He Will Have the World

by David-Jack Fletcher

Genres: Horror

Synopsis

What if everyone you knew was an imposter?

Charlie knows there's an invasion. He knows it; even if the psychiatrists and his husband don't believe it.

They're replacing people, living their lives. He doesn't know how. He doesn't know why.

But now, they're after him.

Isolated on a flight, Charlie sees a flash of lightning strike the plane. But only Charlie sees the creature enter the plane.

It's inside the passengers. Jumping between them.

Unable to trust the passengers—or himself—Charlie races to reveal the creature and save the passengers because they're all replaced. Or worse.

With nobody on board believing him, and his own mind crumbling from within, how much will Charlie sacrifice to save everyone?

But what if the doctors are right? What if it's all in his head?

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Release date: November 25, 2025

Publisher: Slashic Horror Press

Print pages: 373

Sample

ONE

“I don’t want you to go.” The words stabbed at my heart. I bit my lip to stop the tears. After everything… after what I did, he still wanted me—still loved me. I could hear the ache in his words, even as an airport announcer called for missing passengers. Through the chaos of the fellow travellers and the noises buzzing around my head, I could still hear it. He’d always been like that, helping me cut through the noise. We both knew I didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve him. Yet there he was. Aiden waited for me to reply, and I held the phone away from my ear so he couldn’t hear the heavy breathing. Or the tiny whimper as I replayed his words in my head. I watched a family pocketing their passports and wheeling their cabin luggage through the airport to a café. Four of them, a typical mother, father, and two kids—a boy and a girl, the regular nuclear family. The mother kept looking at her phone and then staring up at who I assumed was her husband. He was absorbed by the passports, nodding at her with disinterest. My chest tightened as he tucked something into the back of his pants. See something, say something. See something, say something— “Charlie?” Aiden’s tinny voice echoed, and I brought the phone back. The family continued on its way, and my eyes tracked them. The little boy was scanning the area. He looked scared. The girl looked over her shoulder at me. I waved, and she poked her tongue out. I narrowed my eyes at her, and she tugged at her dad’s shirt, pointing at me. The father glared in my direction and ushered the family away. I spun around to face outside, even though the plate-glass windows were black, like the world outside. Night was the worst, but it would have to do, and I searched the windows, staring beyond my bleak reflection—the messy hair, the stubble, the dirty, stained clothes. I had to do something, though; I had to avoid that little girl and her father. They were bad news, I could tell, and if they saw me staring, that would be it for me. In the reflection, I saw them walking away, the father giving me the once-over as he did. Beyond them, the airport. It was too busy. My face was hot, the people were breathing all over me, and the noises—wheels on the floor, the hum of phones ringing, the crying of someone somewhere, machinery—made me want to puke.

“I’m here,” I said, turning back to the family as they ambled away. Again, the father tucked something behind his back. I couldn’t see what it was. I looked around for security. Nothing. Only people off on holiday. The kid looked at me again and smiled, her lips stretching thin and wide, her eyes low and dark. She’s one of them. “You can… come home.” Aiden sounded a little scared as the words tumbled from him. As if he were afraid of what might happen if I did, in fact, go home. “You know I can’t.” I ran a hand through my hair. I looked at my feet, the shoelaces hanging over the sides, then looked back up. The family was gone; the girl vanished. I knew those eyes. I’d have recognised them anywhere. “Aiden, a second ago I… saw something.” He sighed, letting the deep exhale sink into my ear. “Charlie, did you take your pills?” “I didn’t even say what I saw,” I mumbled. “This is real, Aiden.” “Please come home,” he said. His voice was calm, but it had that sharp undertone he was famous for. Clutching at my own boarding pass, I swallowed, still searching for that little girl. She was in the airport somewhere, watching me. I could feel her eyes on me. Her father’s too. The mother hadn’t been classified. She might not know what’d happened to her family. She could be innocent—unaware. I need more information. “Charlie?” Aiden’s voice was shaky now. “Charlie, what did you see?” 

