The Shadow That Watches

It started with a feeling—an unease creeping up her spine.

Walking home late, she sensed eyes on her, but every glance over her shoulder revealed nothing.

Streetlights flickered as if warning her.

The air felt heavier, charged with something unseen.

Was it paranoia?

Or was something truly lurking in the shadows, just beyond her sight?

The sightings became frequent—a dark silhouette in reflections, a presence in her peripheral vision.

At work, at home, even in crowded places, it was always there.

She told herself it was stress, exhaustion playing tricks.

But deep down, she knew.

This wasn’t her imagination.

Something was following her, and it was getting closer.

One night, she locked her doors, shut her curtains, and tried to sleep.

But the feeling of being watched was unbearable.

Heart pounding, she turned on the light.

There, in the corner of her room, stood the figure—tall, unmoving, featureless.

It had never been outside.

It had always been inside, waiting for her to notice.

She couldn’t scream.

She couldn’t move.

The figure stepped forward, silent, inevitable.

Her breath hitched as it reached out.

Then, everything went black.

When she woke, the room was empty.

But the feeling remained.

It was still there, unseen, waiting.

And now, it wasn’t just watching—it was inside her, whispering in the dark.