The Shadows beneath

I always had an irrational fear of the dark. Not in the typical sense, where shadows seemed to slither and stretch out from the corners of my room at night, but in the more insidious way—where the darkness crept into my mind. It was a quiet terror, the feeling that something was watching, waiting for me to slip. But lately, that fear had intensified. I could no longer tell where the line between reality and nightmare began to blur.

It started innocuously enough—strange dreams, vivid and unsettling. They were always the same; a vast, endless hallway with doors lining the walls, each leading to a room I had never seen. But the worst part was the figure at the end of the hall. It was always the same faceless shadow, a person but not a person—its form indistinguishable from the pitch-black night surrounding it.

One night, it was different. I woke up, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. The hallway from my dream stretched out before me, just like in my sleep, only now, it felt real. The floor was cold under my bare feet, the air heavy with the scent of mildew. I froze, knowing that something was wrong, but unable to move. My eyes darted around the familiar room that now felt alien. My instincts screamed at me to run, but where? To hide from what?

Suddenly, a noise broke the silence—a creak from the far end of the hallway. The figure had moved closer. My breath hitched as I saw it again, standing at the far end, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the hallway’s dim glow. No matter how many times I tried to look away, the shape seemed to grow, inch by inch, its presence more overwhelming.

I tried to scream, but no sound came. Panic surged as I tried to turn back to my room, but my legs wouldn’t obey. Each step I took towards the hallway was heavier than the last, as if the darkness was pulling me in, urging me closer to the shadow.

Then, for a split second, I saw its face—or rather, the absence of it. Where eyes should have been, there was only an empty, swirling void, a vortex of my worst memories. All the faces, all the fears I had ever tried to bury resurfaced in that hollow, unblinking stare.

In that moment, I understood. The figure wasn’t some external terror. It was the manifestation of all the things I feared about myself. My fear was me. I was something that needed to be feared. But why? Why do I need to be afraid of myself.

And then, in the middle of my terror, something shifted. I began to understand that the nightmare wasn't about running, hiding, or avoiding the figure. It was about confronting it, acknowledging what it represented. I had lived my life trying to hide myself, my true self, the real me. But the more I avoided, the more it controlled me. The shadow wasn’t just a fear—it was a reflection of my own unresolved past that I needed to confront or I needed to remember something that explained everything. Explained why I was different.

Taking a deep breath, I did the one thing I had never dared to do; I approached the figure. As I walked towards it, the air thickened, the darkness pressing in on all sides, but I kept going. The closer I got, the less the shadow seemed to loom. The face, or what should have been a face, began to soften, its edges blurring, until it was just a shadow once again—no more real than the fears I had allowed to dominate my life.

My heart still raced, but there was a strange sense of clarity. I wasn’t running anymore. I wasn’t hiding. I had confronted the darkest part of myself and survived. And now I remembered. I remembered everything.

The darkness around me began to recede, the hallway dissolving into nothing. I was back in my room, sitting up in bed, the morning light creeping in through the blinds. My breathing was steady now, my mind clear. For the first time in years, the shadows no longer seemed so terrifying, for I had conquered it. The only thing that ever got anything out of me.

Because now, I knew. Now I remembered the truth. The truth about who I am. The monster that I carried within me. It didn’t want to stay buried anymore. It was clawing through my skin to let lose. I had controlled it my whole life. It was time everyone felt what I felt. Everyone had to be afraid of my fear. Everyone deserved to face my fear. Everyone should fear me for who I am.

I sat on the edge of my bed, the warmth of the morning sun pressing through the curtains. My mind still buzzed with the aftereffects of the nightmare—no, not a nightmare, I corrected myself, but a revelation. It wasn’t something I could easily shake off. The fear of the dark, the shadow that had haunted me for so long, still lingered in the corners of my mind. But now, there was something different; a strange sense of power knowing the truth. I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the world beyond. The trees swayed in the breeze, and the sky was clear, but a lingering thought gnawed at me.

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts. It was a text from my best friend, Mia: "Hey, how are you today? You seemed off last night. Wanna talk?"

Oh so now she wants to talk is it?

