The Doppelganger

By Scot Savage

Be careful what you wish for.
You just might get it!

Tom "Stick" Stickelson, a college student and aspiring journalist gets just that when he tries to find the big story that will grant him fame and fortune.

A series of murders on campus later shows that the killer is not human!

The creature has a sinister plot and Tom seems to fit into its plan.

Tom finds that he must fight the evil alone. Will he prevail or become part of the plot?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781387234370

Book preview

The Doppelganger

The Doppelganger

A Novel

Scot Savage

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Scot Savage Enterprises

Schaumburg, IL

www.havevampirewilltravel.com

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Scot Savage Enterprises

Copyright © 2008 by Scot Savage

ISBN # 978-1-387-23437-0

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to, photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or where permitted by law.

Cover Art by Scot Savage

Scot Savage Enterprises Designs

Printed in the United States of America

¹⁰ ⁹ ⁸ ⁷ ⁶ ⁵ ⁴ ³ ²

Dedication

For Tom Carty!

PROLOGUE 1

After several days, the creature, overcome with curiosity and finally putting its fear to the side, had somehow mustered enough courage to get a better look at the strange campsite.

Just as the creature feared, it was a camp of humans!

After many centuries of hiding on this secluded island, the humans had finally found its secret place.

But were they there to hunt it down or merely here by chance in pursuit of some other petty, selfish goal?

Was there a Sentinel within that group of humans?

Perhaps, not.

Maybe, there were no more Sentinels at all.

It was the humans and their Sentinels that caused the extermination of the creature’s race—all save one!

It was the humans that caused the creature to flee from its homeland to take refuge in this desolate land.

It was once a proud creature. Its kind were meant to rule the world.

All these years, it was forced to live like an animal and without the presence of other intelligent beings, it slowly lost its intellectual capacity and became like an animal itself.

For a long time, the creature had thought it was an animal and had forgotten what it truly was.

It was only a few days before, when the humans arrived, that their mental waves had stimulated the creature’s brain patterns. With its mind no longer repressed, it was slowly remembering. It was getting its intelligence back. It was remembering what it was like to feed. The creature had forgotten the joy and stimulation of feeding.

It planned to feed again!

But was it safe? What about the Sentinels?

The creature surmised that since the long passage of time, along with the fact that the humans believed they had exterminated its entire race, perhaps, its race was forgotten all together. Perhaps, if that were the case, the humans had no more need to breed Sentinels. If there were any humans that had the genetic potential or the mental learning capacity to be sentinels, they did not know that they were Sentinels. If they did not know they were Sentinels, then they would be unaware of their purpose in life and also of their ability to see. If no one knew that they were Sentinels, there would be no Elder Sentinels to teach the younger Sentinels the arts and disciplines that could fully utilize the ability to see.

Humans were a plague, but they knew how to adapt. They were clever and devious and could unite for a common cause in dire times. They had done this against the creature’s race with the guidance of the Sentinels—but they were also petty, greedy and self-centered. That made most of them easy to manipulate— most of them—except for the Sentinels!

The Sentinels had brought the Age of Science, Technology, Insight and Enlightenment that helped the humans rise from the depths of ignorance and superstition. It was ignorance and superstition that kept the humans in line. It was what made the creature’s race rule above all others—if it weren’t for a handful of accursed sentinels.

The creature approached the camp more closely, but still kept its distance. It carefully hid in the forest and observed quietly. It could not afford to be seen.

The longer the creature observed, the more confident it became about the future for itself and its race. It was able to absorb more mental waves.

It was able to become smarter, braver and more cunning!

For days, the creature looked at the strange tents and the ways of the camp inhabitants. The creature cursed itself for not investigating sooner. It had originally believed that the arrival of the humans would bring grim tidings. This was not the case. The news was more than it had ever hoped for.

It had learned that the humans were not here to seek it out. They were here on a mere exploration venture. They were here because no other humans had been here before. Some humans were here for scientific reasons such as to discover and catalogue new species of flora and fauna. Some were here for the glory. Some were here for the purpose of financial gain.

There were no Sentinels within the group of humans. They had no knowledge that anything like the creature had ever existed at all. That would make it all the easier. They were all so absorbed in their own self-interests that none of them would ever take notice of it.

How ironic!

It was the very same science and technology that lead to the creature’s downfall all those centuries ago, but now it made the humans blind. They were so blind that they could not possibly come to believe that a creature like itself could ever exist. It would use that blindness to reap its punishment and revenge upon humankind. The creature no longer needed fear and superstition to take its rightful place. These humans now lacked imagination and the great power of faith that once made them strong.

