Prose Header

Stealing Home

by Ted Weir

Waiting in the doctor’s office is dangerous. You don’t know what disease the person next to you has. And how they cough! It’s enough to make you paranoid.

Finally, a nurse called my name, Dave Smith, and I relaxed. Then someone else got up and she took him back to see the doctor. Why was this guy stealing my appointment? He looked like me but he wasn’t me.

I went to the counter to ask someone who he was but no one was there. I looked back to the waiting room and they were staring at me as if I had done something wrong.

I left the office and didn’t argue about the appointment. I needed to understand what was happening to me. I waited outside and followed him to his house. Was this guy one of them?

As I walked, I thought, life has been getting stranger lately. Things were missing from my apartment or suddenly showed up from nowhere. Strangers stared at me, whispering among themselves.

When we got to the other Dave’s house, it looked like he lived alone. A nice big house, and private too.

The back door was ajar so I quietly entered. Nice kitchen. Then I heard him coming. To kidnap me? To kill me? I pulled a knife from the rack and hid behind the counter. He walked past. I leapt up and stabbed him repeatedly. Personality thief, conspirator!

After he was deservedly dead, I walked into my living room and looked around. My sport trophies sat on the shelf. I walked over and read one: Club Best — Dane Smith.

They’ve changed my name.

Copyright © 2007 by Ted Weir

Home Page