If Your Shadow Turns Around, You’re Already Gone

The Shadows That Walk Ahead

The road twisted like a serpent through the forested hills, silent and breathless under the weight of midnight. Eric’s car came to a slow halt. His GPS had died fifteen minutes ago, his phone displayed No Signal, and the last streetlight had disappeared miles back. Now, he was surrounded by towering trees, thick fog, and a silence so absolute, it hummed in his ears.

He stepped out, hoping to get a better view of his surroundings. That’s when he noticed it.

A wooden signpost, standing right in the middle of the narrow road, as if someone had placed it there just for him. The words carved into it weren’t faded, but fresh too fresh.

"If your shadow walks ahead of you, do not turn around."

Eric scoffed. “Right… classic horror movie nonsense.”

But as he turned to walk back to his car, his heart stopped.

His shadow… was no longer behind him. It was walking ahead of him.

A perfect silhouette of himself, gliding on the asphalt, moving forward without him.

There was no light behind him. No car headlights. No moon in the sky.

So how… was there even a shadow?

He blinked, rubbed his eyes. “Fatigue,” he whispered. “Just a trick of the mind.”

But when he took a cautious step forward, the shadow did too before he moved. Like it anticipated him. Like it led him.

And then slowly, unnaturally it turned its head.

The shadow… looked back at him.

His knees weakened. Shadows don’t look back. They don’t have eyes. But this one did two hollow pits where eyes should be. It didn’t blink. It just stared, motionless and defiant, as if daring him to break.

Eric backed away. The air grew colder, thick like tar. The forest around him seemed to lean in. Leaves froze mid-rustle. Not a single insect dared to chirp.

And then he heard it. A voice not outside, but inside his head.

A whisper like the sound of fingernails scraping bone.

"Time has caught you. Now you belong to it."

His chest tightened. Panic surged like electricity through his veins. He turned to run

anywhere, just away from this cursed path

but his feet wouldn’t move. He was frozen, as if time itself had wrapped around his ankles like chains.

Then the shadow began to rise.

No longer bound to the ground, it lifted, suspended in mid-air, stretching like smoke in reverse. Its form bent and twisted, distorting into something no longer human. Something watching. Waiting.

And then, everything stopped.

The trees. The air. Even the fog.

Stillness. Deafening stillness.

Eric felt his heartbeat slow unnaturally.

Three beats.

Two.

One.

Silence.

And then blackness.

The next morning, a hiker found a peculiar mark on the road. It wasn’t blood. It wasn’t oil. It was a burnt imprint, a perfect silhouette of a man scorched into the pavement, as if the ground had absorbed someone whole.

There was no sign of a body. No clothing. No evidence of any struggle.

Just that… shadow.

And beside it, the wooden signpost now bore a different message. The words had changed overnight:

"Those who walk ahead of time… are erased by it."

At the bottom, freshly carved:

"Eric 03:12 AM"

Since then, legends have spread through nearby towns. People say if you ever take the forest road at night, and notice your shadow walking ahead of you…

Don’t turn around.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t blink.

Because the moment you acknowledge it,

You become it.

And all that’s left behind… is a burn mark in the shape of a man

and a name on a signpost

Thank you very much for reading!❤️