He doesn’t believe me. He never believed me. That’s why I— “Talk to me.” “Nothing,” I said. “It’s nothing. I have to go.” Aiden tried to say something, but my finger was already on the red icon. I hung up, shoving the device into my pants pocket, and breathed through the chaos around me. My flight was boarding in twenty minutes, and I wasn’t even at the gate. The signs overhead directed me, and I followed them, and the girl followed me. They were leading me somewhere, and I reminded myself it wasn’t to anywhere special. It was just to the gate, to a bunch of uncomfortable seats in a poorly air-conditioned space with a group of strangers. Enemies. I felt for my medication in my breast pocket and pushed the intrusion out of my mind. Not everyone was an enemy. Not everyone was bad. Not everyone. Wheeling my bag to Gate 9A, I studied the faces of my fellow travellers. The flight looked to be sparse. I’d chosen this flight because it was the first one heading to Perth; it was just luck that it was low on bookings. The flight was leaving anyway; I might as well have been on it, and with fewer passengers, the chance of finding one of them was reduced. Not impossible. My psychologist told me a good way to remind myself that we were all human was to look into their eyes. ‘Find the light in their eyes, and you’ll know you’re okay.’ It was my advice to her, but she’d repeated it to me when I needed to hear it. 

She hadn’t been wrong so far. The girl and her family weren’t there. The evidence suggested she was, in fact, not following me. The evidence told me I was being unreasonable, that she was just a kid on her way to a theme park somewhere. She wasn’t even on my flight. At least I hadn’t seen her. I was being symptomatic again. The feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t so sure, though. “Boarding pass, please,” a woman asked, her hand extended. I was at the front of the line, and didn’t remember getting there. Autopilot had kicked in, and I made a mental note of it. I was supposed to stay present, to always know that I was still myself. I’d been too busy studying—twenty-three passengers, twenty-four including me. All the lights in their eyes were fine, even the guy with the hoodie in the middle of the Australian summer. Handing my boarding pass to the flight attendant—Calista, by her name tag—I smiled. It was forced and empty, but she didn’t notice. Her smile was genuine. She was happy, but why? I couldn’t figure it out as I passed her, gripping my ticket tightly to my chest. Someone behind me was laughing. I stopped and spun around, feeling drops of sweat slide down my face and neck. It wasn’t the heat; it was the paranoia. I knew it was paranoia. People were allowed to laugh, to be happy and jovial. The sounds didn’t mean they were laughing at me, yet my gut stirred. “Are you right, mate?” Hoodie guy stood in front of me, his own cabin luggage just a Nike shoulder

bag. There couldn’t be much in it, and I remembered security had been very light earlier. Under the hoodie, I saw light brown hair. He was fair-skinned. Maybe he didn’t want to get burned in the heat. Except we were inside, under the luminescence of the halogens. He’s one of— I nodded to him, staring into his eyes. He looked away and scratched at his nose, watching me grab my pills from my breast pocket. “Nervous flyer, huh?” he asked, and then he continued on his way. “I don’t like tight spaces,” I replied, even though I was talking too low for him to hear me. “Claustrophobic, on top of everything else,” I muttered to myself. Other passengers moved straight past me, a few people giving sad smiles as they saw my sorry state—sweaty, pale—and I looked down at myself to see my polo shirt was creased and unkempt. My jeans had mud stains on them. Aiden had asked me to change, begged me in fact. As usual, I hadn’t listened to him. I’d been listening to the voice inside me telling me he was trying to control me, trying to make me something I’m not. Aiden was human; that much I knew. And I loved him. That’s why I was taking this flight to begin with. Swallowing my pill, I resumed walking down the narrow air bridge. The walls grew thinner as I went, shrinking, shrinking as the door of the plane became more prominent. I breathed through the nerves. That’s all they were. I tried to convince myself of that, repeating the idea on a loop as a different flight attendant, a man this time, asked to see my boarding pass again. One person asking, I could understand. But two? Searching his eyes, I was a little at ease. I showed my pass. “All the way in the back row, sir,” he said, pointing me towards the aisle. People were packing their luggage into the overhead compartments, and the route seemed so unclear. A straight line, yet not really. I began to see patterns, different pathways through the chaos, through the people and their junk, and the pressure in my head started to build. My seat is way too far away. I should have booked my flight earlier. I should have asked for an aisle seat. For the exit row. I didn’t request a specific meal. What entertainment do they have? Where’s the toilet? Where’s the fucking toilet? How do I get off this thing? “Sir, please,” the attendant said, smiling. He must have seen my chest puffing in and out, because he added, “Everything okay, sir?” Sir, sir, sir. “Sure, I’m good.” I headed down the aisle, taking a deep, deep breath and holding it as I shuffled towards my seat: 26C. A woman with flowing black hair was struggling with her cabin luggage, and she muttered “Sorry” as she heaved it above her head. She looked at me like she expected something. Help, maybe? No way. She’s on her own. 

