🌙 The Shadow at Midnight

🖊️ Written by: Muhammad Yahya


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The Town That Slept Too Early

Blackwood was a town that glowed in daylight. Its cobblestones sparkled after rain, lanterns swayed from iron posts, and children’s laughter spilled out from the bakeries and shops.

But once night arrived, the charm shifted. By midnight, shutters were fastened tight, doors bolted, and the streets emptied as if life itself had been swept away.

No one dared to step outside when the church bell tolled twelve. Everyone in Blackwood knew why.

They whispered about the Shadow—a figure said to appear at midnight. Some swore it was the ghost of the town’s first mayor, cursed to walk forever. Others believed it was a man who never aged. Clara’s grandmother always warned her:

> “Never chase a shadow, child. Because sometimes, the shadow chases back.”




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Clara’s Curiosity

Seventeen-year-old Clara grew up with those warnings, but fear was never her nature. Her curiosity was stronger. She had always wondered: Was the Shadow real, or just a story to keep children obedient?

So one cold autumn night, after her family drifted into sleep, Clara lit her lantern and slipped outside.

The streets were still, silent enough for her to hear the pounding of her own heart.

When the church bell rang midnight, its echo seemed to freeze the world.

And then she saw it.


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A Figure at the End of the Street

Far ahead stood a figure. Tall. Thin. Its edges blurred as though it was carved from smoke.

Clara raised her lantern. The glow passed through the shape, yet she could feel its gaze pressing on her.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

No reply.

Instead, the figure’s shadow stretched unnaturally long across the cobblestones, creeping toward her feet. Her breath caught, but she stood firm.

The figure lifted one arm and pointed—toward the graveyard at the edge of town.


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The Cemetery’s Secret

Clara followed. Her lantern shook in her hand as she pushed open the rusting iron gate. The cemetery stretched before her, filled with crooked gravestones and the whisper of autumn wind.

The shadow glided ahead and stopped before a grave worn with age. Clara knelt, brushing moss from the stone.

Her chest tightened as she read the name:

Eliza Thornwood — 1804–1825.

She knew that name. Eliza was her ancestor, a woman who had vanished mysteriously at twenty-one. The family remembered only fragments: a missing daughter, a legacy of silence.

The shadow lingered at the grave. Then, without sound, a whisper filled Clara’s mind:

“The truth was buried.”

Her lantern sputtered, flame dying into darkness. She spun around, but the figure was gone. Only the cold grave remained.


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The Beginning of a Mystery

By the time Clara returned home, dawn was breaking over Blackwood. Her family never knew she had been gone. She kept the secret to herself, but the memory burned inside her.

From that morning onward, Clara visited the grave often, tracing her ancestor’s name with her fingertips, wondering what truth had been hidden beneath the soil.

And always, in the quiet of her mind, she could still feel it—the presence of the Shadow, patient and watching.

Every time the church bell tolled twelve, she would wake with a chill, certain that the shadow lingered outside her window, waiting for her return.

This was not the end of her story. It was the beginning.


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Moral of the Story

Curiosity can reveal truths that others bury in silence. But every truth carries weight, and every secret uncovered comes with a price. The lesson of Clara’s midnight journey is simple: seek answers bravely, but be prepared for the shadows they bring.