A Shadow of Myself

You settle down across the table. The old man sits in his chair. An old, sunken face holds deep lines of age, years of experience coming in jagged lines. Dark, stringy hair clings to his pale face, down to the middle of his back, unwashed and matted. His voice comes out in an eerie groan. 

"There is a shadow in my room." 

Behind the old man, out of the corner of your eye, you see a shape. Humanoid in nature, the shade morphs the more you tried to look its way. Just as you may have made out its stature, its face, it shifts once again, endlessly swirling. It stands watch silently. An uneasy feeling settles over you-- that something, somewhere, is watching you. 

"I do not know when it appeared," the man slowly reminisces, his eyes staring beyond you. "It has been so long ago, yet it feels as though it has always been here. It watches everything I do. It watches me eat, it watches me work, it watches me into the night. It does nothing. It has never moved." 

A chill runs down your spine. You jolt a little, the sensation coming over you forcefully in such a quiet room. You try to look around the man, try and make out the creature, yet your eyes cannot settle in one place. Mere shadows in the corners of your eyes. 

The elderly man chuckles, “Don’t bother. I could never make it out no matter how hard I tried. I do not know what it wants.” 

He holds his cane tightly, staring down into the dark, broken floorboards. “You know... I am not an anxious man. I’ve faced many hardships in my life—poverty, starvation, war. I’ve stared death in the eyes and spat in its face. I’ve not only lived, I’ve persevered.” 

Glancing around, he lets out a soft, nervous sigh, “But, as its gaze bore into me that first day... I was more afraid than I have ever been.” 

For the first time all night, he looks up towards you. Bright green eyes had long since lost their shine, turning into dark, hollow holes. Though you had been staring at him the whole time, it was as if his face had become gaunter in the seconds you both sat at his table. 

“I could not sleep,” he speaks, his words becoming more and more frantic. “Though it watched over me so dutifully, I knew the moment I fell into a restful slumber, so defenseless, it would strike. These creatures never go out kindly. 

“My thoughts soon turned darker. If it would hurt me as it slept... would it stop there? What was to stop it when my back was turned? When I looked away? When I blinked, closing my eyes for a mere second?” 

He lets out a slow, almost manic laugh, “I stopped eating. I did not leave my room. I kept it in the corner of my eye as I worked. Always within my sight, always in mind. My studies turned from the cosmos to the creature which inhabited my room. I wrote down its movements, if it stayed still, every waking moment it plagued me. How I could see it, how it was so close, but I could never. Make. It. Out.” 

A sudden wind blows through the room. Yelping, you grab onto the table as papers fly across your vision. A few found their way onto the old wooden table. You quickly realized what laid before you—scribbled pencil drawings, each of faces of men, women, children... until all of them were the man before you. The same face, over and over and over. 

“Every shift, every movement, I noticed,” the old man praises. “My studies had long been forgotten. My tables and walls became filled with diagrams, scribbled theories, maddened words. How long has it been since I have been outside? How long has it been since I have spoken words to another, seen the face of another? 

“I hear the people who come to the door. People pleading for me to leave, who try and break their way inside to check if I still draw breath. They never make it far. When the noises stop, the shade gains another form. I’ve stopped wondering what happened to them.” 

The words were on the tip of your tongue—protests of their fate. You were here, now. You had made it through with ease, you must have... 

Yet, as you try and remember the journey into this room, your mind came back blank. There was, simply, nothing. Why were you here? Why did you come to this room? Who was this man? 

Who are you? 

“I do not know how long it has been. It could have been days, it could have been weeks, it could have been years. The shade has been my only companion. I have studied its forms, know its actions by heart. I know it watches over me.” 

Your eyes search for the shade, desperate for the figure you saw moments before, an anchor as to why you were here... and, yet, you saw nothing. Nothing but an empty room, but the table you two sat at, now. 

“The shadow knows me. It must know my movements, my habits, myself. We know each other more than anyone has ever known me before. I cannot remember how long it has been since I stopped writing. There was no need for it anymore. The walls were covered in pictures of the shadow, everything I have learned about it. I do not know why I put them up. Perhaps I would like it to see my work.” 

As you look around, there is nothing. Nothing in the room, not even the pictures you had seen mere moments before. The table you both sit at has fallen away. All there is left is the two of you, sat in this room, alone in the dark night. 

“I have been staring at it for a long time. We sit there, watching each other, day in and day out. I do not know if people come to the door anymore. It grows, but I do not hear them. I do not need to hear them. 

“I know it will not be long for me. I do not need long, anymore. Every day, I feel a part of myself slip away. I do not know where I came from, I do not know where my home is. I cannot remember my past work. It will not be long until I forget my name.” 

Despite himself, the old man smiles. “And I find myself happy for the embrace. For the first time in my life, I have found a place where I am whole. Where I am wanted. The shadow is a part of me, just as I am a part of it.” 

And, then, the old man is gone.

There are two shadows in the room.