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Mark was always one of the weirder guys I’d known. He was never content to live what he considered a “mundane” life. He was an artist, an explorer, a scientist in some sort of field never imagined by man. I’ll always wonder what he would have done with his life had he lived past twenty-four. Surprisingly, the fault of his death was not placed on his shoulders, but on the shoulders of the rather inebriated gentleman who plowed him down one day on Main Street.

The funeral was the largest I’d ever been to. People who had only heard of him in vague descriptions and anecdotes were there, crying, laughing, talking about his life and how unfairly it had been ended. I had known Mark well and was not handling the situation in what one would think to be a levelheaded manner. I almost didn’t even show up. Closed-casket. He wouldn’t have wanted this.

It’s funny. I always assumed I’d never see his face again, saving old photographs and home videos.

I was driving on a long stretch of road that ran between our town and a larger, neighboring one. One side was covered in forest, the other pure farmland. I’ve always been uncomfortable driving on roads like that. They’re a little too isolated for my liking, and while I wouldn’t call this particular road’s condition “bad”, the possibility of wrecking in such a place was absolutely nerve-wracking to someone as already anxious about driving as me. It also didn’t help that it was nighttime.

The radio was fading in and out, which, despite sounding spooky to more of you urban types, is actually pretty common out in the countryside. Still, I’d prefer something to listen to, and the car I was using at the time didn’t have a CD player. I eventually turned the radio off, quickly regretting the action and growing uncomfortable in the silence that followed. It was then that I spotted the pedestrian walking about twenty, maybe thirty feet, up ahead.

Wondering why anyone would be walking such a lonely and creepy road at night, I merely glimpsed in his direction. We managed to make eye contact for a brief moment, and I almost drove off the road. It was Mark. Same hair (facial included), same strange little smirk, some posture. Mark had always been a fairly harmless guy, but I must’ve went double the speed limit for about the next mile.

Eventually I convinced myself it was just some random pedestrian who happened to look like Mark. Still, every now and then when I was out in the more rural areas of town, I’d catch glimpses of what looked like the same guy. He was always just walking with a Mark-esque smirk on his face. One very memorable occasion happened to me while working on my uncle’s farm to earn some extra cash during the summer. Now, there was quite a bit of distance between us, but I watched the Mark Doppelganger (or at least, that’s who it looked like) walk the road by my uncle’s farm. He only looked at me once, and though I was too far away to tell, I just knew he had that horrible smirk on his face.

I became very paranoid and avoided that part of town as much as possible. Sometimes, while in that area where you’re not quite awake and not quite asleep, I could’ve sworn I heard Mark calling my name. I was on the verge of a breakdown. Things were only worsened when I had to take part in an activity that required me to drive down the same road I had first seen Mark Doppelganger. I came up with every excuse possible to get out of it, but there was no hearing it. If I had had a full bladder, I probably would’ve pissed myself at the very mention of having to go back there.

By this time I finally had a CD player in my car and was listening to some Doobie Brothers. I remember the song that was playing when my car broke down - “Jesus is Just Alright”. Oh, yeah, my car broke down. I actually whimpered when it made that last shudder as I pulled over to the side of the road. I was still somewhat young and stupid, and this was my first breakdown, so my first decision was to call my mom. Fortunately, she was intelligent enough to call people who could actually help me.

I laid in the car for a few minutes, and my eyes got that feeling where it seems like they weigh at least twenty pounds each. I actually fell asleep. I awoke maybe three minutes later and noticed a figure walking out in front of my car. It was Mark Doppelganger. I had been completely vulnerable, yet he had done nothing to me. I finally gathered up all the nerve in me and got all of the car.

“Mark?!”

The figure stopped in its tracks. Turning around, it slowly walked back towards me. We were soon only about fifteen feet apart. As my eyes squinted to get a good look at his face, it took on what some call the “Uncanny Valley” effect. It was Mark’s face alright, but there were a few things I hadn’t noticed from the brief glances I’d gotten of it prior. First off, the face sagged grotesquely in the front. Not wrinkles or anything like that; it was more like a poorly-fitting mask. Behind the “eyeholes” was only pure darkness. What I had thought was a smirk was actually the mouth frozen in a way almost reminiscent of a stroke victim. This was all horrible enough, so just imagine when the thing, lips moving slowly and just a bit out of sync, began to speak.

“You idiot, Mark’s dead.”

I grew dizzy, and I guess I must‘ve fainted. I was woken by a strange guy named Ed who smelled of corn chips. I tried to explain what had happened to me, but he seemed a little too spaced out to care. Not long after our “conversation”, I decided it’d be best not to tell anyone. I was just too worried about what people would think of my mental health. I have never gone back down that road again, and on the few occasions I‘ve been through the countryside, I haven‘t spotted him again. I still have no clue what the hell that thing was, but I can tell you this: it sure as hell wasn’t Mark.