Who are they? Its been 13 whole days since I last seen them. Where did they go? I thought I was clear of them for once in my life but I was wrong. Where did they go and why were they gone for so long? Why have they returned? What is so interesting about me that they came back? Did they go to another lost soul and actually accomplish what they wanted from that person? I must ask these questions but I know I will not get an answer. Again the male and female both stand there and stare at me with the blank faces and white eyes. Are they searching for who I really am? Are they searching for what they need inside my soul? Why have you returned please answer me. Please tell me why you came back to me. I won't lie when I say I did miss seeing you. I got so used to waking up and seeing you there, coming around the corner and you both just staring at me. Knowing someone or something was there even if your dead or from another life.
13 Days they were gone. I can't lie when I say that I didn't miss them, but I finally felt at peace. I was finally able to be normal I guess you can say, but what is normal anymore. Night after night I'd catch myself waking up at the same time around 3:15am and sit at the edge of my bed and wait. Wait for them to come back. They never did. It came to the point where I would walk around my house wondering if they were going to ever return. Wondering if they would ever come back and tell me the reason why they stuck around for so long and that they never left before. Why did they leave this time and why for only 13 days? 13 days seems like an odd number of days to be gone but yet again Lucky number 13. Night after night I saw myself walking around wondering back and forth wondering where they went. It became a drug I felt like I needed them there like a drug addict needing a fix. I started sleeping less and less thinking maybe if I'm awake at a certain time I'll see them and ask where they went. It got to the point where I felt like I was crazy and that these shadow people never really existed. Yet 13 days later they are back. So where did they go and who did they go see? Who are they? I still ask myself these questions even though I know I may never get the answers I want. Here I am sitting at the edge of my bed staring at them as they stare back. Where did you guys go? Are you even real? Have or do you even exist? I look down at the glass of whiskey and ask myself am I really going crazy or am I the only sane person in the room? What am I supposed to do, they won't answer me. If there is anyone out there in the world feeling or seeing these shadow people I hope we cross paths one day. I hope you have the answers that I don't have for why these shadow people are here and have returned. Maybe I am the only person out there that sees them. Maybe I'm the only person they are attached to and finally after 30 years they gave me a break. I didn't want the break, I didn't want them to leave because all it did was add more questions as to who they are.
Who are they?
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Who are they?
As I sit in my room wondering who they are? Who are these shadow people attached to these dark shrouds of what appears to used to be people. As I sit in my room I stare at these bright white eyes that appear to be just light. Is it their souls? Is it the light from the other side where we think we all go? I ask myself these questions every time I see them. Who are they? They feel familiar, like I once knew these Shadows, these figures of people that seem to stick around once i'm awake. Who are they? do they have questions for me? Do you have something you wish me to complete? I sometimes feel like they want to tell me but they knowingly can't because they are either passed or haven't passed. who are they? I sometimes get a feeling of kindness and comfort from them, are they past friends? Are they past relatives? I ask but I just see them staring at me with no answers. Why do I see these "Shadow people" Night after Night. I see them not knowing to be scared or happy.
