The Boy in the Shadows

Ethan Rivers had always considered himself ordinary. Quiet. Careful. The kind of boy who noticed details others overlooked but never made much of a fuss about them. He liked routine. The comfort of knowing what to expect. That was why the dream came as such a shock. He woke in the middle of the night, his chest tight, the sheets tangled around his legs. The memory of it clung to him with the weight of something real—so real that even now, hours later, he could still feel it pressing at the back of his mind. It had started in a forest, though he had never been there in his life. Mist hung thick between the trees, swirling like smoke, and the ground beneath him trembled slightly with every step he took. He hadn’t been alone. There had been a boy, pale, thin, with eyes too dark for any human soul. The boy had reached out, hands trembling, whispering something Ethan couldn’t fully hear. He tried to move closer, but something—a shadow, or maybe fear itself—pushed him back. And then… he woke. The morning sunlight didn’t help. His bedroom looked the same, familiar. Posters on the walls, a stack of books on the desk, the small lamp that glowed softly at night. Yet everything felt wrong. Even the air seemed heavier, and the faint chill in the corners of the room made him shiver. Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands. That’s when he noticed it. A dark, faint mark on his wrist. Almost like a smear of ash pressed into his skin. He rubbed it lightly, expecting it to fade. It didn’t. “What…?” he whispered, voice shaking. He swung his legs off the bed and stumbled to the mirror. The mark stared back at him, stubborn, faintly pulsing as if it had a heartbeat of its own. He had no memory of touching anything out of place. No memory of anyone being near him while he slept. And yet, the mark was there. Ethan swallowed, heart thudding, and tried to steady himself. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe it was leftover paint from the poster he’d hung last week. But deep down, he knew it was neither. Something in his gut told him it was connected to the dream—the forest, the boy, the trembling ground. He dressed quickly, ignoring breakfast. The routine of getting ready for school usually helped him focus, but today, each step felt like moving through fog. His backpack swung from his shoulder as he walked down the street, and he kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the pale boy from his dream standing behind him. Of course, no one was there. The school seemed normal at first—students chatting in clusters, the faint smell of cafeteria food drifting down the halls. But Ethan noticed small things he had never paid attention to before. Shadows lingered a little too long in corners. The fluorescent lights flickered briefly, then steadied. A cold draft brushed past him, though no windows were open. He made his way to the locker he shared with Mara, his best friend since childhood. She was already there, head buried in her notebook, scribbling furiously. “Morning,” he mumbled, still uneasy. Mara looked up, eyes narrowing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Not funny,” Ethan muttered. Mara tilted her head, studying him. “What happened?” He hesitated. How could he explain it? The dream? The mark? The feeling that something unseen was reaching for him even now? He forced a smile. “Just… didn’t sleep well.” Her frown deepened. “Ethan… I don’t believe you.” Before he could respond, a chill ran down his spine. The shadows along the hallway walls seemed to twist ever so slightly, and a soft, almost imperceptible whisper tickled the edges of his hearing. “Who’s there?” he whispered under his breath. No answer. The rest of the day passed in a blur. Every time Ethan tried to focus on math or history, his mind drifted back to the mark on his wrist. At lunch, Mara leaned across the table. “You’re hiding something,” she said quietly. “I can feel it.” “I’m not hiding anything,” Ethan replied, though his throat felt tight. “You are,” she insisted. “And I’m going to figure out what it is. Because whatever it is… it’s big.” He didn’t argue. Deep down, he knew she was right. After school, Ethan decided to take a different route home, walking past the forest at the edge of town. His stomach twisted as the trees came into view. In the dream, the mist had been thick here. In reality, the air was clear, but the shadows between the trees seemed deeper, darker, almost alive. He stopped. Something moved in the corner of his vision, slipping between the trunks, too fast to catch. Ethan’s pulse raced. He wanted to run. He wanted to ignore it. But a small voice in his head whispered: Don’t leave me. He spun around, but no one was there. When he got home, he bolted the door and went straight to his room. The mark on his wrist had darkened slightly, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. And then he heard it—a soft knock. At first, he thought it was his mother. But the sound came from the wall near his bed. Knock. Knock. Knock. Ethan froze. He leaned closer. The wall felt cold beneath his fingers, colder than the night air outside. A whisper followed, so soft he could barely hear it. He is coming… Ethan stumbled backward, heart pounding. He pressed himself against the door, wishing, hoping, praying that whatever it was would leave him alone. He didn’t sleep that night either. The shadows in his room seemed thicker, heavier, almost waiting. And the mark on his wrist continued to pulse. He didn’t know why he had been chosen. He didn’t know who the boy in the dream really was, or why the shadows were reaching for him. All he knew was that nothing in his ordinary life would ever feel ordinary again. Something had touched him. Something dark. And now, it would not let go.