Fetch (1k words)

Author's Note:

Hey sweeties <3 I'm chipping away at Don't Feed the Trolls Ch. 3 (about 2k words so far) but just wanted to share another little story as proof of life. Love ya!

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A fetch is an evil spirit from Irish folklore, which takes on the identical appearance of a living being as a portent of their impending death. They are sometimes referred to as “the ghosts of the living.” 

Sunday afternoon 

It was a dreadfully foggy day. The moors that surrounded our home were drowned in an impenetrable haze, like the clouds had come down to roost. As I walked home from Sunday school with my older sister, Irma, I clung tightly to her hand. Our mother had warned us to take care when the fog was this dense. You could get lost in those misty moors – or even worse, something could find you. 

Irma was babbling on about some dull dream, and I let my mind wander. It was almost the new year, and I had yet to decide on a resolution. Maybe I would spend the next 12 months getting in shape, or earning my pen license. There was a world of possibilities ahead. I smiled to myself, and then froze. 

On the edge of the moor, half-subsumed in mist, was a girl. She was wearing the same dress as me. She had the same face as me. And she had been crushed to death. 

The entire left half of her body was compressed. Caved-in. Other than that, she looked fine. She raised one shattered arm and pointed at me ominously, then disappeared into the clouds. 

Irma was still recounting her dream — she had gone to the zoo specifically to see the elephants, but instead the enclosure had contained a man wearing a suit, typing up expense reports. He had a little nameplate on his desk that read “Mr Elephant”, she said. 

I held her hand and walked home in silence. 

Sunday night 

I spent all night thinking about the fetch — for that was surely what it was. This was not the first fetch to happen across our town. Years ago, my uncle had seen his own drowned doppelganger, sopping wet and bloated. In response, he moved to Nevada and lived for months in a desert shack, never once going near a body of water.

My uncle’s attempt to escape destiny had been his undoing. In a horrible case of mistaken identity, the cast of Impractical Jokers mistook him for their buddy Sal, tied him up, and tossed him into his own rainwater tank. If he had stayed home, it never would’ve happened. 

I wouldn’t make the same mistake. My death was imminent. Trying to escape it wouldn’t change that. Even if it did, I would just be spending the rest of my life in fear. And that was no life at all. 

It didn’t matter what I did, I realised. Since the moment that fetch appeared, I had lost control of my future. 

Monday afternoon 

As I walked home from Monday school, I saw the fetch again, standing on the edge of the moors, with a plaintive expression on its half-flattened face. This time, I marched right towards it. 

The fetch looked panicked and tried to disappear eerily into the mist, pointing menacingly. I shook my head and pointed right back. The fetch turned and started to run, but I grabbed it by the back of its school uniform. 

“Oh no,” the fetch gasped, “Oh heck. Oh no.” 

“Listen here, fetch,” I said, “If I’m going to die, tell me when.” 

“I can’t!” the fetch said, “I can’t say.” 

“Well then,” I faltered. I didn’t want to come away from this conversation with nothing. “What have you been up to?” 

The fetch stopped struggling, “What have I been up to?” 

It was a good question, actually. 

“Yesterday you pointed at me from the moors. Today you did it again. What did you do in the twenty-four hours in between?” I asked. 

The fetch frowned. Teeth splayed out randomly from the crushed half of its face.

“Not much, I suppose,” it said, “Just sort of wandered about. I played some games on my phone.” 

It pulled a little smartphone from its pocket. It looked just like mine, although half the screen was cracked. 

“That’s it?” I asked. 

“My purpose is just to portend your death,” said the fetch, “And I can’t do that all day. It loses some of the menace if I’m just hanging out with you all the time. So I arise from the fog, I give you a bone-chilling vision of your gruesome fate, and then I wait around until you’re ready for another.” 

I let got of the fetch. It took a few steps away, then turned around and looked at me nervously. I took it in for a moment. This strange, ghostly girl, so much like me, covered in the hideous wounds that would spell my end. 

Poor thing, I thought. I may have lost my future, but this spectre never even had one. Its whole existence was tied to me. 

“What happens to you when I die, fetch?” I asked. 

The fetch shrugged lopsidedly, “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get to hang around for a bit. Spook your family. But I think I go pretty quickly too.” 

“And when will that be?” 

“I really can’t say,” the fetch said. It truly looked regretful. 

“Hmm,” I said, “Do you want to go to the fair?” 

Monday night 

The fetch and I went on the ferris wheel. The fetch and I went on the lunar zoomer. The fetch and I fished for ducks with a magnetic fishing pole, and I won a teddy bear. A little boy saw the fetch and screamed at the top of his lungs. 

I explained to him, “This is my twin sister! She looks like that because I pushed her up against our mother’s ribcage when we were in the womb. Like this.”

I demonstrated, pretending to smoosh the fetch into the side of the hoop toss stall. The fetch giggled. I gave the boy my teddy bear and he went away happily. 

The fetch and I went on the rock-and-roll teacup ride. 

“I’ve never had so much fun!” the fetch called out over the music and the whirring teacup gears, “Not in the two days I’ve existed!” 

“I’m glad!” I called back, “I’m supposed to come to the fair tomorrow, for my older sister’s birthday. But I wasn’t sure I would make it to tomorrow?” 

I looked at the fetch inquisitively. It smiled, smug and cheeky. 

“I’ll never tell!” it said. 

The teacup ride came to a stop. The fetch and I waited to be let out of our harnesses. I heard a loud groan, and looked up. The heavy metal arm that held the teacup mechanism together was straining under the weight. I looked at the fetch. 

It shook its head, just slightly.

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Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed! I wrote this story back in 2020, but it was on my mind recently.

Did you see that tweet about the rise of doppelgangers in pop culture? The Substance, Mickey 17, Severance, A Different Man... there's something about the relationship between a girl and a twisted alternate version of herself that is so special. Not in a horny way! I just think it allows for a really interesting exploration of identity and the way we are perceived and how our circumstances shape us and yap yap yap you get the idea.

If you're interested in that kind of thing, make sure to check out Bella Broken, the new story by one of my fave authors, The_Luce! Lilly is a closeted trans girl, who wishes desperately that she could've been born cis. One day her wish finally comes true, and she wakes up in another world, a world where she was born Bella, the beautiful blonde most-popular-girl-in-school! Suddenly Lily is living her dream, and getting to experience the life she could've had.

But this story isn't about Lilly. It's about Bella, who woke up that morning in a world where she was born an ugly, nerdy boy.

Also they speak to each other in their dreams.

It's a really fun twist on the "woke up as a girl" TGTF plotline, and I'm super keen for some of the stuff Lucy has planned. The first chapter is out now on Scribble Hub, and she does such a great job at capturing the awful dysphoria prison that is being a girl trapped in the body of a high school boy. We've all been there.

And here's my discord link again if you wanna see me planning out story ideas instead of writing on my current stories. My latest scheme: a modern trans retelling of The Taming of the Shrew... kinda.