|
You are only seeing a fraction of my work. If you want to see it all join my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/itsmetoo If you are already a supporter, go to the Table Of Contents on my Patreon and click the proper link to get the new password. |
Captioned Images Series: The Stranger in Kenny's Apartment
Created: 12/12/2025
Vincent knocked on Kenneth's door, the familiar rhythm he'd used for years. When there was no answer, he tried the handle—it was unlocked. "Ken? It's Vince," he called out, pushing the door open. "You home?"
He stepped inside and immediately froze. A person sat on Kenneth's couch, but it wasn't Kenneth. The person looked up at him with familiar brown eyes, but everything else was wrong. The young man who was Kenneth wasn't to be found, the woman who sat in front of him was an elegant elderly lady wearing a pink dress and had permed blond hair.
"Oh, Vincent!" the stranger said, standing up with a smile that looked almost right but somehow felt off. "I wasn't expecting you. Come on in."
Vincent remained in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. "I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong apartment. I'm looking for Kenneth—"
"I am Kenneth," the elderly woman said, laughing in a way that was almost Kenneth's laugh but not quite. "Kenny, actually. Don't you recognize me?"
Vincent stared at her, searching for any familiar feature beneath the stranger's face. This lady had Kenneth's eyes, sure, and his nose was similar, but the jawline was different. Smoother and softer. The ears wasn't too far off but they were pierced with earring attached. Everything was wrong.
"I'm sorry," Vincent said slowly, "but I don't know you. Where's Ken? Is he here?"
The man's face showed confusion, then hurt. "Vincent, it's me. We've been friends since college. You helped me move into this apartment three years ago."
That was true. Vincent had helped Kenneth move in, but he'd never seen this person before in his life. "Listen, I don't know what game you're playing, but Kenneth is Kenneth, he is a man. That is not you!"
The stranger touched her chin absently, and Vincent noticed it was perfectly smooth except for some wrinkles covered by makeup. "I decided to make some changes. Get my life together, you know? Cleaned up my act."
"But you're not Kenneth," Vincent said, backing toward the door. "You look nothing like him."
"Of course I do," the elderly woman said, and now Vincent could hear something underneath her voice that didn't belong—a slight echo, like she was speaking in a large empty room. "Maybe you need glasses, Vincent."
Vincent's heart was pounding now. This stranger knew his name, knew about their friendship, but she wasn't Kenneth. This wasn't Kenneth's apartment either—not really. The furniture was the same, the layout the same, but everything was too clean, too perfect. Kenneth's place was always a disaster zone.
"Where's the pizza box from last Tuesday?" Vincent asked, surprising himself with the question. "Where are Kenny's dirty socks? His coffee table is never this clean."
The man gestured around the apartment. "I cleaned up. Like I said, I decided to change. I should ahve done this years ago."
"But this isn't change," Vincent said, his voice getting louder. "This is... this is replacement. You're not Kenneth. Where is he?"
The stranger's smile faltered for just a moment, and Vincent saw something flash behind those familiar eyes—something that definitely wasn't human.
"Vincent," the woman said, and now her voice had that strange echo again. "You're being very strange. Of course I'm Kenneth. I've always been Kenneth. And you can be just like me."
Vincent bolted.
He ran down the stairs, his feet pounding against the concrete, not stopping until he reached his car. When he looked back up at Kenneth's window, he could see the silhouette of the stranger standing there, perfectly still, watching him.
Vincent fumbled for his phone and called Kenneth's number. It went straight to voicemail—the same automated message Vincent had heard hundreds of times before, delivered in Kenneth's familiar, slightly scratchy voice.
He tried again. Nothing.
Then Vincent remembered something that made his blood run cold. When the stranger had said "I am Kenneth," she'd said it like she was reading from a script, like she was practicing the words for the first time.
And in that moment, Vincent realized that the person he'd left in Kenneth's apartment might not have been lying.
She just might have been telling the truth about not knowing where the real Kenneth had gone.
Vincent drove to the police station, but as he walked up the steps, he found himself wondering: if someone could change their appearance so completely, access his apartment...
What else could they change?
Made with Freepik Generator