By Trevor Dalton5 years ago in Horror
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmas22 days ago in Horror
My Reflection Blinked Before I Did
The first time it happened, I told myself I was tired. The second time, I stopped trusting my own eyes. It was late. Not the dramatic kind of late where the world feels haunted—just ordinary late. The kind where your room is quiet, your phone is charging, and your thoughts are louder than they should be. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, brushing my teeth, half-awake and half somewhere else. I looked at myself the way I always do—quickly, carelessly. A glance, not a study. And then my reflection blinked. Before I did. It was subtle. So subtle I almost missed it. A fraction of a second. But I’m sure. I hadn’t blinked yet. My eyes were still open when the version of me in the mirror closed his. I froze. My first instinct was denial. I blinked deliberately this time, slowly. The reflection copied me perfectly. I tilted my head. It tilted too. I raised my hand. It followed. Normal. I leaned closer to the mirror. My heart was beating faster now, not from fear but from confusion. Maybe my brain had lagged. Maybe I blinked without realizing. Maybe exhaustion plays tricks. I turned off the light and went to bed. But sleep didn’t come easily. The next morning, I avoided the mirror. I washed my face without looking up. It felt ridiculous—being scared of glass. I laughed at myself in the kitchen. “You imagined it,” I whispered. “You’re just stressed.” All day, the thought followed me. Not like panic. More like a question I couldn’t answer. That night, I stood in front of the mirror again. I don’t know why. Maybe to prove something. Maybe to challenge it. The bathroom light hummed softly. My reflection stared back at me. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes. Same small scar near the eyebrow I got when I was twelve. We stood there, watching each other. I decided to blink first. Slowly. Deliberately. We blinked together. I exhaled. Then it happened again. Not a blink this time. A smile. A small one. Almost invisible. But it wasn’t mine. My face was neutral. I know it was. I felt my muscles still, relaxed. But in the mirror, the corners of my mouth twitched upward for just a second. It wasn’t a happy smile. It looked… knowing. My stomach dropped. I stepped back quickly. The reflection did too. Perfect synchronization, like nothing had happened. Like I had imagined it. “Stop,” I muttered to myself. I turned off the light and left, but something had shifted. Over the next few days, I started noticing tiny delays. Not always. Just sometimes. When I moved too quickly. When I wasn’t fully focused. It felt like my reflection was catching up instead of mirroring me instantly. Or maybe it was waiting. I stopped standing too close. I stopped staring too long. I covered the bathroom mirror with a towel one night, telling myself it was just temporary. But mirrors are everywhere. In my phone screen. In windows. In the dark surface of the TV. One evening, while my phone was black and locked, I saw my reflection staring back at me. I wasn’t looking directly at it—just holding the phone loosely. And then it blinked. I hadn’t. I dropped the phone. My breathing became shallow. My hands were shaking now. Not because I thought something supernatural was happening. But because something felt wrong inside me. It didn’t feel like a ghost. It felt like… me. Or a version of me. The more it happened, the more I started questioning something terrifying: What if it wasn’t the reflection acting first? What if I was the one lagging behind? The thought stuck with me. I began to notice how often I moved on autopilot. Smiling when I didn’t feel like it. Nodding in conversations I wasn’t fully present in. Saying “I’m fine” before checking if I actually was. What if the mirror wasn’t ahead of me? What if it was showing the truth before I allowed myself to feel it? The night everything changed, I stood in front of the mirror without fear. Just exhaustion. “Okay,” I whispered. “What do you want?” My reflection stared back. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then it blinked. Before I did. And this time, it didn’t copy my next movement. I lifted my hand slowly. The reflection didn’t. It stayed still. Watching me. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears. My reflection’s eyes looked darker somehow. More focused. More aware. It wasn’t evil. It was calm. Calmer than me. Then it did something I wasn’t prepared for. It leaned closer. I hadn’t moved. It leaned closer to the glass, studying me the way I had studied it days ago. And then it spoke. Not with sound. With expression. A tired one. A disappointed one. Like it had been waiting for me to notice. Suddenly, something inside me cracked. I realized how long I had been ignoring myself. Ignoring stress. Ignoring fear. Ignoring the parts of me that needed attention. I had been performing so well for the outside world that I stopped checking in with the inside one. The mirror version wasn’t ahead of me. It was honest before I was. It blinked first because it wasn’t pretending. It smiled first because it knew things I refused to admit. Tears welled up in my eyes. And this time, when I blinked, it blinked with me. Perfectly. In sync. The reflection softened. The tension in its face disappeared. It mirrored me completely again—no delay, no independence. Just glass. Just me. I stood there for a long time after that. Nothing supernatural has happened since. No early blinks. No independent smiles. But sometimes, when I look at myself too quickly, I remember that feeling. And I slow down. Because maybe the scariest thing isn’t that your reflection moves first. Maybe it’s realizing that part of you has been awake the whole time—waiting for you to catch up.
By Faizan Malik6 days ago in Horror
Goodbye, Mr. Duvall
It is turning out to be an interesting year. I was in the middle of teaching a class when a pop-up appeared on the screen announcing the death of Mr. Robert Seldon Duvall (yes, that was his full name). I was in the middle of a discussion on the obsession we have with winning when it comes to sports (the Winter Olympics was a theme), and I felt as though things were coming full circle. We had already lost Gene Hackman last year, and along with that titan, it feels though one particular golden age has closed off to be replaced by...?
By Kendall Defoe 2 days ago in Geeks
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