The cabin creaked under the weight of the autumn wind, nestled deep in the Adirondacks where cell service was a myth and neighbors were a two-hour hike away. Jack Harlan had chosen this place for their anniversary getaway, a chance to reconnect with Emily after twenty years of marriage. She had smiled when he suggested it, her perfect white teeth flashing in that way that always made his heart skip. ‘Just us,’ she’d said, packing their bags with efficient grace. Now, as rain lashed the windows, Jack sat by the fire, nursing a whiskey, watching Emily hum softly while preparing dinner.

She moved like she always did—fluid, precise, almost too graceful for a woman in her forties. Jack loved that about her. But lately, something nagged at him. It had started months ago, small things. Emily never got colds. Never aged, really. Her skin was still porcelain smooth, her auburn hair lustrous without a hint of gray. He chalked it up to good genes, yoga, the organic lifestyle she insisted on. But tonight, in the flickering firelight, her shadow on the wall seemed… wrong. Too tall, too thin, the arms elongating unnaturally as she chopped vegetables.

‘Dinner’s almost ready, love,’ she called, not turning. How did she know he was staring? Jack shook his head, blaming the whiskey. They ate in companionable silence, the stew hearty and warm. Emily didn’t eat much, picking at her plate with polite disinterest. ‘Not hungry?’ he asked. She smiled. ‘Just savoring.’ Her eyes met his, and for a split second, they looked black, bottomless pits swallowing the firelight. Jack blinked, and they were hazel again.

That night, sleep evaded him. Emily lay beside him, breathing evenly, her chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Too perfect. Jack pressed his ear to her back—nothing. No heartbeat. Panic fluttered in his chest. He pulled away, heart pounding. Imagination. Stress from work. But when he slipped out of bed and checked the mirror, his own reflection looked haggard, eyes bloodshot. Emily’s side of the mirror was empty; she’d risen silently.

Morning brought fog, thick and cloying, muffling the world outside. Jack found Emily on the porch, staring into the mist. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she murmured. He nodded, forcing a smile. Over coffee, he tested her. ‘Remember our first date? That Italian place on Fifth.’ Her answer was flawless: the menu, the spilled wine, the kiss in the rain after. But Jack remembered it raining the next day. ‘No, it was that night,’ he said. Emily tilted her head. ‘Are you sure, Jack? I remember clearly.’ Doubt crept in. Whose memory was wrong?

Days blurred. The cabin felt smaller, walls pressing in. Jack found excuses to tinker outside, but Emily followed, her presence constant. He caught glimpses: her reflection in the lake, distorted, face elongating. Once, he swore her fingers were too long when she handed him a tool. Paranoia set in. What if she wasn’t Emily? What if something had taken her place? He’d read stories—changelings, skinwalkers, doppelgangers. Ridiculous, but the fear gnawed.

He searched her things while she napped—if she slept at all. In her suitcase, a small locked box. Picking the lock with a hairpin, he found photos. Their wedding, kids’ births, vacations. Emily identical in every one, not a line on her face across decades. And a journal, entries in her neat script: ‘He suspects. Must be careful. The hunger grows.’ Jack’s blood ran cold. Hunger? For what?

That night, he confronted the darkness alone. Barricaded in the study with his laptop—no internet, but downloaded files on folklore. Succubi, mimics that wore human skins. Emily knocked softly. ‘Jack? Come to bed.’ Her voice was honey, but he saw the door handle twist without touch. He didn’t answer.

Morning two: Emily seemed normal, cooking breakfast, laughing at his jokes. But Jack watched. She didn’t blink. Minutes passed without a flutter of eyelids. When he pointed it out, she laughed. ‘Silly. Here.’ She blinked exaggeratedly. Too human.

He planned escape. The car keys were gone. ‘Misplaced them,’ she said sweetly. Hiking out was suicide in this weather. Phone dead. Trapped.

Day three: Hallucinations? No. Emily’s skin was cool when he touched her. No pulse. He pressed harder; she didn’t flinch. ‘What’s wrong, love?’ No warmth. Jack backed away. ‘You’re not her.’ Emily’s smile faded. ‘Not who?’

He locked himself in the bedroom, heart racing. Through the keyhole, her eye—black, unblinking. Hours passed. Night fell. Scratching at the door, soft, insistent.

Day four: Supplies low. Jack emerged, desperate. Emily waited, serene. ‘We need to talk.’ They sat at the table. ‘Tell me the truth. What are you?’

She sighed, a sound like wind through dead leaves. ‘Jack, I’ve been waiting for this. You’ve always been sensitive.’ She reached for his hand; he jerked back. ‘Do you remember the accident? Ten years ago, the car crash on the interstate? You died, Jack. Your body mangled, heart stopped. But something came back in your place.’

Jack laughed, hysteria bubbling. ‘Lies. I remember everything.’

‘The kids noticed first,’ she continued, voice steady. ‘Tommy said Daddy’s eyes changed. Sarah wouldn’t hug you. I saw it—the way you devoured their fear in small bites, grew stronger. Your skin fits poorly now, doesn’t it? The seams itching.’

He scratched his arm unconsciously. Yes, it itched. ‘No. You’re the monster. The photos—’

‘I planted doubts. Made you think it was me. Because if you realized too soon, you’d kill us all. I’ve endured, waited for you to confront “me,” to give me proof.’ Emily’s eyes hardened. ‘But now, the kids are gone. You ate them, Jack. Their rooms empty.’

He ran upstairs. Tommy and Sarah’s beds pristine, suitcases missing. ‘They went to grandma’s,’ Emily called. No. He remembered dropping them off. Or did he?

Back down, Emily held a knife from the block. ‘The entity in you—it mimics perfectly until cornered. Then it drops the mask.’ Jack felt a shift inside, hunger surging. His vision sharpened; Emily’s face rippled, human frailty exposed.

‘You were never my Emily,’ he growled, voice not his own.

‘I am,’ she whispered, lunging.

The struggle was brief. Jack’s strength unnatural, knife plunging into her chest. She gasped, blood hot and real. ‘Finally… free.’ Her eyes, hazel to the end, dimmed.

Jack stood over the body, panting. The cabin silent. He dragged her to the lake, weighted with stones. Returned, cleaned. In the mirror, his face smoothed, perfect now. Emily’s clothes folded away.

He smiled at his reflection—porcelain skin, lustrous hair. ‘Just us,’ he said to the empty room. Outside, the fog lifted. Time to find new love.

But as he packed, a small journal fell from her suitcase. His handwriting: ‘She suspects. Must be careful. The hunger grows.’

Jack froze. No—

The door creaked open. Two children stood there, eyes black. ‘Daddy? We’re home.’