Horror, Fiction
3 min
The Legend of the Shadow
Kelly Ta
March 3, 1982.
There was an urban legend of the shadow that smiles all wrong.
My mother used to tell it to me at night while sitting on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping a little under her weight. She would hum the "You Are My Sunshine" as she spoke, voice low and soft, almost lulling, like she was trying to hush the creatures clawing at the underside of my bed, rocking them to sleep with her song.
She never finished the lullaby.
I woke up with a jolt, my alarm clock shrieking. Groggily, I dragged myself up from the pillow, yawning as I squinted at the red digits— 10 AM. Ah... I overslept again.
I swung my leg off over the side of my bed, the floorboards groaning under my weight. I opened the curtain, sunlight spilling through the window, embracing me with a warm hug.
I rubbed my eyes.
My shadow stretched across the floor, long and too humanlike.
It lagged, twitching.
I frowned. The shape on the floor moved a moment after I did, its edges rippling, stretching too far, as if it were testing how much flesh it could steal from the dark.
The air felt... thicker.
Like the room had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale.
I lifted my foot and set it down again.
The shadow delayed.
Not by much. A heartbeat, maybe. But long enough to make my stomach knot.
"Stop it," I muttered, more to myself than to the dark shape pooled on the floor. I shifted my weight from heel to toe. The shadow hesitated, then copied me, its movement wrong—jerky, like a marionette tugged by unfamiliar strings.
I backed away from the window.
The shadow did not.
It stayed stretched where the sunlight had pinned it, its edges trembling, thinning, as if it was being peeled from the floor.
I shut the curtain.
Darkness rushed back in, swallowing the room in a dim gray. For a moment, there was no shadow at all.
Relief loosened my shoulders.
Then something brushed my ankle.
I looked down.
The shadow was there again, except it wasn't attached.
It lay beside my feet like a stain that had learned to breathe.
Its shape was... off. Too narrow in the shoulders. Too long in the arms. The head bent slightly, as though listening.
I stumbled backward and nearly tripped over the bedframe.
The shadow didn't move.
Not until I did.
I ran to the bathroom and slammed the door, heart rattling in my chest. The mirror greeted me with my own pale reflection—sleep-mussed hair, dark crescents under my eyes.
No shadow at my feet.
I leaned closer to the sink.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay, okay, okay..."
Something shifted behind me.
Not in the mirror.
In the hallway.
A soft sound like fabric dragged across wood.
"...hello?" My voice cracked on the word.
From the other room came a whisper.
Not a word at first—just breath. A dry, dragging sound, like something learning how lungs worked.
A soft breath on my neck:
You left me in the light.
My blood turned to ice.
"I—what?"
The whisper came again, closer this time, slipping under the door like fog.
You made me thin. You made me wrong.
I pressed my hands to the sink, knuckles whitening. "You're... you're just a shadow."
A pause.
Then, softly, almost hurt:
You used to hum to me.
The memory hit like a bruise.
My mother's voice. Low and gentle. You are my sunshine...
She never finished the song.
The bathroom light flickered.
The whisper thickened, layering over itself, like two voices trying to share one mouth.
I learned the rest by listening under your bed.
A dark shape began to seep beneath the bathroom door, slow and deliberate, spreading like ink in water.
It formed fingers first.
Too many joints.
They tapped once against the tile.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I backed into the mirror.
The shadow slid inside.
It peeled itself up from the floor and stood.
Tall. Crooked. A version of me that had been stretched through a nightmare.
Where its face should have been, there was a smile.
Not wide.
Just... wrong.
"I didn't mean to leave you," I whispered.
The shadow tilted its head.
You don't have to, it said.
I can follow without light now.
The bathroom bulb died.
Darkness swallowed everything.
And in it, something stepped into my place.
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