Chapter 8: Is It Just Me
895 Words
That night, Damson couldn’t sleep.
He lay on his bed with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet, but his mind refused to rest. Ever since the wish, strange things had been happening — small things he couldn’t explain. A scent that would appear and disappear. A feeling that someone was near. And now, shadows.
He turned on his side and faced the wall, trying to push the thoughts away. But the more he tried to ignore them, the louder they became.
Then he felt it.
A presence.
It wasn’t loud or obvious. It was quiet, like someone was standing somewhere in the room, watching him. Damson slowly sat up, his eyes moving around the dark space. Everything looked normal. His school bag was on the chair, his uniform hung on the door, and the faint light from outside came through the window.
But something felt… off.
He stood up and walked slowly toward the door, his heart beating faster than usual. The room was small, so he could see almost everything clearly. Still, the feeling didn’t go away.
That’s when he saw it.
A shadow.
It was near the corner of the room, close to his wardrobe. Tall. Still. It didn’t move like a normal shadow. It stayed in one place, like someone was standing there, just… watching.
Damson’s breath caught in his throat. He took one small step forward, trying to see better.
But the closer he got, the more the shadow seemed to fade — not completely, but just enough that he couldn’t make out any clear shape. It was like the person was there, but also not there at the same time. Close enough to feel, but too far to see properly.
His hands started to feel cold.
Is it just me?
The question repeated in his head again and again.
Am I the only one seeing this?
He wanted to tell someone. Maybe his mom. Maybe Misha. But every time he thought about opening his mouth, the words would die in his throat.
Who would believe me?
Even I don’t know if I believe it.
He sat back down on his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest. For the first time since all of this started, he felt truly alone in it. Like whatever was happening was only happening to him, and no one else could understand.
He didn’t know what the shadow was. He didn’t know if it was real or if his mind was playing tricks on him. But one thing was slowly starting to settle in his chest.
Whatever it was… it didn’t feel human.
And that thought scared him more than anything else.
The next morning, Damson looked exhausted. Dark circles sat heavily beneath his eyes, and the words on the whiteboard blurred together as he tried to focus through the morning lessons. Every now and then, he thought he caught a dark figure standing near the classroom door or a familiar hint of rain and shoe polish drifting through the room. But when he blinked and looked properly, there was nothing there.
By break time, his head was pounding.
He walked out to the courtyard like a zombie, barely noticing his surroundings until Jade, Jake, and Jackson sat down at their usual table.
"You look terrible," Jade said immediately, setting her lunch bag down.
"Thanks," Damson muttered, dropping into his seat and resting his heavy head in his hands.
"I meant it as a concern."
"That somehow makes it worse."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Didn't sleep?"
Damson hesitated. "Not really."
Jake looked at him, completely unconvinced, but before he could press for details, Jackson set a carton of a rich, sweet malted milk drink right near Damson's elbow to open his own lunch.
Damson’s attention drifted entirely. His mind was so fogged by exhaustion that he wasn’t even thinking. He just reached out, blindly picking up the cold carton sitting right next to him, and took a deep sip.
The moment the heavy, distinct taste of roasted malt and sweet cream hit his tongue, everything stopped.
A flash.
A room.
A voice.
A feeling he couldn't explain.
Then it was gone.
“Damson?”
He blinked hard, the sudden noise pulling him out of the fog. He looked up, his heart racing. Jackson was staring directly at him, his expression completely unreadable. Beside him, Jake was watching them both with wide eyes.
Only then did Damson realize what he was holding. Jackson's drink.
An intense silence settled over the table.
“...Sorry,” Damson said quickly, his face burning as he placed the carton back down in front of Jackson.
Jackson looked down at the straw, then looked back up at Damson. For a second, it seemed like he was about to say something—like he knew exactly what Damson had just seen.
Instead, he simply replied, “It’s fine.”
But as Damson pulled his hand away, he couldn't shake the terrifying feeling that something massive had just happened. Something important. Something he was desperately trying to remember.
- Writer
