The Doppelganger

British accent, male

The first time Marta saw herself was at the train station.

It was a normal Monday, just before dusk, and the platform was packed but eerily quiet. Weary commuters stood in loose groups, absorbed by their phones or staring down the tracks. Marta waited near the edge, as she always did, following a routine she had never questioned.

Then she noticed a woman standing a few metres away.

Same coat. Same bag. Same posture.

Marta frowned.

The woman turned.

And something inside Marta dropped sharply, like a missed step in the dark.

It was her.

Not similar. Not close. Exact.

The woman began walking toward her with calm certainty.

Marta stepped back instinctively.

“Don’t come closer,” she said.

The woman stopped.

Up close, there was only one difference. Her expression was completely calm—too calm—untouched by confusion or fear.

“I don’t have much time,” the woman said.

Marta’s voice trembled slightly. “Who are you?”

“I’m you,” the woman replied. “From tomorrow.”

Marta shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

The woman didn’t react.

“You’ve been losing time,” she said. “Small gaps. Minutes you can’t account for.”

Marta felt a cold sensation spread through her chest.

“That happens,” she said. “People forget things.”

“Not like this,” the woman replied. “When those minutes disappear, you disappear with them.”

Marta frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I take them,” the woman said. “I live those moments. I speak to people like you. I make decisions in your place.”

Marta stared at her.

“That isn’t real.”

“It is,” the woman said quietly. “You just chose not to see it.”

Marta thought of the past few days—comments from others, conversations she didn’t remember, and actions she couldn’t explain.

Her voice lowered.

“Why is this happening?”

The woman studied her for a moment.

“Because I continue,” she said. “And you fade.”

Marta left the station without boarding the train.

She walked home quickly, her thoughts racing, trying to impose logic on something that refused to make sense.

This nightmare isn’t real, she told herself.

But the gaps were real.

That night, she decided to test it.

She sat at her kitchen table and set a timer for ten minutes.

“I’m not moving,” she said aloud. “I’m staying here.”

The timer began.

One minute passed.

Two.

Three.

She focused on each second, forcing herself to remain fully aware.

At five minutes, she felt it.

A dull heaviness behind her eyes.

Like sleep, but deeper.

“No,” she whispered.

She stood abruptly and walked to the sink. Cold water hit her face.

She looked up—

—and everything went dark.

The kitchen lights were off.

The clock read 22:41.

Marta stepped back, disoriented.

“No,” she said. “That’s not possible.”

Her phone vibrated.

A message.

From her own number.

She opened it slowly.

“That was ten minutes.”

Her hands began to shake.

Another message followed.

“You were gone.”

The next day, Marta stayed home.

She locked the door and kept every light on.

She watched the clock constantly, measuring each passing second.

No gaps.

No missing time.

By the afternoon, a fragile sense of control returned.

Maybe she could stop it.

Her phone vibrated again.

Another message.

“You can’t stay awake forever.”

Marta stared at the screen, her pulse quickening.

Then she typed:

“What do you want?”

The reply came immediately.

“To replace you.”

Her chest tightened.

“Why?”

A brief pause.

Then:

“Because only one of us can remain.”

That evening, Marta prepared carefully.

She turned on every light.

She set multiple alarms.

She kept moving—walking, clapping her hands, speaking aloud—anything to stay alert.

She fixed her eyes on the clock.

19:10.

19:11.

“I’m still here,” she whispered.

19:12.

19:13.

Her thoughts began to slow, as if something were pulling them away.

“No,” she said.

She walked faster.

19:14.

Her body felt heavy.

19:15.

Her vision blurred slightly.

“No,” she said again, weaker this time.

19:16.

She tried to concentrate—

But her mind slipped.

Like something reaching in and taking hold.

19:17.

Marta tried to speak—

But no sound came out.

At 19:40, the other Marta stood in her kitchen.

Still.

Calm.

Complete.

She picked up her phone.

Typed a message.

Sent it.

Then placed the phone down.

Everything felt clear.

No gaps.

No fear.

No uncertainty.

She smiled faintly.

Now there would be no more interruptions.

Because there was no one left to interrupt her.

📒 Key vocabulary

• doppelganger  – a double of a living person
• dusk  – the time where it gets dark in the evening
• eerily – in a slightly scary way
• weary – tired
• commuters – people travelling to or from work
• posture – the way someone holds their body
• trembled (tremble, trembled, trembled) – shake involuntarily due to anxiety
• sensation – a physical or emotional feeling
• fade – become less visible, start to disappear
• impose – force an idea or belief
• disoriented – confused about time or place
• alert – awake and paying attention
• blurred (blur, blurred, blurred) – become unclear
• slipped (slip, slipped, slipped)  –  lose awareness or control

🤔 Comprehension quiz

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