All it had to do was bid its time and wait for the right moment to strike. It had to gather all its courage. It had to wait for a straggler.

It needed merely one of the humans to wonder off just a little bit further—just enough to be out of sight from the others for a few moments.

A few moments were all it would take.

A few moments were all that was needed…

PROLOGUE 2

In my illustrious career as a journalist, I have covered many happy, strange, and tragic events.

I had covered Operation: Desert Storm. I had covered the story when some nutcases had decided to bomb some federal buildings in Oklahoma City.  I was there to cover the story when residents in a small southern town had banned together to save a little girl who had fallen and was trapped in an abandon well. I have covered three presidential elections in which the candidates knew me by name. I was there when the son of a slain president was killed when his private plane had crashed into the ocean.

These are but a few events I had the pleasure to write about. There have been many more, but I would have to write several books to cover them all.

So far, I’ve had a great career.

I’ve worked for many prominent newspapers, magazines and news stations in the country. I’ve managed to pick up a few awards on the way.

I’m still enjoying the ride. I still plan to do what I do for a long time to come. I believe that I will have many great experiences in the future.

However, I highly doubt I’ll come across any story like the story I’m about to tell.

It’s a story that is so strange and bizarre that all other events will pale in comparison.

However, it’s a story that I never told to anyone who wasn’t a part of it. It’s a story that was never published or ever will be published.

This is the first time since my silence that I’ve had the nerve to repeat this account. This obscure manuscript will be the only written record for prosperity.

Why is that?

Why was this story never told?

I have a few good reasons…

First, it’s too unbelievable. I can scarcely believe it myself. Sometimes, I wonder if it actually happened.

Did I imagine the whole thing?

No legitimate publication would ever print this story unless I submitted it as fiction.

Second, if I did go public, everyone would think I was nuts. There are certain groups of individuals that want this story to stay buried. If I tried to tell it, they would see to it that I would be dismissed as a crackpot.

If that happened, it would destroy my career and credibility. I’d be lucky if I got a job for one of the tabloids.

Third, the they I am referring to are certain government officials that I think best not to name.

They asked me to "cooperate" and just forget what I know. I was never actually threatened, but I know they would get very nasty if I decided to talk.

It turned out for the better. In exchange for my cooperation, a few strings were pulled so I could get ahead in the journalist game.

They helped me land my first job. From time to time, they gave me leads and information that other reporters were not privy. I get certain stories before anyone else.

That’s the secret of my success!

Some may call this a bribe.

I call it compensation.

No one said that I couldn’t keep a private account of what happened.

I’m just writing this for peace of mind and final closure.

Occasionally, this incident comes back to haunt me in my dreams.

In my quest to continue on with a normal life, I’ve tried too hard to deny the reality by putting it on the back shelf. This is my way of coming to terms with that experience.

I believe that if I keep a written record of this (albeit an unread record), it would be a fair compromise to my sanity.

Perhaps someday, long after I’m gone, this manuscript may re-surface as well.

Perhaps, the passage of time and the discovery of this manuscript will warrant an investigation. Maybe the public will be opened-minded enough to accept what has happened without causing a panic.

After all, they have a right to know. Being open-minded was how I was able to get through it.

As I sit by my computer keyboard and turn on my word processor, I think back and slowly remember the events.

It was many years ago.

In some ways it seemed like yesterday. In others, it seemed like a long time ago. And in still others, it seemed like it never happened at all.

Perhaps, I’m just deluded and only writing a fictional story that I believe to be true.

Nevertheless, I type away…

The words come out easily as I replay the events in my head.

CHAPTER 1

The year was 1985…

Ronald Reagan was president of the United States.

Our very own, Chicago Bears, were the Superbowl champs.

Iron Mike Tyson was making waves in the boxing scene and on the road to being the youngest heavyweight titleholder in history.

The Bulls had acquired the services of Michael Jordan who had led team U.S.A. to Olympic gold.

Amadeus won the Oscar for best picture.

It was the age of leather mini-skirts, wide waist-belts, parachute pants, and thin neckties.

The girls wore their hair big and poofy (sometimes with colored streaks), while the guys wore theirs spiked or long and wavy (sometimes with a small ponytail hanging off the back).

Duran Duran was considered the music demi-god at that time along with the likes of A Flock of Sea Gulls, Michael Jackson (with his array of face-lifts), Madonna and the multi-hair colored, Cyndi Lauper.

