Doppelganger

Doppelganger

She scooped up the little pile of nail clippings from the bathroom counter and was just about to dump them in the wastebasket when she realized in a flash of insight the danger she was in. She quickly ran to the apartment door and locked it. She closed all the Venetian blinds, and locked the bathroom door behind her.
“They can do things to you with stuff like this, “ she murmured to herself, and swept the clippings into her hand. She found a small Ziploc bag in a drawer and neatly deposited the nails into it. The bag was tucked away in the back of the drawer. “Whew, that was close,” she sighed.
The next day she noticed her eyebrows were getting shaggy. She carefully plucked them, then added them to the Ziploc bag. “You can never be too careful,” she thought.
The hair from the shower drain was added next, then some skin that peeled off her sunburned shoulders. Over the next few months the bag got to be quite full. It looked rather yucky, she thought, but it was better to be safe than sorry. After all, she reminded herself, They can do things with your hair and skin if They get it.
One morning, as she stirred the nondairy creamer into her coffee, she suddenly realized her mistake. There, on the otherwise clean and empty counter, was an already damp spoon and a coffee cup with a few dregs of still-warm brew. She stifled a shriek, then flew back to her bedroom.
The Other stood in front of the open closet door, looking disdainfully at the blouses and skirts. “Really,” she said, “You need to go shopping. This stuff is way too conservative, and BORING to boot!” Don’t you ever go to parties or anything?”
She stood with her mouth hanging slightly open, the unasked question dangling from her small pink tongue. The Other laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. “Oh you silly! It’s so much easier when you leave it all together in one place. It takes much longer if we have to gather it all bit by bit. You really have been very helpful.” At this the Other pulled a long silk scarf off a hook, tossed it across her shoulders and flounced out the door.
After the front door clicked shut, the silence crashed in. She went to look at her appointment diary. Today at noon she was to meet some coworkers for a long lunch downtown. She knew now she would never go.
At the restaurant the Other tossed her auburn hair off her shoulders and laughed with delight. “Ah, it’s so fun to get out like this!” Her friends looked on in astonishment. You seem so different, they said, so free and wild and crazy. Did you meet a guy? A day at the spa? “Nothing like that, really, “ sparkled the green eyes and white teeth. “Sometimes you just need a change, you know? Just to be someone else.” They nodded in solemn agreement, as if they knew.