Something was wrong with me.
I didn't know what, and I couldn't explain how I knew—but it was there. Heavy. Constant. Like a whisper threading through my thoughts, too quiet to catch, too loud to ignore.
That morning, I woke up staring at the ceiling, unsure whether I'd slept or just existed in the dark. My body felt normal, but my mind... didn't. It was as if someone had rearranged things in my head while I wasn't looking. Familiar thoughts felt foreign. My reflection blinked a second too slow.
School blurred by. Faces passed me in waves. Laughter echoed in the halls like mockery, but not directed at me—no, it was too impersonal for that. Still, I felt watched. Not by people. But by something else.
By me.
In class, I couldn't focus. Words on the board warped into questions I wasn't ready to answer.
What are you becoming?
I stared at my shadow under the fluorescent light. It didn't sit right. The edges were too sharp. The angle was wrong. At one point, it shifted—before I did.
No one else noticed. Of course they didn't.
When I tried to ignore it, the air grew colder around me, like it disapproved.
I couldn't tell anyone. How do you explain to anyone that your own shadow feels alive? That it watches you in the moments between thoughts? That sometimes, just before falling asleep, you hear a second heartbeat inside your head?
No one would believe me. Hell, I didn't even believe it myself.
And yet, I knew because I felt it.
Whatever this was... it had started already. And it wasn't just in my head.
Something was waking up.
That night, I sat alone in my room, lights off, phone silent, window slightly open. The shadows on the wall didn't move—but I could feel them watching.
Then, just before sleep claimed me, I heard it.
A voice. Low, calm, and cold.
"You're not losing control… you're remembering it."
And for the first time…
I wasn't sure if I was afraid or intrigued.