Monday 16th. 7am. I laid motionless in bed, debating on whether one more minute would cost me the bus. Eventually, I slithered out from beneath the covers as the sunlight licked my face. The routine had become ingrained in my mind: shower, teeth and then clothes. Despite telling myself today would be the day I’d start eating breakfast again, I passed the cupboard without a second thought. Maybe tomorrow. I tore the fridge door open, snatching a can of Coke from the top shelf and emptying it into my gullet in record time. “Maybe if I fail my A levels, the circus will accept me” I jested internally. Energized, I lugged my bag over my shoulders, wrapped my headphones around my head… and paused.
In the hallway leading to the front door stood a black figure. That simple description really doesn’t do it justice. It was the blackest black: the kind of black that the eye gets lost in, searching for something to focus on. It was more of an absence than a being. An absence of light. An absence of purpose. An absence of reason. I unintentionally mimicked its motionlessness as I attempted to even comprehend its existence. What is this thing?
What am I supposed to do? I’ve got college in an hour and the bus had not the patience that this thing held. My mother was off on a business trip to Cairo… I guess I could call the police? What would I even tell them? “Hello, police. I’m being robbed by Lucifer.” As my mind circled back to the figure, so did my gaze. “Hello?” I blurted. Silence. I don’t know what I expected, honesly. My thumb began to caress my chin as I pondered the sheer abserdity. I peered over to the counter. I’m sure I would’ve washed that fork up eventually, but now it has a better use. I took a deep breath, steadied my aim, and hurled the fork at the figure. I watched in suspense as it was swollowed by the figure’s dark mass, only to come out on the over side with a resounding “clash”.
Well, fuck.
The bus had definitely left by this point, although that was the least of my concerns. I felt desperation and rage overtake me as I throttled every pot, plate and piece of cutlery at the figure. With my counters now empty, I panted in defeat. What now? Am I really gonna let a shadow best me? No.
I marched towards it with false confidence. “What the fuck are you?” Our noses were practically touching as I sprayed saliva everywhere. “Hello?” it mocked, like a corrupted recording of my voice. Without hesitation or forethought, I threw a punch at it’s façade of a face. My fist never connected. I wish I could describe what my arm felt like in that moment. It was like the unbareable pain you feel before passing out… except it never stopped. It burrowed deeper and deeper into my arm in a relentless attack. Within moments, the pain chewed up my resolve and I fainted.
Monday 16th. 7am. I laid motionless in bed, debating on whether one more minute would cost me the bus. Eventually, I slithered out from beneath the covers as the sunlight licked my face. A sudden sting worked itself up my arm as scraped across the matress. When did this happen? The routine had become ingrained in my mind: shower, teeth and then clothes…. but I was already wearing a hoodie and jeans? Despite telling myself today would be the day I’d start eating breakfast again, I passed the cupboard without a second thought. Maybe tomorrow. I peered over to pristine counter. What happened to all the dirty pots?I shook my head and tore the fridge door open, snatching a can of Coke from the top shelf and emptying it into my gullet in record time. I could swear that there was a can missing. Slightly grouchy, I reassured myself that I had my bag and headphones on… and paused.
There it was. The shadowman.
That’s why my arm hurt. That’s why I was already dressed. Pots and pans were littered around it’s feet. “Hello” it spat out. A wave of fear blindsided me as I began to hyperventilate. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. I yanked my phone from my pocket and attempted to guide my quaking fingers towards the “call” icon. As I raised it to my ear, I was met with the familiar buzz. One buzz. Two buzzes. Three buzzes. Click. “Oh my god mum please help me I’m trapped in my apartment by this weird person standing at the door and…” my mind degraded into emptiness as I soaked in the noise.
It was just static. An endless soft buzzing; never growing in pitch or volume.
As tears began to slither down my cheeks, I heard a voice break through the ocean of white noise. “Hello?” The voice was not the cuddly, comforting one of my mother… instead being a vicious, monotone simulacrum of my own words; ones which I could no longer find. My arm jerked suddenly, sending my phone colliding against the solid kitchen tiles with a harsh clatter. I tugged on my hairs and clenched my jaw and screamed. My eyes threatened to escape their sockets as splintering red lines snaked up them. In a rage-fuelled fit of determination, I charged at the figure, his silent resolve taunting me. As I was briefly concealed by his mass, I felt that same blinding white pain coarse throughout my body before my barely-concious corpse crashed into the door.
Monday 16th. 7am. I laid motionless in bed, debating on whether one more minute would cost me the bus. Urgently, I leapt out from beneath the covers as the sunlight tore at my face. The routine had invaded my mind: shower, teeth and then clothes. Despite telling myself today would be the day I’d start eating breakfast again, I passed the cupboard without a second thought. If only there was a tomorrow. I tore the fridge door open, snatching a can of Coke from the top shelf and spilled it all over my face in a barbaric rage. “I’d join the circus if I could ever leave this fucking prison” I grunted. Consumed by dread, I launched my bag into the wall, dropped my headphones onto the solid, unforgiving tiles… and greeted it with a scowl.
There it was. The shadowman.