The one named shadow

My name is Ruhan. I’m a writer—by profession and by obsession. Reality often feels too rigid, too uninspired, and so I find my solace in imagination. I rented a cottage due to this. Not a modern getaway, but an old, creaking structure tucked into the forgotten hills. Isolated, weather-worn, and eerily silent—perfect for writing my next horror story.
The place was everything I’d hoped for. Dust lined the windowpanes, cobwebs hung in corners like ancient ornaments, and the wooden floor groaned under every step. The valley was filled at night with the distant howls of unidentified dogs. It felt like I had walked into one of my own stories.
But fiction bled into reality faster than I expected.
First Twist: The Knock
I heard it the very first night. Knock... knock... knock...
Three soft, deliberate taps at exactly 3 a.m.
Half-asleep, I brushed it off as the wind—until I noticed the paper on the doorstep. A single, small sheet, folded twice. On it, in trembling handwriting:
“I am your shadow. You’ve forgotten me. Come to the mirror.”
My skin went cold. I was supposed to be alone.
Cautiously, I stepped in front of the old mirror above the fireplace. My reflection stared back—until it didn’t. The eyes of my reflection turned away from me and toward my side. But I hadn’t moved. I was still staring forward.
The power went out.
Darkness swallowed the cottage. I fumbled for my candle, and as the flame flickered to life, the room felt... larger. The shadows stretched further than they should have. And some of them moved just slightly out of sync.
Second Twist: The Shadow
I began to notice more.
One shadow—my shadow—moved a heartbeat too late. It didn't when I paused. When I turned, it stayed still. Sometimes, I saw it watching me. And one night, it spoke.
Standing right in front of me—identical in shape but hollow, faceless—it whispered in a trembling voice:
“You’ve taken my place, Ruhan.”
Terror gripped me. I bolted out of the door into the cold, mist-filled night. No signs of life. Only fog—and a whisper that followed:
“You’re not the real one. I am.”
I didn’t sleep that night.
No Reflection on the Third Twist The next morning, everything changed.
I went to the mirror—and saw nothing.
No reflection. No movement. Just the dull surface of glass.
I blinked. I raised my hand. Nothing.
It was like I didn’t exist.
I stopped writing. My thoughts turned to static. I could only hear the shadow’s voice, feel its presence in every room, see it in every corner of my eye.
One night, desperate to escape, I ran. I simply opened the door and there it was, nothing packed. My shadow.
Same clothes. Same face. But colder.
It calmly stated, "You're making a mistake, Ruhan." “You are me now. If you leave, you’ll be erased.”
I pushed it aside and ran away. Down winding paths I’d never seen before. But I always returned to the cottage, no matter where I turned. The wall-mounted clock? 3:08 a.m.
Every. Single. Time.
Fourth Twist: The Loop
That’s when I realized—I was trapped. Caught in a loop. The same hour, the same sequence, the same terror—repeating, bending my mind more each time.
Eventually, I collapsed. The world around me shattered like a broken mirror.
And then—silence.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the cottage anymore.
White walls. Soft humming machines. Screens showing footage from the cottage. And I'm being watched by men in lab coats. “He’s finally awake,” one of them said. “Subject-74 is stable.”