A shadow that isn’t yours

The first time I noticed it, I was walking home from the library late at night. The streetlights cast long, exaggerated shadows along the pavement, but there was something wrong. As I stepped forward, I saw it—another shadow, flickering just behind mine.

At first, I thought it was a trick of the light. Perhaps another pedestrian had been walking close enough for our shadows to merge, or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. But when I stopped, my shadow obeyed, freezing in place beneath my feet. The other one, however, hesitated—just for the briefest moment—before settling.

I turned around quickly, my heart pounding. There was no one there.

The night was silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the cold breeze. I shook my head and hurried home, dismissing the strange occurrence as exhaustion.

But it happened again.

Days later, while I was at work, I caught sight of it in the reflection of my computer screen. My coworkers moved past me, their shadows stretching naturally along the office floor, but mine… mine wasn’t alone. Another one hovered just a breath away from mine, slightly out of sync, as though it belonged to someone standing just behind me.

I spun in my chair so fast that my coworker, Lila, gave me a concerned look. “You okay?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Just tired.”

That night, I stood in my bathroom, staring at the floor under the fluorescent light. I lifted my hand, watching my shadow do the same—but then, just as before, there was a delay. A brief flicker. A hesitation. And then, like a heartbeat, it realigned itself with me.

I didn’t sleep well that night.

Over the following days, the feeling of being watched became unbearable. I would see it everywhere—on the sidewalk, in reflections, stretching against walls where no one stood. It moved with me, mimicking me almost perfectly. Almost. Sometimes, if I turned quickly enough, I caught a glimpse of something… off. A distortion. A second too slow, a movement that didn’t match mine exactly.

One night, I decided to test it.

I went to the park just before sunset, when shadows were long and crisp. I found an empty space, stood still, and raised my arm. My shadow followed. Then I jerked my arm down suddenly.

My shadow obeyed.

The other one twitched first, then reacted.

A cold rush of fear crawled up my spine. I took a step forward. My shadow and the other moved with me. Then, I ran.

I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to move, to escape whatever was following me. I could hear my own breath, my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. But I could feel it. The presence of something just behind me, unseen yet inescapable.

I reached my apartment and slammed the door shut. The lights flickered as I leaned against the door, panting. I turned on every light I could, chasing away every shadow. But shadows always return.

That night, as I lay in bed, I saw it one last time. The moonlight cast a faint glow through my curtains, illuminating the wall beside me. My shadow stretched there, peaceful and still. But there was another one, just next to it.

And then, as I watched, unable to breathe, it moved.

Not with me. Not as a reaction.

It moved on its own.

A slow, deliberate tilt of its head, as though acknowledging me.

I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. My mind raced for an explanation, but there was none.

Then, in the silence, a whisper.

“You finally see me.”

Darkness swallowed the room, and I knew—I was no longer alone.