With a deep breath, I typed a reply: “I had a strange dream last night. I think it was more than just a dream, though. Something shifted in me.”

Mia’s reply came almost instantly: “That sounds intense. Want to meet up? You can tell me about it.”

I felt annoyed, but then I typed, “ Let’s meet at the café later?”

Mia was my best friend, but it always felt like she always only reached out when she wanted something. I had always been good at reading people. I knew Mia was selfish, but I always hanged out with her because she was also one of the most popular girls in college which gave my life normalcy. I never understood any emotion. I just mimicked everything I saw. I always knew something was different about me but today I knew why.

As I prepared for the day, I couldn’t shake the sense that something had changed within me. The shadow I had confronted might have vanished for now, but it had left a trace. A trace that was now pushing me to look deeper inside myself, to explore what was beneath the surface.

Later that afternoon, I arrived at the café. Mia was already there, sipping a cappuccino and scanning her phone. She looked up when I entered, her face lighting up with a welcoming fake smile. I was now sure that Mia needed something. The strength needed to suppress the urge to eye roll was tiring. Sometimes I wondered why do I even bother.

I took a seat across from her, the comforting hum of the café’s atmosphere easing my nerves. I glanced around the café. It’s strange, really—how people go on with their lives, oblivious to the fact that they’re just players in a game I’m not really interested in. They feel things, you know, emotions like guilt or joy or sadness. They let these things rule them. But not me. I don't let emotions get in the way. They’re distractions. Why should I feel anything when I can see things so clearly?

Take today, for example. I’m sitting across Mia at a café, and she’s talking about her day—something trivial, like how her boyfriend Cole was rude or how her coffee wasn’t as hot as she’d wanted it. I can see her eyes light up when she talks, how she leans in slightly, waiting for my response. She thinks I’m listening, that I care. But I don’t. The words she’s saying don’t matter. The only thing that matters is how she behaves. How I react to things she says. How she trusts me, how she looks at me like I’m someone worth sharing her thoughts with. I give my just enough attention to keep her interested. That’s all I need.

I can tell what she’s going to say next without even having to think about it. People are predictable. They are creatures of habit. Emotions are just their patterns, their responses to external stimuli. They don’t make them special. They’re just... machines that respond to certain things, like I do. The difference is, I don’t get tangled in those responses. They’re useful, though. Understanding them, manipulating them—it’s like a game of chess. You move them around until they do what you want.

She said that we could talk about my dream, but here we are, talking about how awful of a boyfriend Cole is. I just hope she doesn’t cry. Because today I don’t think I can put up with this anymore. Cole just yelled at her for not deleting an Instagram post he didn’t like. He never understood her. She says it like it matters. The vulnerability in her voice, that little crack that betrays the illusion of control—it's almost amusing. People talk about their wounds like they're sacred, like they’re somehow beyond reproach. But what they don't realize is that they're just vulnerabilities. And if you're smart, you can use them.

I watch her carefully, noting the way her hand shakes slightly as she stirs her drink. She’s nervous now, about something. I nod, pretending to care, like I’m reflecting on what she said. I don't care about her boyfriend or her pain. I care about what makes her tick, how I can twist her perceptions just enough to get what I want. It’s not about hurting her, not necessarily.

It’s about control.

Power.

And in this world, people give up their power so easily. They open up to you, they trust you—and once they do, they’re mine.

Her phone vibrates. She picks it up looks at it first with anger, then confusion then sadness. I don’t need to wonder what it is about, she will tell me about it eventually. She always does. She smiles, reassured. She thinks I understand her, thinks I’m someone she can confide in. She’s wrong. I finished my drink, her face lit up with the self-satisfaction of someone who feels understood, who’s shared their deepest secrets with someone they think cares.

“Do you have a crush on Cole?” She asks suddenly. Her expression a mixture of hurt and anger. Now where was this coming from? Sometimes people do throw a curveball at you, but if you are someone like me you always know how to dodge it.

“What? no!” I said trying to convey an emotion that I wasn’t feeling.

