Sarah’s head had been resting on Sam’s shoulder when she got THE CALL. She remembered the way THE PHONE had rung, how she’d gotten up from her seat with a whispered, “I’ll get it,” and the ten second walk from the couch to the counter.

She’d picked up HER PHONE. It had HIS name on the screen. But Sam is sitting on the couch, she’d thought, looking back over her shoulder to make sure. There he was, looking up at her, a half smile on his face, book in hand. She smiled back, hiding her confusion. That’s weird, she thought, but answered IT anyways, making sure to turn IT on speaker so her husband could listen in case it was something weird.

After she picked up THE CALL, Sam, the real Sam, had said, “Babe, I’m almost back! I’m driving home from the airport. God, you wouldn’t believe how much the parking garage fees were. I’m thirty minutes out.” That was Sam’s voice.

Why would he be at the airport? The only thing she remembered was him telling her he was going on vacation a couple weeks ago, but he came back a few hours later saying the flight had gotten canceled. He’d been acting odd since then, but nothing out of the ordinary. He forgot her favorite color, forgot what restaurant they went to on Saturdays for dinner, but nothing big night to seriously raise her suspicion.

She had glanced back, but “Sam” was still sitting on the couch, now without a smile, and definitely without a phone.

“Who is this?” She’d asked.

Silence on the other end. Then, “Sarah, I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me, but money hasn’t been easy to come by. This isn’t the time to make jokes.”

Coming back from where? Wasn’t he on the couch?

“But… you’re right here.”

“Sam” wasn’t on the couch anymore. He was on his feet, expression unreadable.

“Sarah, hang up the call,” he told her, voice even.

Something clicked in her mind. She didn’t know what it was yet, but she knew it was bad.

“No thank you,” she said, taking a step back. “I don’t think I will.”

The speakers on her phone blared out, “Who is that?”

Something was wrong. “You, apparently,” she muttered.

“Sam” wasn’t calm anymore. “End the call!” He had shouted, his voice loud enough for the real Sam to hear.

“Sarah,” real Sam had said, “what does he look like?”

“Sam” made a grab for the phone, but Sarah dodged it and started backpedaling away from him, “Sam” still advancing towards her.

“He looks exactly like you,” she said into the phone.

“Run, Sarah.”

“What?”

“He’s not who he says he is.”

“Sam” watched as Sarah’s face paled, realization dawning in her eyes, confusion turning into fear. He listened as the phone relayed the noise of tires skidding, cars honking, and real Sam’s hollered instructions. He would be here any minute now. Unwise of him to drive to his death. The real question was whether or not to spare the girl. The girl…

He had first seen her walking through his forest a month ago, one of the first visitors in months. Most were scared off by the “deadly snakes” the trail was rumored to be home to. Really, it was just him. The few people not frightened off by the sign, he killed them too. Better to keep up the reputation of the doomed hiking trail so he could scare off the people. He preferred solitude, peace and quiet. He believed that all humans were messy, bringing destruction wherever they went. That was, until she came along. He remembered the way the sun had shone on her blonde hair, turning it golden, the way she laughed after tripping over a tree root. He recalled thinking that maybe she wasn’t scared of snakes. Then perhaps she wouldn’t be scared of shapeshifters like him either, or murdering someone. He could see them together, taking pleasure in cleansing their hands of the blood, laughing as their victims screamed. Maybe he could teach her the art of shapeshifting as well, if all worked out. She did seem to like it here, after all. She could enjoy this forest, living here with him, as much as she wanted. Yes, he decided, he had been alone for too long.

So he spared her life that day, and when the chance had come, he replaced her husband by pretending to be him. He shapeshifted into Sam, and told her he wasn’t going away after all. When he saw the joy in her eyes, that when he knew that he could treat her better than her husband had. He could make her happy, something Sam had failed to do after he left for the airport. He wasn’t good enough for her anyways. He traveled away and left her alone. He didn’t have enough money to spend on her. Yet she was content with Sam, so she must be happy with him.

Yet now her eyes said otherwise. So did her mouth. “Who are you?” She asked, golden blonde hair falling in sheets around her face.

“Whoever you want me to be,” he answered. “I can be Sam, anyone you know, or whoever you like. I can change myself to be whatever you want me to be.”

His words didn’t have the intended effect. She took another step back, away from him.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” he explained.

“You’re… a monster,” she had said, all the while moving away.

“You don’t love me,” he said.

This seemed to surprise her. “You think… that I love you? No. I love Sam.”

“I could be Sam. You wouldn’t know that anything is different.”

“I love him. Not some creature pretending to be him.”

He recoiled as if her words were a blow to his face. Sam’s face, actually. He’d changed himself, been someone else, all for her. If she couldn’t understand the extent of things he would do for her and couldn’t love him for that, she never would.

She had hurt him. Killing her could take the pain away.

He let himself change, heard her scream, felt the blood on his claws as her life drained away.

He saw a man in a car drive past and let himself become him. He studied his hands, now human again, but still stained with Sarah’s blood.

She was dead, that was for sure. Then why did his heart ache double what it had before? Why did his hands feel like they had betrayed him? Why was this feeling that this was his fault still pierce his soul?

She brought this upon herself, he decided.

Even after fleeing the scene, returning to his forest, which felt tainted by her presence, and repeating that it was her own fault to himself millions of times, it didn’t feel true. So he lived with the pain.