The Shadow at the Foot of the Bed

The Shadow at the Foot of the Bed

Lily had always been a light sleeper. A creaking floorboard, a whisper of wind outside her window—any of it could stir her awake. But nothing had prepared her for the night it all changed.

It began on a rainy Thursday, just past midnight. Lily stirred in bed, eyes fluttering open to the dim glow of the streetlight outside filtering through her curtains. Her mind was awake, alert even, but her body wouldn’t move. She tried to lift her arm. Nothing. Her legs felt like concrete. Panic bubbled up in her throat.

That’s when she saw it.

At the foot of her bed stood a dark figure—tall, motionless, its edges blurred as if swallowed by shadow. It didn’t breathe. It didn’t blink. It just stood there, watching.

Lily’s heart pounded against her ribs, her screams trapped behind frozen lips. Her mind raced: Wake up, wake up, this isn’t real.

The figure took a step closer. Her vision tunneled. It whispered her name.

“Lily…”

A scream ripped through her mind—but not her mouth. Just when it seemed the figure would reach her, everything snapped. She sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat, her lungs gasping for air.

There was no shadow. No whisper. Only the soft hum of the rain outside and the ticking of her bedside clock.

Lily didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. But in the silence, she kept her eyes on the foot of her bed… just in case.