Vesper

35

Your shadow moves on its own sometimes. When you first started noticing it, you tried to brush it off as some sort of paranoia or delusion. You sometimes caught yourself staring down at your own shadow, feeling like it was staring back at you. But that was silly. Shadows don't move by themselves, and they certainly don't look at people. You know that. Then the sleep paralysis started. You can't recall ever experiencing sleep paralysis prior to these past few months. You are pretty sure, however, that you are not supposed to experience the uncomfortable phenomenon every other day. And each time you lie there, stuck between consciousness and unconsciousness, you see the same shadowy shape. The first few times, it was standing by your bedroom door; a dark, indiscernable mass with two luminescent white spots you supposed were its eyes. As your bouts of sleep paralysis became more frequent, it seemed to steadily move closer and closer to you. It stopped its advance for a few nights when it reached the foot of your bed, and instead began to change shape each time you saw it; becoming clearer, more human. Then it started to move again, nearer every night to where you lay, and you could do nothing but pray for sleep or wakefulness to claim you before it reached you. It has been so long since you have had a peaceful rest you swear you no longer remember what it feels like. Last night was the worst. The shadow being was leaning over you, its face uncomfortably close to your own, white eyes staring into your soul. As you sit at your dining table, hands trembling around your morning drink of choice, you see your shadow twitch, feel its eyes on you That thing; it must be. Nerves frayed, mind tired, you yell, "I know you're there! Come out!" No response. It is deathly quiet except for the pounding of your heart. You must be going crazy. Your shadow ripples—you're not insane—and something starts crawling out of it.