This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/askewten688 on 2024-11-19 18:12:19+00:00.

I didn’t think much of it at first. Who notices their shadow, really? But now, I wish I’d paid more attention.

It started about a month ago. I was out on a walk, enjoying the rare sunny day, when I noticed something strange. My shadow wasn’t moving right. I lifted my arm to shield my eyes from the sun, and there it was—a delay. A fraction of a second where the shadow just… didn’t follow me.

I laughed it off. Maybe it was a weird angle or my imagination. But that wasn’t the last time it happened.

A week later, I was leaving a coffee shop when I saw it again—or thought I did. My shadow stretched out on the sidewalk like normal, except… I swear it turned. Like, it shifted on its own, as if it were looking at me. I actually stopped walking and stood there, staring down at the ground like an idiot. A few people gave me funny looks, but I shook it off. Shadows don’t just look at you.

Then things started getting worse.

I started seeing it in places I wasn’t. Once, I was driving home from work when I passed a street corner and froze. There it was, my shadow—or something just like it—on the pavement. The posture, the tilt of the head, even the way it slouched when I was tired. But I wasn’t walking. I was in my car.

I looked back, but it was gone.

After that, I started watching. Really watching. That’s when I realized it was changing. When I looked in mirrors, my reflection’s shadow didn’t always match what I was doing. I’d raise my arm, but my shadow’s hand would stay down—or worse, twitch, like it was trying to catch up but couldn’t.

Last week, my roommate asked me if I’d gone out at night. She said she saw me standing in the kitchen around 3 AM, just… standing there, staring at the fridge. But I hadn’t left my bed.

Then a friend called me in tears. “You were outside my house,” she said, her voice trembling. “You were just standing there, staring up at my bedroom window. Your eyes… God, your eyes weren’t right. What’s going on?”

I didn’t have an answer for her.

I’ve started to feel… off. Tired all the time, like something’s draining me. Sometimes, I catch it—my shadow—doing things I didn’t do. The other day, I reached for my coffee, but in the corner of my eye, I swear my shadow flinched.

The worst part? It’s started showing up in photos. At first, it was just in the background—barely noticeable. But now, it’s obvious. In one picture, I’m smiling at the camera, but my shadow is standing behind me, its head tilted at a sharp angle. Like it’s watching me.

I’ve tried to find answers. Folklore, paranormal blogs, forums—anything that might explain what’s happening. The closest thing I’ve found is an old myth about shadows gaining independence when a person’s soul is damaged. If they get strong enough, they can replace you entirely.

I don’t know if I believe it, but I can feel it growing stronger. Every day, I feel weaker—like I’m fading.

Tonight, I saw it standing across the room from me. Not attached to my feet, not part of the wall, just standing there in the corner, perfectly still. I don’t know how long it’s been watching me, but I’m scared to close my eyes.

I think it’s waiting for something. I don’t know how long I stayed frozen, staring at it. My shadow, standing there, detached, just… watching me. Its head tilted at an unnatural angle, almost curious.

I wanted to move—run, scream, do anything—but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The air felt thick, pressing against me, and I swear I could hear something. A low hum, like static, but deeper, vibrating in my chest.

And then it moved.

Not a shift or a twitch like before. It stepped forward.

I scrambled back, knocking over my chair, but it didn’t stop. It moved with an eerie fluidity, almost like it was gliding across the floor. As it got closer, the humming grew louder, and I realized it wasn’t just sound. It was a voice.

It was whispering.

I couldn’t make out the words at first, but then they became clearer. It was speaking in my voice. “Why are you so afraid?” it asked, tilting its head again.

“Stay back!” I shouted, my voice cracking.

It paused, as if considering my words, then crouched low, mimicking the exact way I had when I used to hide as a kid. “I’m not going anywhere,” it said, the corners of its shape shifting, almost as if it were smiling. “You brought me here.”

“I didn’t bring you!” I yelled, pressing myself against the wall.

It tilted its head the other way. “You did. Every doubt. Every fear. Every crack you let grow inside yourself. I’m just filling the space you left behind.”

My breathing was shallow, my heart hammering in my chest. It wasn’t just mimicking me anymore—it was claiming to be me.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

It straightened up, towering over me now. “To finish what you started,” it said. “To make you whole.”

I didn’t understand at first, but then it stepped closer, and I realized something horrifying. As it moved, I felt weaker. My legs trembled, my vision blurred, and I felt like I was being pulled into a void.

I stumbled, clutching at my chest. “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m taking what’s mine,” it said. “You don’t need it anymore.”

And that’s when it lunged.

I don’t know how I’m still here. I remember darkness—cold and endless—and the feeling of something pressing down on me, suffocating me. I woke up hours later, sprawled on the floor, my body drenched in sweat.

But something’s wrong.

I don’t feel like myself anymore. My thoughts feel… distant, like I’m observing them instead of thinking them. When I look in the mirror, my reflection seems off. It stares just a little too long, its eyes darker, emptier.

And my shadow?

It’s back, attached to me like it should be. But sometimes, when I turn away, I feel it move on its own—stretching, curling, reaching.

I think it won.

It’s been a few days and things have only gotten worse.

I tried to pretend everything was normal. I went to work, hung out with friends, even forced myself to laugh at stupid jokes. But deep down, I know it’s still with me. I can feel it—this weight pressing down on me, like I’m not the only one in my own skin anymore.

The whispers haven’t stopped.

They’re louder now, more distinct, and they’re not just in my head. I’ll hear them at the edge of my hearing when I’m alone in my apartment, or even in the car when the radio’s off. It’s my voice, but it’s saying things I’d never say.

“You don’t belong here.” “This isn’t your life anymore.” “Let go.”

Last night, I woke up to find myself standing in the middle of my living room. I don’t remember getting out of bed. I don’t remember anything. I was just… there. The lights were off, the moonlight casting long shadows across the floor.

And mine was wrong.

It wasn’t connected to me. It was beside me, standing upright like a person. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating, but then it moved. It stepped closer, and I swear I felt the coldness radiating from it.

It leaned in, its face—or whatever passed for a face—mere inches from mine. I wanted to run, to scream, but I couldn’t move. It whispered something I couldn’t quite understand, and then it melted back into the darkness.

When I finally regained control, I collapsed onto the floor, shaking. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.

I went back to the old forums I found, desperate for answers. Most of the posts were useless—people calling me crazy, telling me it was sleep paralysis or some psychological break. But one comment stood out.

It was from an anonymous user. They said they’d been through something similar. They called it a “shadow parasite,” a kind of entity that feeds on your energy, your identity. It doesn’t just want to replace you—it wants to erase you, to absorb everything that makes you you.

The only way to stop it, they said, is to confront it. To force it back into submission. But they didn’t explain how, and their account was deleted shortly after.

I’ve been thinking about that all day. What does “confronting it” even mean? How do you fight something that isn’t flesh and blood? Something that knows your every thought, every fear?

I’m running out of time.

Just an hour ago, I was staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to convince myself that I’m still in control. But then my reflection blinked—and I didn’t.

It smiled.

Not a normal smile, either. It was wrong. Too wide, too sharp, stretching my face into something that didn’t look human.

And then it spoke.

“Soon,” it said, its voice echoing in my head. “You’ll see.”

I smashed the mirror.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight, but I’m done running. If confronting it is the only way to end this, then I’ll do it. I’ve left this post open on my laptop, just in case.

If I don’t update, you’ll know I didn’t make it.

And if you ever see your shadow move on its own, run. Don’t let it in. Don’t let it win.