It seems like so long ago since it appeared by my bedside. That’s mainly because it was, as I was just a little girl when it first arrived in my room. I can’t even tell you when it first showed up. It just appeared one day, like a storm after the sunrise. I woke up one day, rolled over, and it was just sitting by my bedside. The thing itself doesn’t offer much help to its identity either. It was nothing more than a dark silhouette, with low murmuring coming from where it’s mouth should be. However, it didn’t have one. Nor did it have any other features for that matter. It was just a dark blot sitting in my room. It looked as if the pits of hell opened into a person sized hole in my room. I froze, trying to take in this sight. I wanted to be afraid, but I didn’t feel threatened by it. It sat there calmly, seemingly looking off into the distance as I got out of bed.
”Hello? Do I know you?” I asked, hoping to get some sort of information about this creature. I was not so lucky, as it didn’t care to respond. It just turned and looked at me, it’s featureless face not hiding what felt like a piercing stare into my being. I was afraid to turn my back on it, but it did nothing but follow me around the house. I truly thought that, while it was certainly odd, that this being must be friendly. After all, it didn’t try to attack me at all. It had plenty of opportunities to, like when my back was turned to get dressed or to kiss my mom and dad goodbye. It just muttered to itself and followed close behind. I couldn’t make out everything it was saying, but I could catch a few words like “useless” or “not enough”.
When I went to leave for school, I watched it in shock as it sank into the floor behind me. It stretched, shuddered, and slid into place at the back of my heels, acting like a shadow behind me. The only difference between it and a shadow was that it was a bit smaller than a shadow. But not even an observational person could have spotted it. I would know, because not one person seemed alarmed at my fake shadow. My mom and dad, friends, teachers, and bullies didn’t even seem to notice. No one seemed to believe me when I brought up the shadow either. They just patted me on the head and talked about an active imagination. This lack of reaction just confused me. Why could no one see it? Why? Why did my mom and dad not notice? Could they genuinely not see it, or did they genuinely not care? I know I was an annoying kid, but did they not care that this monster was lurking this close to their daughter? I shook away my thoughts and buried them. After all, it was seemingly not aggressive.
It went everywhere I went. It did everything I did. It would mimic my every move like a replacement shadow when I went about day, then sit by my bedside at night with quiet murmurs swirling through the night. It was never loud, nor was it very threatening. I could only ever catch it muttering the same few words. ”Useless” and “Not enough”. Over and over again. For about a month, it sat idly at my heels just mimicking my movements and going about my day with me. I genuinely thought that I just had a new, albeit odd, shadow friend.
Then it started to eat.
It was subtle, much like the thing itself. But, every now and then, it would grow. Every time it would grow, I could hear the faintest of sounds come from it. It sounded like it was quietly sucking up a liquid through a straw. A quiet, yet almost taunting slurping noise coming from the floor behind me. If I was busy with another task, I could almost miss it. But I could always tell when it grew. I could also always tell when it was eating, because I would feel absolutely drained afterwards. It felt like I had just ran a marathon, while also making me apathetic to most activities even if I loved the activities beforehand. It would also get louder and bolder as its belly became fuller. It started off as just a quiet “useless” and “not enough”. A whisper easily lost to the wind. But as time went on and it continued to feast, it became a loud, raspy voice in the back of my head. It was now an incoherent jumble of sounds, with “useless”, “not enough”, “invisible”, and “numb” seemingly randomly thrown in. The voice was nails on a chalkboard that scratched my skull, but would not last longer than a few days.
This thing was feeding on my emotions.
I tried to resist. I would try to suppress strong emotions like rage, sadness, excitement, and other powerful emotions. I would avoid activities altogether, even if I really wanted to join them. It mostly worked, as I kept the thing away from my previous passions and away from my most powerful emotions. I gave it only scraps. Crumbs from rare moments of pride or excitement from passing hard tests or getting into my dream university after high school. However, life has a way of making you feel. My life was no different. I had been bullied in middle and high school, my mom died my sophomore year, I had little to no friends, and my dad disowned me after I came out as lesbian with my future wife. I was effectively invisible to the world, and I really felt it. This thing was patient however. It knew that it’s next meal would be a hearty feast if it could make it through the fasting periods. Then it could eat until it’s belly was swollen and it sat at a staggering eight feet tall as I sobbed uncontrollably in a dark room.