Technology was quite different as well.

Unlike today, only a few people had pagers and cellular phones, namely because they were very expensive.

Cell phones were also very large and didn’t fit in your pocket.

There were no caller I.D. boxes.

My family owned a BETA VCR despite my best efforts to get them to go with VHS.

My term papers were written via typewriter rather than word processor.

Computer Science was known as Information Science.

My friends, who majored in it, had to turn in assignments using a clumsy (and easily bendable) five and a quarter inch floppy disc.

No CDs or flash drives.

The millennium bug was fifteen years away—and no one gave a shit!

Things have changed so much since then…

Now, I’m starting to sound like my grandfather who cried about the good ol’ days before there were traffic jams and a candy bar only cost a nickel.

It was back in those days that I went by the nickname of Stick.

It wasn’t a name of my choosing. My friends gave it to me.

I didn’t mind being called Stick, but I still preferred my real name, which is Tom.

There were two reasons for this.

First, Stick was simply a shortened version of my last name Stickelson

(I have since had it legally changed for both professional and personal reasons).

Second, at that time, I was six feet and one inch tall and barely weighed 150 pounds (I’ve gained considerable weight since then). Therefore, I looked like a human walking stick.

Despite my slender build, I was in really great shape. I jogged four miles a day whereas my healthy friends would start gasping for air after one.

I must have had a high metabolism back then, because I ate whatever I wanted and could never seem to gain an ounce.

It was late spring that year.

At that time, I was a junior at the University of Park Ridge.

It was a great campus and conveniently located in a nice, quiet suburb off the northwest side of Chicago. It was also a relatively new campus—only ten years old by the time I attended. Everything still looked brand new. The town took pride in keeping things up.

Actually, the university was originally a prep school for over-privileged youths that dated back to the 1890s, but was later donated to the town, but I’ll get into more detail about that later.

I was majoring in Journalism and taking some creative writing classes as well. I enjoyed going to school. I found most of my classes interesting including the general education courses that were required. I studied and worked very hard because I wanted to maintain a high grade point average.

Most of my friends and fellow classmates didn’t share my enthusiasm. They just wanted to pass. College was a time for fun. They lived for the weekends—and the parties!

Of course, I wasn’t a total bookworm and I enjoyed a good party now and then.  I did my share of drinking and passing out on a friend’s sofa.

Being a journalism student meant that I got to work on the school newspaper, which was called The Ridge Reader. I didn’t get paid, but it was a good place to get experience. I had aspirations of becoming a big-time reporter or some sort of international correspondent.

In the meantime, I had to settle for a humble little column.

I had plenty of time to write and still get my studying done. I might not have been able to put so much time on the school paper had I needed to work full-time.

Fortunately, my parents were sending me money for tuition and other essentials. I was also able to make ends meet by receiving a stipend as a student assistant. I helped the professors grade papers, tutored other student, and did miscellaneous administrative work.

That was a bonus when I needed information on a story. I was also able to make my own hours to adjust to class and my personal schedule.

What did I actually do for the paper?

I usually did human-interest stories about students and teachers. If anyone important visited campus, I was usually sent out to do an interview. The stories I covered were interesting, but nothing I could brag about or would

look impressive on a resume.

Despite that my editor kept telling me that he liked my work, I didn’t feel completely satisfied. People weren’t exactly rushing to pick up the paper and read my articles. I wanted to write about something that would grab everyone’s attention.

I needed an edge so that, after graduation, I would have something that would make prospective employers beg me to work for them, rather than the other way around.

I was waiting for something big to happen.

I prayed for it!

I once remember a saying: Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.

My wish had come true.

It was more than I bargained!

CHAPTER 2

The trouble started when Professor Donald Waitsfield, head of the Geography department, returned from Tasmania.

What is Tasmania?

It’s a good-sized island off the southeast coast of Australia (a.k.a. The Land Down Under). It’s the home of the mammal known as the Tasmanian Devil—the very same name of the dervish-spinning cartoon character that tries to make a meal out of a certain wisecracking rabbit.

Up until now, despite modern times, a good portion of the island remained unexplored.

For many centuries, the natives have avoided the deeper parts of the island and stayed mainly near the coast. Many believed that the island is haunted. Ancient folklore tells of many strange myths and legends dealing with the unexplored sections of the island.

Doctor Waitsfield decided to gain easy world recognition by being part of the first exploration group to set foot in the untouched regions of Tasmania. The exploration was