My Shadow Doesn’t Follow Me Anymore

It started on a Tuesday.

I was walking to work, same route as always—through the narrow alley between the coffee shop and the laundromat. The sun was behind me, low and bright, casting long shadows in front of everyone.

Except me.

I stopped, looked down. The pavement was empty.

No shadow.

I turned around slowly. The sun was still there. Blazing.

But my shadow? Gone.

I laughed it off at first. Blamed it on clouds or something stupid. But there were no clouds. Everyone else’s shadows stretched like black strings in front of them, bending with their movements.

Mine didn’t exist.

I even asked a stranger:

“Hey, do you see my shadow?”

He blinked at me like I was insane, looked down, then muttered something and walked faster.

That night, I stared at my wall as the streetlights shone in. My body cast no outline on the wallpaper. It was as if the light passed through me.

That’s when I noticed the whispering.

Very soft. Barely there.

Coming from behind me.

By Friday, it had changed.

The absence of my shadow didn’t feel like nothing anymore. It felt like something.

Like… something else was there.

It began mimicking my footsteps, just a second too late. If I turned around quickly enough, I could almost see it—a blur, a ripple, the sense of movement. But there was never anything solid. Never anything I could prove.

Just this sinking, spreading feeling.

Like I was being followed by… me.

But not me.

I stopped going outside.

Mirrors became unpredictable. Sometimes I was alone in them. Other times, I wasn’t. One night, I looked into the mirror and watched myself blink.

But I hadn’t blinked.

That version of me in the reflection? It blinked first.

I backed away.

It smiled.

My girlfriend came over a few nights later. I hadn’t told her much, just that I was feeling “off.”

She tried to be sweet. Made me tea. Talked about normal things like shows and weekend plans.

Then she said, “Why are you standing in the hallway?”

I looked up.

“I’m sitting right here,” I said.

She froze.

Slowly, she turned her head back toward the hallway.

But it was empty.

I watched her face pale. She looked back at me, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

“That wasn’t you,” she whispered.

She left. I haven’t seen her since.

I don’t sleep anymore.

When I close my eyes, I feel it. Crawling closer. Every time I turn around, it’s just behind the edge of my vision.

Waiting.

The worst part?

I think it wants to take my place.

I think it already has, in some places.

My boss called me yesterday, confused. “Why did you show up for work today just to stare at me?”

I hadn’t left the house.

My mom sent me a voicemail: “You said the weirdest things on the phone last night. Are you okay?”

I hadn’t called her.

Something else did.

Something wearing me.

Last night, I stared into the mirror for hours.

Eventually, my reflection stopped copying me.

It just stood there, eyes wide, breathing slowly. Watching me.

And then it spoke.

Not with words — just lips moving.

But I understood:

“You don’t cast a shadow…

…because you are the shadow now.”

Final Entry – July 1

I woke up this morning, and there was a knock at the door.

I opened it.

No one was there.

Except a shadow.

My shadow.

On the ground.

Smiling.

And behind me, I heard the lock click.

Now… I'm the one walking without a shadow.

Someone else has taken my place.

If you’re reading this — check your reflection.

If it blinks before you do…

Run.