I tried to bring it up to my few friends and my father before he left me, but no one seemed to believe me or care. That was fine though. After all, it never tried to hurt me and I thought I could handle it myself. I handled it well for several years at this point, so why did I need them?
The only one who believed me was my wife Marlene. I loved her for that. Even while we were only dating, she would spend hours with me talking to me and helping me starve the thing back down to it’s smaller form. She was the only person that seemed to be able to force it down and her presence helped me so much. It seemed as though I could actually feel with her with no repercussions. I am eternally grateful to her and I love her. It made perfect sense to marry her. It made perfect sense to get inseminated with her and have our lovely son Anthony. She is still my rock and I still love her dearly. She made my life wonderful though college, through the birth of our son, and through every single milestone of his life.
But life is cruel. Life does not care for small things like happiness and love. It proved that when the accident happened.
My son was in the car with me on a rainy night. I was taking him home from a game he played in after getting him an ice cream. All I remember is trying to hurry home, turning just a bit too fast, and the other car slamming into us. Luckily, the airbag and seat belt only gave me a concussion and whiplash. Anthony never walked away from the crash. He was eight years old. The funeral was two weeks later, a month before he would have turned nine. My wife screamed and cried and begged God to wake her from this nightmare. But God is cruel and cares not for the matters of sinners. That’s what my dad said at least before he hung up on me after I invited him to the funeral. I just felt emotionally raw. Numb. I can’t even bring myself to remember that awful day. The memory is still too painful.
But I do remember one thing. That thing was there the whole time. It was mocking me from the time that we entered the car that day to that night when I couldn’t sleep through the grief. It was right by the bedside. The only thing that had changed was its eyes. The inky black face now had piercing white orbs that fixed their gaze on me at all times. It’s icy glare burned a hole in my back, constantly watching my every move. I didn’t care. All it would see is me laying in bed and scrolling idly through my phone hoping to dull the pain. I killed my son. I couldn’t care less what that thing wanted at that point. But there it sat, etched into the floorboards with two bright eyes studying me. It only stopped to silently watch the casket get lowered into the ground.
The next day, it still followed me. But the world around me had transformed overnight. Smiling faces were everywhere, but I could no longer tell any of them apart. Features became nothing more than smears on a canvas of black, words nothing more than useless white noise and murmurs. Their empty words were drowned out by my own thoughts. Was this all because I couldn’t slow down? Was this all because I couldn’t take five extra seconds to make sure the turn wasn’t so fast? Was this my punishment for the shitty life I led?
The thing drank up these thoughts and deep sadness. I didn’t care though. No matter how tired I became or how loud that thing was, nothing could bring back my son.
That night was no better. Even without the harsh bite of the drafty window letting in the winter frost, I couldn’t sleep at all. The thing was still there. It was growing constantly each day and speaking clearly now. It stood at 12 feet tall, with eyes the size of dinner plates. Sleep was understandably out of the question. The thing scratched at the back of my head the whole night as I tossed and turned in a vain attempt to become drowsy. All that I can do is sit and listen to the thing scream into the air until sunlight streamed in.
”Fault”.
”Bad”.
”Murder”.
”Give”.
Useless.
Not enough.
Numb.
When the next morning rolled around, the thing finally shut up. It had been gorging itself throughout the night, it’s form towering above me. It had sapped me dry and I was too tired to do anything. Even getting out of bed was not an option. I simply said goodbye to my wife, then stared blankly at the ceiling. She seemed to want to say something. Maybe an encouragement, or to scold me for being so lazy. Maybe to talk about how I needed to go to work and embrace the world. But she only said “I love you too” as she slunk out of our room. I wished she would say more, but I don’t blame her. She was sad and facing the world alone. I failed her as a wife, so I understood that she may be upset at me.
I was finally alone with the monster as the thing began to speak.
”Have you finally given up?” It asked, it’s voice barely more than an airy hiss.
I didn’t respond. I just kept staring blankly up at the ceiling.
It stayed quiet for a short while, seemingly collecting the words it needed to say. It finally broke the silence after gathering its thoughts. ”Poor little Anthony. So young, and taken from us so soon. I could tell you wanted to cry. I could taste it in your thoughts. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to. Even as your child got put into the dirt”.
