Whenever you get a chill, what goes through your mind?

Man, it’s cold in here.
I should have put on a sweater.
Why are they running the air conditioning?

It is usually something like that isn’t it?
Why? Because we assume that if we are feeling something here and now, the cause must be found in the hear and now. Cause and effect, right?

We are such a small minded species. So limited in our understanding. See, when you get a chill, not when you cold, but when you get a spontaneous chill up your spine. When you do that little wiggle and people look at you funny. When you say, “Just a chill”, that isn’t cause by something here.

It took me 37 years and 8.9 trillion dollars to figure out why we feel that chill, and now I have the answer. And it isn’t good.

When you get a chill, you died in an alternate reality.

What is truly frightening about this notion is not that alternate realities exist. No, scientists have theorized their existence for decades. And it isn’t the money that I spent to discover this.

It’s how often you feel a chill. Not your mom, not your dad. Not your neighbour or the guy at work. How often do you get a chill?

Think about that. Maybe it’s every day. Maybe it’s once a week.

But with every chill comes this strange realization. Someone, somewhere out there in the fabric of space murdered you. Or hit you with their car. Or maybe cancer swallowed you up. There is the chance that old age was what did you in, that you went peacefully in your sleep.

But probably not.

Now, how often do you feel chills?

For me, it started with once every couple of months. Then every week, I had one. My wife thought it was weird that I was so cold. Then it happened every day. I saw 3 different specialists trying to figure out what was going on. They gave me pills, prescribed meditations and spa treatments, but nothing worked.

My wife was at a second hand book store when she found a book, The Ever Presence of Other Worlds and Their Effect of Us. She picked it up for me, a joke gift mixed with a desperate hope that I might be cured somehow.

I owe my life to that book. And I’m sure a few of my alternate selves do too.

The real problem lies not in the traveling to alternate realities, or making peace with the different choices you made or other people made for you. No, the real problem lies in finding the killer. The one person that is murdering the different me’s throughtout space.
He leaves no trace, save a calling card. At the site of each of my alternate murders, the killer has left one thing; a white feather quill.

And with it they leave this note: Does it worry you that you haven’t caught yourself yet?