Part 2

The first time Damien truly began to suspect the paper figure was late one night. He had been deep in sleep when a pressing need to use the bathroom jolted him awake. Groggy and disoriented, he fumbled his way through the dark apartment, guided only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

But as he neared the bathroom, something made him freeze. There, silhouetted against the window, was the unmistakable outline of a person.

Damien's breath caught in his throat. His body went rigid, every muscle locking in place as his heart pounded like a drum. The figure stood motionless, its back to him, framed by the pale moonlight streaming through the glass. For a moment, time seemed to stop.

His mind raced. Who is that? How did they get in? Slowly, carefully, he turned his head, scanning the darkness for something—anything—to defend himself with. His hand brushed against the handle of a broom leaning against the wall. Gripping it tightly, he spun around, ready to confront the intruder.

But the figure was gone.

The window was empty, the curtains swaying gently in the night breeze. Damien flicked on the lights, his hands trembling as he searched every corner of the apartment. Nothing. No sign of forced entry, no footprints, no evidence that anyone had been there at all.

"Am I… seeing things?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. But deep down, he knew what he had seen. The memory of the figure's silhouette burned in his mind, clear and undeniable.

As he returned to his bedroom, his eyes fell on the paper figure lying on the floor near the window. His stomach churned. "How did it end up here?" he muttered, picking it up. The paper felt unnaturally warm, almost alive. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely. For a brief, irrational moment, he considered tearing it apart, as if that might somehow solve the mystery.

But he hesitated. The idea was absurd. How could a paper figure—a lifeless, folded piece of paper—be connected to any of this? And yet, every strange event that had happened lately seemed to circle back to it. The warm computer, the mysteriously cleaned apartment, and now this… apparition.

"I'm losing it," Damien muttered, shaking his head. "A paper figure can't move. It can't clean. It can't… become a person." He laughed nervously, trying to dismiss the thought. But the unease lingered, a gnawing doubt he couldn't quite shake.

He placed the paper figure back on the windowsill, this time weighing it down with a heavy book to keep it from falling. As he climbed back into bed, he couldn't help but glance at it one last time. The moonlight cast long shadows across its crude, featureless face, and for a moment, it almost looked like it was smiling.

When the class monitor invited Damien to his birthday party, Damien's first instinct was to decline. He barely knew the guy—or most of his classmates, for that matter. The invitation felt more like a formality, a way to fill seats and make the party look livelier. The thought of spending hours making awkward small talk with near-strangers made his skin crawl. Plus, he had exams coming up, and every minute counted.

But saying no wasn't in his nature. After a long, reluctant pause, he mumbled an agreement and hung up the phone. He flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, and let out a frustrated sigh. "If only I had a double," he muttered, half to himself. "Someone who could go to these things for me so I wouldn't have to."

As he closed his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible voice whispered back, "I can do that."

Damien's eyes snapped open. He sat up, his heart racing. "Who's there?" he demanded, scanning the room. The voice had been soft but unmistakable, and it definitely wasn't his own.

The room was silent. Just as he began to convince himself it was his imagination, the voice spoke again, clearer this time. "Thank you for bringing me home. If you need me, I'll do anything for you."

Damien's blood ran cold. He leapt off the bed, his eyes darting around the room. "Who are you? Where are you?" he shouted, his voice trembling.

The voice didn't answer immediately. Instead, it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing faintly in the small space. Then, slowly, it grew louder, more distinct. "I'll do anything for you…"

Damien's gaze followed the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. And then he saw it.

The paper figure.It was moving.

The heavy book he had placed on top of it slid off as if pushed by an invisible hand. The figure rose from the table, its edges fluttering as if caught in a breeze, though the air was still. It floated toward him, its crude, hand-drawn eyes locking onto his.

Damien stumbled back, his hands clammy with sweat. "Is… is that you?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The figure hovered in front of him, its paper body twisting slightly as if alive. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, it tilted its head. Its eyes—once simple ink blots—rolled in their sockets, focusing on him. The jagged line that served as its mouth stretched into a grotesque smile.

"It's me," it said, its voice low and raspy, like paper rubbing against paper. The mouth moved unnaturally, the edges of the paper curling as it spoke. "I'll do anything for you…"

Damien sat on the edge of his bed, still reeling from the shock. The paper figure, now fully animated, was hopping around the room with an almost childlike glee. Its movements were jerky yet deliberate, like a marionette controlled by invisible strings.

"Finally!" it exclaimed, its voice a strange blend of papery rustling and human speech. "No more lying around doing nothing. That was so boring!"

Watching the tiny paper figure move and speak was equal parts unsettling and absurd. Damien couldn't decide whether to laugh or scream. But one thing was clear: all the strange occurrences—the warm computer, the cleaned apartment, the shadowy figure by the window—had been the work of this… thing.

"A paper figure coming to life… This is insane," Damien muttered, staring at it as if trying to unravel its secrets. "How is this even possible?"

The figure stopped mid-hop and turned to face him, its crude, hand-drawn eyes locking onto his. "What's so strange about it?" it said, its voice dripping with mock innocence. "If anything, you should feel lucky you found me. Because—" It paused, its paper mouth curling into a sinister grin. "I can be your double."

"My… double?" Damien echoed, his mind flashing back to his earlier wish. "You mean you could actually go to that party for me?"

"Of course," the figure replied, puffing out its paper chest with pride. "I can do anything you need me to do. Anything at all."

As it spoke, its form began to shift. The edges of the paper blurred and expanded, its flat body stretching and reshaping itself. Damien watched in stunned silence as the figure grew taller, its features becoming more defined. Within seconds, it was no longer a paper figure.

It was him.

An exact replica of Damien stood before him, down to the smallest detail—the way his hair fell slightly to one side, the faint scar on his chin from a childhood accident, even the way he nervously tapped his foot when standing still. The only difference was the eerie, almost predatory glint in its eyes.

"Well?" the double said, its voice now a perfect mimicry of Damien's own. It smirked, a gesture so familiar it sent a chill down Damien's spine. "What do you think?"

For a moment, Damien was too stunned to speak. His mind raced, torn between disbelief and a strange, giddy excitement. If this thing could truly act as his double, then… he was free. Free from social obligations, free from awkward interactions, free to live his life exactly as he wanted.

A grin spread across his face. "This is… amazing," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and relief. "You're really going to do this for me?"

The double tilted its head, its smirk widening. "Of course. After all, I'm here to make your life easier."

But as Damien's initial excitement began to settle, a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning. What was the catch? Why would this thing—whatever it was—offer to help him so willingly?

For now, though, he pushed those thoughts aside. He had a party to avoid, and a double ready to take his place. What could possibly go wrong?