The Duplicate House

The meteor arrived without fire—just a soft, wet sound as it sank into the field

behind my house. By morning, the crops leaned toward it, breathing.

At noon, the birds fell silent. That night, my dog scratched at the back door,

whining at something calling his name from the dark. I finally looked outside.

The meteor was gone. In its place stood a perfect copy of my house—with all the lights on,

waiting for me to come home.