style="font-size:15px;"> Maybe this and the fact that we shared the same name, made some boys from the senior classes think we are brothers. As I mentioned earlier, that Wilson was not connected to my family. But if he were, we would be twins – as I once discovered he was born the same day as me, he nineteenth of January, 1813.
In spite of our constant competing and anxiety it gave me, I could not hate him. Almost every day we quarreled and every time I came out a winner. But somehow his manner made me feel that he was the true winner. I had mixed feelings toward him; something between love and hatred, fear and respect.
I tried to make everyone laugh at him. I tried to cause him pain, pretending I am just fooling around. But my attempts often failed, as it seemed there was nothing in him to make fun of. Actually, there was, but no one ever would use it against him – no one except me. He was able to speak only in a very, very soft, low voice, and I never missed an opportunity to bring that fact up.
Wilson usually fought back. He, too, knew my weak spot. He somehow sensed I had a strong distaste for my name. I hated that too many people bore the same name. I felt like it took my personality away, and I hated when our schoolfellows mistook my actions for his and his actions for mine. But the truth was we indeed were alike in mind and body. I knew he knew that too and he used that as a weapon. He perfectly copied my dress and my walk; he could not copy my voice – but he perfectly copied my tone.
I cannot describe how much this most careful picture of myself annoyed me. My only consolation was that no one else noticed that. I was the only one who saw Wilson’s strange and knowing smiles. He seemed to laugh within himself watching me in anger. He did not care no one laughed with him. The fact that no one on school participated in his design[45] was a mystery to me for many anxious months.
As I said before, he always tried to stop me from doing things I wanted to do. He spoke to me in the tone of patronage, which I hated. As I got older, my resistance to his unwanted advice grew. But I have to admit, his moral sense and worldly wisdom were always far keener than my own. I also have to admit that I could be a batter, and thus a happier man, if only I rejected his advices less frequently. Every day I showed more and more openly that I did not want to listen to anything he told me. This made him avoid me or, at least, pretend to do so.
It was about the same period when during a regular quarrel he had something peculiar in his manner. First it startled me, and then deeply interested me. Somehow he brought to my mind the pictures of my earliest years. Those pictures were half-lighted and not clear. I had a feeling that I knew this person standing before me very long ago. But that feeling passed as quickly as it came.
The situation that I just told you about happened on my last day in the school. Night after that I decided to put my old plan of hurting him into action. When everyone was sleeping, I got out of bed, and with a light in my hand, I went quietly through the house to Wilson’s room. When I reached his room, I entered without a sound and left the light outside. I listened and assured he was asleep. I returned to take the light and with it again went to the bed. I looked down upon his face; – and my blood went cold. My knees trembled and horror filled my soul. Was this – this the face of William Wilson? I saw, indeed, it was, but I shook as if imagining it was not. I looked and many incoherent thoughts popped in my head. He surely looked different from daytime. The same name, the same body; the same day that we came to school! And then meaningless imitation of my walk, my voice, my habits, and my manner! Was it, in truth, humanly possible that what I now saw was the result of his continued efforts to be like me? Filled with a creeping shudder, I put out the light and went away. I was not able to stay in the walls of the school any longer so I left it immediately and never entered it again.
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