Chapter 12: Between Shadows

The room felt colder than usual. I couldn't quite tell if it was the draft from the broken window or something more insidious, but I wrapped the blanket tighter around me, hoping the feeling would pass. It didn't.

It never does.

The cracks on the window had widened since the last time I dared look at them. They stretched like spidery veins across the glass, splintering out into a chaotic web that seemed almost alive, as if it had grown in the dead of night. The light from outside barely penetrated through the fractures now, leaving the room bathed in a half-light, the kind that makes you question the shapes you see in the corner of your eye.

I don't remember when it started—the sense that something was always with me. Not in the way you think about spirits or ghosts, but more like a lingering presence, something that watches without blinking, waiting without moving. It started small, with that odd sensation of being observed, the tingling on the back of your neck when you're alone. But then it grew. It started following me. Not outside—no, it was smarter than that. It waited, lurking in the corners of the apartment, where it knew I couldn't avoid it.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel it getting closer, slipping in through the gaps in the walls, crawling up from the floorboards, surrounding me. I'd wake up with the same image burned into my mind—a silhouette standing at the edge of my bed, just out of reach, staring at me with an intensity that I could feel more than see. But the worst part? It never spoke. It never moved. Just stood there, waiting.

Tonight felt different though. Heavier.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the strange dream I'd just had. Or was it a dream? The memory was already slipping away, but I could still feel the echo of it—the murmur of something unintelligible, like whispers just beyond the edge of hearing.

I looked at the clock—3:13 AM. That time again. Always.

I got up, the floorboards creaking under my feet as I walked over to the window. The city below was still, the streets empty, save for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. Yet, something felt wrong. Like there was a layer of silence too thick, a pause in the natural rhythm of the world. I looked closer at the window, my breath fogging up the glass as I leaned in.

And then I saw it.

A faint outline. A shape that shouldn't be there. Standing in the reflection, just behind me.

I froze, my heart slamming against my ribs. I didn't want to turn around. I didn't want to know what was there, standing just beyond the reach of the dim light. But the reflection… it stayed, unmoving, patient, as if daring me to confront it.

Slowly, I turned. But there was nothing. The room was empty, exactly as I'd left it. No figure, no shadow. Just the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the other room and the soft ticking of the wall clock.

I let out a shaky breath, but the unease didn't fade. My gaze fell back to the window, but now there was only my reflection—pale, tired, staring back at me. The figure was gone, or had it ever really been there? I didn't know anymore. I couldn't tell what was real and what was imagined.

I stepped away from the window and sat back on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands. They were shaking, just slightly. I hadn't noticed that before.

The whispers came again, faint at first, just on the edge of hearing, like a voice trapped in another room. I couldn't make out the words, but they were there, insistent. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block it out, but it was useless. The sound wasn't coming from outside.

It was coming from inside my head.

Suddenly, the lights flickered. My heart jumped into my throat, and I stared at the bulb, watching as the light dimmed and flared erratically. The whispers grew louder, more urgent, and for a brief moment, I swore I saw the shadow again—this time standing at the door.

I blinked, and it was gone.

I needed to get out. My mind was playing tricks on me; it had to be. Too much time spent alone in this place, too many sleepless nights.

I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, fumbling with the lock in the dark. The hallway outside felt colder than usual, and as I stepped out, the silence pressed down on me, heavier than ever. The apartment building was empty, not a single sound except for the occasional creak of the old pipes. I half-expected to hear footsteps behind me, but all I could hear was my own breathing, ragged and quick.

I made it to the stairwell and descended, my feet echoing on the concrete steps. The air grew warmer as I reached the bottom floor, the oppressive weight lifting slightly. I pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air. It felt like I could finally breathe again, though that strange sensation—the one that something was still watching me—clung to my skin like damp cloth.

The street was empty, the city almost unnaturally quiet for this time of night. I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking, not really sure where I was going, just needing to move. The shadows in the alleys seemed to stretch and shift as I passed, but I kept my eyes forward, ignoring the flickers of movement at the edges of my vision.

I walked for what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. The city felt surreal, like I was moving through a dream—everything too still, too quiet. And then, ahead of me, I saw something.

At first, I thought it was just another trick of the light. A figure, standing under the flickering streetlamp at the end of the block. My chest tightened, and I slowed my pace, my eyes locked on the shape. It didn't move, just stood there, waiting. The light from the streetlamp cast long, jagged shadows across the pavement, and the air around me seemed to grow colder with each step I took toward it.

I stopped a few feet away, my breath catching in my throat. The figure was too still, too quiet, but I couldn't make out its face. Just a shadowy outline, a vague shape that made my skin crawl.

And then, in the silence, I heard it again.

The whisper.

Soft, barely audible, but unmistakable.

"I'm waiting."

I blinked, and the figure was gone.