She stares at me, trying to read me. Unlike me she wasn’t good at reading people, hence she was in a relationship with an idiot like Cole. He was hot alright. He had a handsome face, body that girls went mad over, and that bad boy attitude that had girls dropping like flies all over the campus, also he was nutty as a fruit cake. He had a personality of an Adidas sandal. She thinks that staring at me intently may intimidate me into telling her something. I just don’t care about her or her pathetic boyfriend anymore. It seemed like a staring contest between us.

She doesn’t know that I’ve already moved on. I’ve already seen her for what she is—predictable, simple, and just another piece on the board. I’ve won, and she hasn’t even realized it.

“Cole and I had a fight yesterday, you know about the Instagram post I told you about. Then he went on saying about how smashing hot you are. Brad and Nate agreed with him. I got a little mad. I mean I know you are hot. But please why does he care when he is dating like the hottest girl on the campus.” She said looking at me to affirm her belief.

I just stared back because I don’t even care anymore. She just continued after a minute of reassuring herself about her hotness.

“Cole left after that. But Nate stayed back to see if I was alright and then he said that Cole has been getting a little obsessed with you lately ever since he came back from visiting his sister’s family at Jacksonville.”

Now this is interesting. Jacksonville is where I was born. Also the place where it all began. Now what is that steroid filled Adidas sandal upto. Looks like he isn’t as much nutty. I just smiled at her.

“Oh c’mon girl. I wouldn’t even talk to Cole. You know me. I would never betray my bestie for another man. You know sisters before misters. He will never come between us. In fact he will never hurt you again.” I said smiling knowing that the Steroid filled balloon needs to be popped. Mia is too important for my normal image as much as annoying she is. She is an important piece in my chess board. I still had a year left in college after all.

Satisfied, she gets up to leave, and I watch her walk away. She’s happy, content. She thinks we’ve shared something meaningful. That’s the beauty of it. The beauty of not caring. People will always be eager to give you what they think you want. They’ll hand over their trust, their secrets, their love—if you know how to ask for it. If you know how to play the game.

I look out the window, the sunlight spilling through the glass. The shadows outside, stretched long and dark across the street, no longer seemed as menacing.

The shadow hadn’t vanished entirely, but it didn’t need to. It was part of my story, part of what made me who I am. And by facing it, I had taken control over my own narrative.

As I sat there thinking, I felt a sense of clarity I hadn’t experienced before. There was still work to do, still parts of myself to uncover and accept, but I wasn’t afraid to keep moving forward. After all, the worst of it—the part that had kept me locked in fear—was already behind me.

My phone vibrated.

“Hey”

It was a text from Cole. I called him. I just couldn’t text him for I already knew everything. I asked him to meet me at the lover’s cliff. It was just a secluded cliff on the top where all of them went to make out. Cole, the steroid fueled cupcake thought I asked him to meet there because I wanted to make out. I drove and waited for him there.

I was scared . Not because he was walking slowly towards me and looking at me like a predator looking at his prey. But because I knew the truth. I was the big bad wolf and he was just the shepherd who cried wolf. I slowly and seductively walked towards him. Licking my lips I watched him follow my action.

"I have a secret? " I asked my voice barely a whisper as if it were a secret in itself.

"Yes" he said smiling and reaching in front of me.

"And you know about it?" I asked trying to look serious and running my nails slowly along his chest and going around his neck.

"Yes" he said smirking and holding my waist.

I shivered a little as his fingers made exotic patterns on the exposed skin of my waist. I pulled him closer to my face by his neck and played with his soft hair.

"And this 'secret' is what?" I whispered slowly our lips almost touching.

"You don't know about it yet." He said looking at my lips with lustful eyes.

"Let me get this straight I have a secret that I don't know about, but you know about it?"

I kissed him giving him exactly what he wanted. The kiss was slow at first then it turned to a battle for domination. He thinks he knows me. He believes he knows my secret. I let him get his way for few seconds and then pulled his hair which made him open his mouth and I let my tongue in to show him how it’s done.

He didn’t mind really. Two can play the game. He was about to grab my ass when suddenly I pushed him and down he fell.

"I am sorry, you knew my secret. You had to die. Nothing personal really. For what it’s worth you were a good kisser."



I shouted looking down the cliff at his falling figure my hair flowing back and laughing maniacally.