Revelations of the Shadow

Revelations of the Shadow

By Kira Akina 

She gasps and sits upright breathing heavily; head weary, sweat pearls covering her forehead and chest . Something woke her from her sleep. A sound? No it wasn’t that, not a noise. She groggily lifts her head to look around searching for something to ground her. Her eyelids heavy, she is caught between the state of awake and dreaming. She blinks, slowly becoming more alert. Somewhere in the fog she recalls flashes of images, as if on a film projector. Myra never remembered her dreams. Lost to her subconscious she had become severed from the process of the process. Fragmented and compartmentalized in her life of survival. But tonight she recalled segments, clips playing on reel. Fear grips her as she re-experiences visions from her mindseye. A bedroom door creeping open, as a child desperately hides under the covers of their bed, simulating a state of sleep. A shadow with mal intent scuds across the room to the side of the bed, the blood-curdling radiation of a demonic presence encroaches upon the child. 

Myra responds with an unavoidable deep breath and shakes her head. Clearly this was not a dream of her room or bed as she was a grown woman in bed with her husband asleep beside her. Her eyes more clear now she scans the room again, taking in reality. As her eyes move slowly from the right  side of the room towards the left she makes note of small things that bring her into the space. She makes note of the lamp on the bedside table, the window on the right wall, and the television on the dresser just opposite her.  But as her eyes move past the half open bedroom door the outline of a small figure stands there.

“Lily”, she whispers to the figure. 

“Are you ok, is everything alright?” she says with concern. There is no response. 

“Lily, go back to sleep baby.”Again, nothing. She decides to give it another go. 

“AD, is that you?”...

A chill runs up her spine. Now unsure if she is awake or asleep a flood of images seep into the peripheral vision of her mind, and she is once again forced into the dream. This time she is somehow the child and a spectator at once. The shadow eerily places his hands upon her and shakes until he gets a reaction. The sheet and comforter protecting her are disturbingly peeled away. On the outside she remains still but on the inside she is screaming and shivering. She doesn’t want to, she holds out as long as she can hoping one of them will disappear, but she has no choice other than to look at the phantom, face to face. He manipulatingly puts one finger up to his mouth as a sign for silence. The feelings she experiences are simultaneously terrifying and familiar, as if fear has become a common visitor. She wants to scream with everything in her, but she can’t. Something has captured her voice. The shadow quietly grasps her, tearing her away from the safety and comfort of her bed, and steals her away into the night. 

The woman blinks and she is back in her room, short of breath, gazing upon the form standing in the doorway. It begins to move away and she is immediately compelled to follow. She lifts her blanket off with one grand  swoop of her left hand, turns her body and places her feet on the ground. Feeling the sensation of her toes touching the floor, hands gripping the bed, assures her that what is happening is real. One step after another she paces forward, carpet under her feet. She arrives at the door where the figure first stood, only to see it turning left round the corner. Her heart begins to race. There is an urgency in her now to meet with the figure. Inside she is stirring but her pace is steady. The corner she has come to is diagonal to her girls room. Myra carefully cracks the door to look in as a precaution she isn’t going mad. She sees both humps asleep in their beds, and slowly and quietly retreats back into the hallway, eager to confirm the figure is still there. As she continues to find her way down the remainder of the hall flashes like lightning intermittently strike her. Snapshots of a dungeon looking room, assumingly the shadow’s layer, where he has taken the girl. Feelings of disgust and shame rise up like vomit. Her chest drops into her and her stomach churns. Feeling woozy, she places a hand on the cold wall to steady herself. The solidity and coolness of the wall helps remind her to keep going. She raises her head and at the end of the halls she catches a glimpse of its leg as it tarries round the right corner. 

Finally approaching the opening where the lounge and dining room meet she glances to the right just as the spirit moves through the sliding glass door. As she makes her way over polaroids flash, one after another overwhelming her. Images of hands tied in rope, bare skin of a child, tears, retching, depictions of a full grown man exposed; the feeling of anguish, humiliation, vulnerability, and captivity.  A life fading in the confines of the shadow. Suddenly, a familiar voice. Myra’s eyes now tearing up, she rapidly and distressfully forces the sliding door wide open. Just as she is within reach the figure turns it’s head to look over it’s shoulder and disappears, and Myra drops to her knees. Sobbing and crying in anger and misery under the moonlight. In despair and resentment she wails. She could tear her garments in mourning. She subconsciously knew she had seen those bunk beds before, that voice sounded familiar. How could she not have known. Maybe she subtly knew somewhere deep inside, but it wasn’t until the darling figure looked back and she saw the face of her own little girl was she sure. The figure was the soul of her own child calling out to her for help.