SOMETHING IN THE SHADOWS
1108 Words
The nightmares started that night.
Ama jerked awake just after three, her breath ragged, soaked in sweat that clung to her skin like cold oil. The spiral mark beneath her collarbone burned faintly, not with pain—but with a presence. Like something had whispered to it while she slept.
She looked around her bedroom. The shadows were still. Her curtains fluttered with the night breeze, and her windows were locked. She reached for the bedside lamp, but before her fingers could touch it, the bulb flickered… and shattered.
Glass sprayed over the floor. The darkness that followed felt alive.
She didn’t scream. She just sat there, wide-eyed, waiting for something she couldn’t name to leave the room.
It didn’t.
---
The next morning, she didn’t tell anyone about the dream.
She went to work like she always did, dressed in soft grays and black, her hair swept up, her eyes hidden behind dark lenses. But the city looked different now. Off-kilter. A child stared at her on the bus and whispered something to his mother, who immediately turned away.
People avoided her shadow on the sidewalk.
When she arrived at the office, Kyen was already in the lobby. He stood alone, reviewing something on a tablet. He didn’t look up as she passed, but Ama didn’t need to see his face to know he’d felt it too.
Something had shifted.
---
Midway through the morning, Ama’s screen glitched again. This time, it didn’t crash. Instead, a new folder appeared on her desktop—titled: WHISPER.
She stared at it, fingers frozen above the keyboard.
It opened without a password.
Inside was a single video file. No title. No timestamp.
She clicked it.
The screen went black, and then a recording began—grainy, like an old VHS tape. The camera shook slightly, catching the image of a dimly lit corridor. A woman stood at the end of it. Her face was obscured by long braids and a wash of shadow. She wore a plain suit, barefoot, and when she turned to face the camera—
Ama felt her breath catch.
It was her.
Or someone who looked exactly like her.
The figure opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Only static. Then she lifted a hand, palm outward, and the spiral mark on her skin glowed like fire.
The camera tilted violently, and the screen went black.
Ama slammed the laptop shut.
“What the hell is happening to me?” she whispered.
---
Later that day, Ama took her lunch outside. The building’s garden was small but private, nestled between glass towers. She sat on the bench beneath a jacaranda tree, heart pounding, eyes on the sky.
Then someone sat beside her.
She didn’t need to look. She knew it was him.
Kyen didn’t speak at first. He just exhaled slowly, as if calming a storm inside him.
“They’re near,” he said.
She closed her eyes. “Who?”
“The ones who wake the night.”
She turned to him. “What do they want from me?”
He hesitated. “Not all of them want the same thing. Some want power. Some want to use you to tear the veil. And some… just want to watch you burn.”
Ama stood up, unable to breathe. “You told me I was part of some prophecy. You didn’t say I was a target.”
“You’re both.”
“You keep saying things without explaining them. I’m not your puppet, Kyen.”
He looked at her, his eyes filled with something she didn’t want to name—regret, maybe. Or longing.
“You’re not a puppet,” he said softly. “But you are a key.”
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He looked at it, swore under his breath, and stood.
“Come to the mirror room tonight,” he said. “Midnight. Don’t be late.”
“Mirror room?”
He didn’t answer. He was already walking away.
---
Ama didn’t go home that evening. She stayed late, tucked in the research wing of the office—one of the few places with no cameras, no watchful eyes. She found a notebook and began writing—everything her mother said, everything Kyen had hinted at, every dream, every flicker of shadow.
She paused only once—when she felt the air around her shift.
She turned toward the hallway.
Nothing.
Then… a breath against her neck.
She jumped up, heart racing. The corridor behind her was empty.
She grabbed her things and fled.
---
At midnight, Ama stood outside the door marked “B7 – ARCHIVE STORAGE.”
It looked ordinary. Beige. Unremarkable.
But when she touched the handle, the spiral on her skin pulsed.
The door creaked open on its own.
Inside, mirrors lined the walls—tall, framed, and covered in silk cloths. The room smelled of lavender and rust. Kyen stood at the center, surrounded by shadows that didn’t match the light.
“You came,” he said.
“I need answers.”
“Then look.”
He pulled one of the cloths free.
Behind it was a mirror—but not her reflection. Instead, she saw another version of herself. One dressed in black, her eyes glowing silver. The mirror-Ama reached out, and the glass rippled like water.
“What is this?” she breathed.
“Your potential,” Kyen said. “The version of you that never hid. The one who embraced the mark.”
Ama took a step forward. The glass warmed beneath her touch. Her mirror-self blinked… and smiled.
“You’re not afraid,” Ama whispered.
But the mirror-self tilted her head and spoke—though no sound came out.
Ama read the lips: “You should be.”
She stumbled back. The mirror went dark.
“Each mirror shows a path,” Kyen said. “Some will lead you to power. Some to ruin.”
“Why show me this?” she asked.
“Because it’s time to choose which road you’re on.”
Ama looked around the room. So many mirrors. So many veils. And somewhere behind one of them… she sensed something watching her. Something waiting.
“I don’t know how to fight this,” she whispered.
“You don’t need to know,” he replied. “You just need to start.”
She looked up at him.
“I’m scared.”
“Good,” Kyen said. “That means you’re still sane.”
He took her hand.
And together, they pulled another cloth away.
The spiral on her skin burned brighter.
The night was only beginning.
---
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