The thing’s voice was still raspy, but it had a new intelligence to it. It’s words held a new callousness behind them. It dripped of accusation.
”Why couldn’t you cry? You loved him. That’s what you told him at least. Yet you continue on, while he suffers in Hell. You stole his time. Did you hope to extend yours, or was it out of spite?”
The floorboards began to creak. It was probably even bigger now. It probably was creeping closer to secure a quick and clean kill. Or a long and agonizing one. I was far too tired to care, as it felt as though my body was glued to the bed.
”That poor child was supposed to outlive you. He was supposed to have a life, a lover, perhaps even a child to take care of. Anthony was supposed to be very successful, and love what they did. He could of even became a powerful leader or an innovative mind. Now, he only feeds the worms.”
It paused and I could finally hear it slither closer to me.
”So, why did you do it? Why did you take that poor child’s life away? Were you jealous? Was it hatred? Self preservation?” It asked, looking down at me.
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as it stares at me. Why did I do it? Why didn’t I just slow down and make sure it was safe? Why did I have to kill him?
”It should of been you. Your existence is useless, but his future was bright.”
I could now feel it’s breath on the side of my cheek. It was colder than the winter air and smelled of decay. It sent a chill through my body and froze my blood. Dread weighed heavy on my chest, only slightly less potent as the despair I felt for my son.
”Give in” It whispered, leaning in close to my ear to hiss it’s siren song. ”No, I didn’t mean it!” I yelled. Tears streamed down my face as I pressed my hands against my ears. Something was wrong. If it wanted to use my son’s death against me, why did it choose now? Why use my son’s death to begin with? Why now? Won’t this bastard just leave me to mourn in peace?
The thing stopped, but didn’t back away. I could feel it’s eyes studying me, gauging my reaction. It was enjoying every bit of this and learning how to crawl under my skin.
”If you didn’t mean it, then why did he die?” It asked calmly, almost as if to taunt me for my hubris.
”It was an accident.” I whispered, my voice cracking from the tears. My heart thumped in my chest, but my body felt numb. I didn’t want to feel or think, but this thing was hell bent on torturing me.
”An accident?” It asked, the raspy voice almost growling.
”An accident is tripping and spilling something on your friend when you fall. An accident is throwing a ball on the playground and hitting someone in the face when you miss. An accident is stepping on someone’s foot in a crowded place. Accidents can be laughed off and forgiven. This wasn’t an accident.”
It leaned over me and leaned in close, it’s face a few inches from mine. It wore those same bright eyes that bore into my soul. But it now had a mouth of glistening, human-like teeth that shined in the dim, cloud covered sunlight from the window. It wore a grin, almost as if it was an old friend checking in on me. But I now know it meant me harm. I could hear it in its voice. It continued to speak through teeth that did not move from its sickly sweet smile.
”This isn’t something “I’m sorry” can fix. This is murder by the negligent mother of a poor defenseless child.” It smiled at me, arrogant and cold.
It laughed, if you could call it that. It was much closer to the sound that a propane tank makes when you open the gas value. It was a dry, airy hiss that promised a short life of regret.
”Give in”
I sniffled as I sat up and opened the bedside drawer. Inside sits a revolver, only to be used to ward off intruders. Funny, as I know that was probably not what my wife meant for this gun. I slowly lifted it out of the drawer, the handle cold and slick in my hands. I popped open the chamber. Full, just like my wife keeps it. She has always been so prepared. I smiled briefly at the picture of her painstakingly loading the weapon and making sure it was clean before reality came flooding back. My eyes were still dripping tears, but I knew exactly where to aim. I lifted the gun and pointed it at the monster.
”I’ve had enough of this.” I said calmly, staring it directly in the eye. I must of looked ridiculous saying something so serious while crying, but I didn’t care. I had the solution sitting in a chamber in my hand. One squeeze and this would all end.
The thing gaves that horrible dry laugh again. It tilted its head as it stared at me.
”You don’t have the nerve to do it” it said smugly, looking at the gun.
”Try me” I challenged, pulling back the hammer as it clicked into position.
That horrible hissing laugh again. God, I’d miss that the least when this all ends.
