

Then Whitney saw someone standing in the kitchen window.

Herself.

Beside her stood Justin.

And beside Justin was their father.

The copies had beaten them home.

The officer looked from the family inside the house to the family standing at the edge of the woods.

“What the hell?”

Whitney’s copy smiled through the window.

Then it lifted one hand.

Three fingers.

Dad grabbed Whitney and Justin.

“Run.”

They raced toward the road.

Behind them, the front door opened.

“Whitney!” the copy of Dad shouted.

They didn’t turn around.

They kept running until the house disappeared behind the trees.

Six months later, they lived three states away.

They never returned for their belongings.

Dad changed his phone number.

Justin changed schools.

Whitney tried to forget.

For a while, she almost did.

Then one rainy evening, Dad was making dinner when someone knocked at the front door.

Once.

Whitney looked up from the couch.

A second knock came.

Justin walked into the room.

“Are you expecting someone?”

Dad shook his head.

Then came the third knock.

Nobody moved.

Whitney’s heart began pounding.

Dad whispered, “Stay here.”

He approached the door but didn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

No answer.

He looked through the peephole.

Then slowly stepped away.

His face had gone completely white.

“What is it?” Whitney asked.

Dad didn’t answer.

Whitney walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside.

A girl stood on the porch.

Same brown hair.

Same eyes.

Same face.

Whitney’s face.

The girl looked directly at her through the window.

Then she smiled.

Whitney backed away.

Her copy raised one finger to the glass.

And tapped.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The lights went out.

In the darkness, Whitney heard Justin whisper beside her.

“Something’s not right.”

Whitney reached for his hand.

But someone was already holding it.

From the other side of the room, Justin screamed.

Whitney froze.

The hand holding hers tightened.

And suddenly she understood.

The creatures had never followed them.

One of them had left the woods with them.

Six months ago.