Dark Figure

I felt myself materialising, a dark humanoid figure etched on the grey ground outside of the suburban house. My human, Steve, walked out of his blue house wearing a blue shirt that seems too small for his bulky statuesque.

His eyes gleamed under the yellow sun above his head. A twinkle that I only get to see every morning. Steve strolled down the grey path laid out in his lawn. Newly-mowed grass brushed his feet as he walked pass, curving to a low bow.

Steve's motions were never stiff. His wands sway like grass blown by the chilling wind in the grasslands. His stance is liquid in the flowing river, despite his hulking figure. A sheer evidence to his old dancer self. From the slightest twitch of his head to the cracking of his knuckles, I have to mimic it all. An act I've known so well since he was brought to this world under white light, touched by blue rubber gloves.

Only in the mornings do I get to see Steve, when the rays illuminate his rigid outline. It had been like that since last month, a sudden shift of his bright attitude. He even killed off the lights in his house at night, leaving him at total darkness. Sometimes, when the automotive lighting of passersby shine through the thick silk covering his windows, leaving him a faint and short glow, I get to see the house again, with him staring blankly.

He moved across the black asphalt road, towards the other side. His curly brown hair sway from the walk. I looked closely at him, copying every gesture he might make as, despite being with him since birth, his actions nowadays are unpredictable.

He went straight to the local supermarket and bought some bread crumbs, trash bag and a butcher knife. He had been buying various types of knives since last week. I wondered what he may be doing inside at night.

We didn't stay long at the supermarket and went to the park a few blocks away. Despite his weird actions, he managed to do what he'd done since. Strolling the park, feeding the ducks with the bread crumbs he bought and hike through the small hill on the far side of the park.

Time passed quickly. The sun sets at the far horizon, leaving the world with a dark orange glow. Steve moved away from the hill and trekked home as the night deepens.

Streetlights bathe him with an ominous orange light against the now-dark sky. Passing through the supermarket, walking across the seemingly quiet road and towards his lot. His place is mysteriously dimly lit nowadays. He used to have Christmas lights even on late January.

I sense myself fading away as the Steve is engulfed by the darkness inside his house. I felt myself falling asleep.

— — — — —

"Freeze!" A mysterious voice ordered, lighting a flashlight to the dark living room. Steve was there, near the passageway to the bathroom. He was holding a butcher knife that he just bought, which was once steel grey now crimson red. His hands were bloody, as if he washed them with thick blood. Five police officers went inside the house, each holding a flashlight and a pistol gun at both hands.

Steve ran towards the stair, near the spot he was in. Making my existence fade away again.

Even without existing in the real world, I can feel the intensity. I anticipated for the light to shine him and , even though I cannot help things, see what this fuss is all about.

Lights shone him by the four police officers, the fifth one seemingly gone. Their guns fiercely pointed to him. "Drop the knife," the police in front of him barked. He did and the knife let out a thud. "Put your hands in the air where I can see them."

"What is going on?" I thought to myself.

His eyes, which was once filled with gleaming joy now is replaced by utter defeat.

"You are under arrest for multiple murders." The police at his side declared. "You have the right to remain silent."

"Murder?" I thought, shocked. "How can sweet Steve kill someone?"

Steve's eyes look around, ultimately drifting towards his shadow. Me. His mouth twitched, as if he was trying to say something. "Help me, please!" He pleaded to me. He knows I exist. "You're alive right? Help me!"

"He's loco," an officer pointed out, a wicked grin curved his mouth.

"Let's bring him to the station," another police commanded.

"I'm not crazy," he muttered too low that only I can hear. His eyes were still fixed on my figure, desperate.

The lights overhead shone, making me visible even further. My gaze fixed on Steve, his eyes welling up with tears. I cannot believe he knows I exist. How could it be? When?

The police officers stumbled backwards, their mouths covered by their hands, as if trying to stomach what they've seen. Their eyes filled with disgust. "Fucking hell," someone muttered.

I let my gaze find the root of their tremor and if I were a human, I would have felt my mouth drop. Human body parts hung by the wrecked closet, flies hovering by it. A black bag was under the grotesque sight, seemingly half-filled. Dark red painted the walls, a scene straight from a slasher film.

"I turned on the light!" Someone shrieked from downstairs. The fifth police. "It's a mess here."

"We're on our way," the police holding Steve said. The room thundered with sounds of boots brushing the floor. Downstairs was much better. Chairs were overturned and other furnitures broken into splintering pieces. It looked like it was ransacked. Far from the blood-curdling view of butchered body parts upstairs.

I looked at Steve with distaste. His familiar blue eyes glint in the streetlight as they dragged him outside. Angered by his actions, I stopped following him, leaving me on the doorway as he sits on the police car. His familiar blue eyes widened as it drifted to the shadow that lingered on the passageway.

"Look!" He exclaimed, looking at the officers as he pointed a finger to me. "He's sentient!"

The police officers looked at the empty passage way. The one driving snickered in reply, shaking his head.

I mimicked his stature inside the car. He looked frantically at me, eyes wide with fear.

Shadows aren't allowed to not follow their humans or even say a word. But I felt myself boiling up. My trust placed on the wrong person. I shifted myself towards his ears.

"Good luck," I whispered. A voice that resembled his but echoey. His eyes welled up in reply. His face tensed up as his hands clenched into a fist. For once since the revelation, I saw the old Steve. The one I came to know. The one who can never come back.

I am a mere dark figure, outlined from the stature of a human. A human whom I desperately loved and cared for ever since. A human I followed throughout. A human whose soul I thought was light, a contrast to my black essence. But I felt my trust in him falter as the lights turned on. Despite his cheery behaviour, his soul was submerged by darkness, a hue much darker than my figure.