”You think that this will be the end?” The thing laughed, stepping a bit closer to me. “You think that pulling the trigger will make everything better? You would still be a killer. Your son would still be dead. Your wife would still hate your guts. You’re selfish to think that this will magically make everything go away. A bad mom will never be remembered as anything but a waste.”
My hand trembled as I tightened my grip on the trigger. I stared the thing down, hoping to come off as less scared than I felt.
”I don’t care. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you looming over me. If this is what it takes to get you to leave me alone, then that’s all that matters. Everything else will work itself out. I am only hoping to get away from you.” I spat through gritted teeth, a rare rush of defiance roaring through my body.
”Action speaks louder than words.” It challenged, it’s icy smile barely hiding the contempt it held for me.
My hand was still trembling, but I could feel myself begin to feel relieved. This is the happiest I felt in 26 years. I felt in control of my destiny. I was finally the author of my story.
I was smiling in spite of the fear I felt.
This is it. It’s now or never. My only chance to kill the monster before things can get worse.
I take a deep breath, steady my hand, and pull the trigger.
Before it can fire, I felt a hand yank at mine. The revolver shot up, firing straight up in to the ceiling. I could feel the heat of the barrel on my skin as the bullet ripped out of the chamber. Bits of plaster rain down above me as a body pushes mine down. The body forced my arms over my head, keeping the gun fixed on the wall above my head.
I thrashed and screamed wildly, trying to wrench myself from the body’s grip.
”No no no no no! Let me go! Let me go!”
I was so close to succeeding. I almost ended my horrible existence. I almost got to see my son again. I almost escaped the thing.
My wife looked down at me, pinning my arms down as I continued to struggle. Her eyes were filled with tears as she looks down at me. Her grip was tight, but her hands were shaking violently. I continued to try to escape her grip just long enough to finish the job, but finally just sobbed as I slowly stopped resisting.
”Please. Let me give in” I choked out, pleading with my wife to do the impossible and to give up on me.
”I won’t let you.” She confirms, her voice shaky and broken.
The gun was pried out of my hands as she presses her face against my chest. She was bawling now, holding one of my shoulders tightly as she wept. I put a comforting arm around her as I cried. I did my best to consol her despite my tears, but I could tell that I wasn’t doing a good job. I began to feel a slow a wave of guilt washing over me as I held her in my arms. I almost left my wife alone after she had just lost a son. She was grieving, but tried to keep her head up and keep moving. I felt a pit in my stomach form thinking about leaving my wife as a widow. I truly was selfish and was prepared to add to her hurt. This was all because I was so tired of fighting. I was still exhausted even then, but it was the lowest of priorities. My number one concern was making this up to her.
The thing was gone now, replaced by the light of the cloudy sky behind the thin shades. Not even the murmurs could be heard anymore. I glance at my shadow, but it seemed to be normal at that moment. Then again, I hadn’t seen my normal shadow for what seemed like my whole life.
I sat up a bit to look around our room. My eyes eventually fell on a mirror across the room. My image was battered and broken, with dark sleepless circles etched underneath my eyes. I was pale, as if all the color was drained from my skin. When I turned my head, I got a good look at my temple. My wife did her best to keep the gun away from my head, but the barrel must’ve struck me on the way down. My temple was bruised near my cheekbone. The air was also strong with the smell of burning hair. I could easily tell that my wife came in just in the knick of time. Part of my long hair was singed off, leaving an ugly line straight through to the top of my head. White chips were scattered throughout it from the plaster, which now had a new hole burned into it above my head.
I looked like shit, but I was alive.
I was alive and I wanted to be alive.
Dear God. What did I almost do?
The next few days were filled with psychiatrists, therapists, and doctors. Pills, bandages, and hospital stays also followed closely behind. I didn’t mind though. I was alive. I was getting better. Things felt like they were returning to a sense of normal. However, my wife never leaves me alone for too long to this day. This is in spite of my claims that I’ll be fine. She got lucky the first time, as she came home after getting a bad feeling about my odd behavior. She made it very clear that she was not going to take that chance again.
I would of just left it here. I would of just let it be a figment of my imagination as the pills took the hurt and sadness away.
But I can’t. Not when I can hear my shadow muttering behind me.