I pushed past her, ignoring the passive-aggressive “Arsehole” from a nearby traveller, an old woman with shaking hands and grey hair wrapped in a tight weave. Repeating my actions with four others, their eyes all filled with light, I made it to seat 26C. The row was empty—thank fuck—and I stuffed my bag above me and plunged into the seat. The seatbelt was under my arse, and I pulled it free, strapped in, and shut my eyes. THEY WANT YOU TO STRAP IN. THEY WANT YOU SHACKLED. THEY WANT YOU— I took another pill, and the voice subsided. My psychologist had told me that times of stress can make it stronger, so I needed to practice my breathing. I trusted her. She believed me. She was human. My neck sweat was seeping into my clothes as I sat there, letting the cabin’s humidity engulf me. A quiet hum settled around me, a small vibration as the plane’s engines idled. Humidity like that reminded me of Far North Queensland, where locals thought 46° Celsius was brisk but still chugged beer like water. I could have used a drink. Alcohol and medication were never a good mix, and I was usually a stickler for rules. As I sat in the chair, surrounded by hums and vibrations and flight attendants checking the aisles for rubbish, all I wanted was some dark liquor—the darkest they had. A man and a woman walked towards me, lugging their bags over their shoulders. He wore a Slazenger 

shirt; she wore a skin-tight Echt thing, as if she were on the way to the gym. My lip curled, and I raised a hand over my mouth, pretending to look away. “You good, buddy?” The man saw me and raised an eyebrow. I nodded. “Sure.” “You looking at my girlfriend?” he asked. His biceps inflated, and my lip curled further. “No,” I said. “I was just… looking around. In general.” He scowled at me, and his girlfriend put a hand on his wrist. Tugged him away. I took a breath and thought about another pill. Too many made me dizzy, and I needed to keep my head in the game. For better or worse, I was on this flight. For better or worse, I would get to Perth. As the cabin crew prepared the plane for take off, I fiddled with my seatbelt. The voice had subsided again, crawling back into the shadows of my mind. At times like that, when I was truly me, truly alone in my head, I could see so much more clearly. Light in the eyes—what a joke. In that moment, as the pilot’s voice crackled through the chair speakers, I knew it was rubbish. I knew the whole thing about light and the stuff I thought I’d seen—all of it was rubbish. I was lucky not to be locked up. I only had to maintain my sanity for six hours until we’d land at Perth airport. What I’d do there, I didn’t know yet. With another slap to my breast pocket and the comfort of my rattling pills, I was confident I could do it. I could get away, go somewhere, and just be for a while. That’s all I needed. Even as the plane sped down the runway and my stomach lurched. Even as I looked across the aisle to the other side of the plane, and saw her. The little girl. ...