Shhh. You can hear it, can’t you? That creeping silence? The void of hushed breathing behind you when you stop for a moment. Maybe to tie your shoe or to admire something in a shop. It holds its breath so you don’t know it’s there.
I’ve always been a skeptic. I think that’s the funniest part about this. I’m a science teacher at a college. Not big enough to feel justified in calling myself a professor, but I love my job. You get the few deadbeat kids, sure, but a lot of them are honestly just looking for someone to show them how cool science can be.
The thing about working with students is that you tend to find yourself submersed in their worlds. Not like one of “those” teachers (I’m good at keeping my personal life and hands to myself) but you can’t help but hear their conversations, keep up with what’s popular. Hear about the next Thing that’s got them all in a tizzy.
TikTok. Tiktok was the next thing that grabbed my students and wouldn’t let go. I don’t know what it is about social media and video sharing that lights up kids’ brains like Christmas trees. Maybe, in another life, I went into the neurosciences and heralded a study that found out why. Maybe instead of going into teaching, I was a famous researcher. Maybe I wouldn’t be in a closet with my back to the wall, writing this.
One morning I came into my class and saw my sophomores huddled around one another. The rooms are pretty small at the school, but the tables are arranged so they can move their chairs around and chat after lectures. I like an open, honest atmosphere.
“Morning, everyone.” I sat my things on the desk and waited. I didn’t require them to say good morning, but usually I could expect a tired chorus of hellos in response. This time they were all silent.
“What’s so interesting?” I asked, though this time I didn’t expect a response. They parted easily as I pushed towards the middle of the group. Lessa Vaughn had her phone out, at an angle so that the rest of the kids could see the screen. I could see from my position that she was gripping the pop socket hard enough that her knuckles matched her white manicured nails.
“Everything okay?” I asked. And, this still surprises me, one of the other students shushed me. I was so startled I just moved to look at the screen.
It just seemed to be someone on TikTok spinning their camera around and around. I got fed up, and clapped my hands loudly. “Alright! That’s enough!” I said. It was loud enough to startle them and the spell broke.
Class resumed as normal, though there was an agitation that at the time I had attributed to midterms.
After class, I stopped Miss Vaughn.
“What were you watching this morning?” I asked, feeling a bit silly to be so interested.
She looked a little embarrassed about it. “It’s called the Second Shadow Challenge,” she answered, then headed off to her next class.
The rest of the day went by as normal. I didn’t think about the challenge again until I was back home in my apartment. I lived alone and I didn’t give out homework in the first semester. So there wasn’t much to do but sit.
I barely registered what I was doing as, glass of wine in one hand, I installed TikTok with the other. I made an account with a random name so I could remain somewhat anonymous, and then began my research into what Lessa had named “The Second Shadow Challenge.”
I remember the rules like they’re tattooed into my eyelids:
It was, essentially, teenage bullshit.
I shut the thick curtains over my one small window, turned off all the lights except the floor lamp next to my reading chair, and felt very stupid.
But wine and boredom are a fun combination. I stood with my back to the lamp and began to spin around, at least content that no one could see me. Three times. I grabbed blindly behind me, like it suggested. My blood ran cold as I felt something in my hands. Cold, slightly moist, a long thin bone that jutted from the ground. The texture was rough.
I threw whatever it was behind me and screamed. The lamp I’d just thrown hit the window and parted the curtains enough to let the evening sun into the room.
I drank another glass of wine and went to bed early.
The next few days are a bit of a blur. I remember going to class; teaching; passing out midterm study guides. The thing I remember most is the feeling that something was on my shoulder. I wanted to turn around, but I knew if I did it in class, they would just laugh. I contented myself with the idea that if there was something behind me, the students would have noticed and told me.
I went home that night with an itch behind my eyes. I had to do the challenge again.
Lights off but one. This time I chose the light over my little stove, to avoid what happened last time. Spin three times. TikTok. I groped behind me and felt nothing. I opened my eyes.
There was no light now. I was in the dark. I felt air on the back of my neck. Without thinking I turned again. There was something behind me. Blacker than the darkness of my kitchen, thin and gaunt. I saw the edge of it, a stretched grin. It followed me. I know it did. I moved from room to room, turning on the lights. Each bright bulb did nothing but add shadows. More shadows behind me. I felt the grip of long moist fingers on me. I ran.
Every time I looked I could see it. Just at the edge of my vision. Sometimes there was a cold rasp of breath, lungs cracked and old. A shoulder devil. I had to force myself to never, ever look.
I threw myself into the bathroom. The lights there were the brightest. But that was a mistake. It feeds on light. It wants it. I looked into the mirror and saw the undulation of its body on the wall behind me. It grew and grew until the only thing in the mirror was it. And me. Beneath my eyes on the skin I saw a growing grayness. I knew if I had stayed a moment longer it would have gotten me then and there.
I broke my shoulder tearing down the door. I hurt my knee landing in the closet, grasping the lock and flipping it with desperate, long, cold fingers. It locks from the outside, but that’s okay. I know my second shadow is in here with me. It is feeding slowly on the screen of my phone. Eventually it will take me. I can’t walk on this knee anyway. Tick tock.
Shhh. You can hear it, can’t you? That creeping silence? The void of hushed breathing behind you when you stop for a moment. Maybe to tie your shoe or to admire something in a shop. Or read a post on Reddit.
It holds its breath so you don’t know it’s there.