My Daughter Always Comes Home at 1:00 AM from SchoolAnd Her Shadow Doesnt Follow
Some things you only notice when you look too hard or when something refuses to look back. For me, it started with what I didnt see.
A shadow.
My daughters shadow.
It wasnt there.
And it hasnt come back since.
Her names Emily. Shes twelve. Loves strawberries, maths, and dancing to TikTok routines in front of the cracked bathroom mirror. For the first twelve years of her life, Emily was sunshine on legsmessy braids, muddy socks, always humming some off-key tune.
Until three weeks ago.
Thats when she started coming home at 1:00 in the morning.
The first night, I nearly fainted when the front door creaked open so late. Id fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for her after her after-school clubs. She was supposed to be home by 6:30 PM. By 10:00, I called her school, her friends, her tutorno one had seen her.
Then, at 1:00 AM, she walked in.
Quiet. Too quiet.
I jumped up.
Emily! Where were you? I was
But she just raised her hand slowly and said,
Dont worry, I got home safe.
That was it.
No tears. No apologies. No fear.
She walked straight to her room and locked the door.
I stared at the floor for ages. Something felt off. The air she brought in was freezing, like shed stepped out of a freezer. The hallway lights flickered once and steadied. I told myself I was overthinking it. Kids her age get weird sometimes, right?
Wrong.
The next night, same thing. Didnt come back till 1:00 AM. Again, she walked in like she lived in another time zone, no explanations. Same words. Same tone.
But this time, I noticed.
She passed under the dining room lamp and her shadow didnt.
It just wasnt there.
No outline. No shape.
Nothing.
I thought I was hallucinating. I turned on every light in the house and made her stand under them. Nothing. The light hit her face, but the floor behind her stayed empty. She caught me staring.
Whats wrong, Mum? she asked.
I blinked. Nothing. Just tired.
She nodded and walked off.
And I watched her go. Her body moved but no shadow followed.
The next day, I called the school and asked why they were letting her out so late every night. The woman on the phone hesitated. Then she said,
Mrs. Parker, your daughter hasnt been to school since the midterm exams over three weeks ago. We sent several notes, but you never replied.
My heart stopped.
She leaves every morning, I whispered. Wears her uniform. Even takes her water bottle.
I checked the fridge after the call. Her water bottle was still there. Untouched. Exactly where Id left it the day of the last exam.
That night, I didnt sleep.
I turned off all the lights. Sat by the living room window. And waited.
Exactly at 1:00 AM, the front gate opened on its own.
And she came in.
Emily. But not Emily.
On the outside, she looked the same. But her eyes didnt blink like they used to. Her breathing had this odd rhythm. She looked at me and tilted her head.
Why are you awake, Mum? she asked.
I forced a smile. Waiting for you.
Then I said something I hadnt planned:
Wheres your shadow?
She smiled.
But not with her mouthwith something colder.
It stayed behind.
And she walked past me.
But I swearwhen she passed the hallway mirror, something did appear for a second.
Something taller than her.
Something with eyes too wide and a smile too thin.
I looked away, heart pounding, hands shaking.
Now shes in her room.
Sleeping in her bed.
Breathing.
Silent. Still.
But her shadow
Her real shadow?
I think its still outside.
And I think its waiting to come in.
Episode 2: What Crawls Under the Door
Since Emily came back, the house doesnt breathe the same.
During the day, everything seems normal.
Emily gets up, sits at breakfast, but doesnt eat. Just stirs her cereal.
Pretends to flip through her notebooks. Sometimes hums songs Ive never heard. The words arent in any language I know.
And in the evenings, she just disappears.
Doesnt say where shes going. Doesnt ask to leave.
The door opens and closes on its own at 6:45 PM. Not a minute early. Not a second late.
And Im left here waiting. In the dark. Alone.
With a question that grows louder every night:
Is that thing really my daughter?
I started noticing little things.
The walls, for example, breathe.
At least, they do when Emilys home.
The cracks in the ceiling stretch slightly, like theyre expanding with her presence.
And the plants the ones Ive cared for for years theyre wilting only in her room.
Like something invisible touches them every night.
One early morning, I got up for water.
Passed her door. It was slightly open.
Inside, she wasnt sleeping.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to me.
Humming that language-less song.
Brushing the hair of a doll with no eyes.
And on the wall, right behind her, I saw a shadow.
But not hers.
It was taller. Thinner. It moved before she did, not after.
Like it was leading her, not the other way around.
I ran to my room. Locked the door.
Barricaded it with a chair.
Prayed.
But the truth is, even God stops listening when evil walks in on its own.
The next day, I did something desperate.
I took the most recent photo of Emily and compared it to one from a month ago.
And there it was.
The eyes.
In the old Emily, the irises were hazel.
In this Emily a greyish-green, like stagnant water.
And then I noticed something else.
The pupils werent round. They were vertical. Like a cats. Or a snakes.
That night, I sprinkled flour on the hallway floor.
A trap.
Something simple.
At 1:00 AM, I heard the door open.
The soft steps.
And then, a pause.
I pretended to sleep but kept one eye cracked open.
Emily stood in my doorway.
Didnt say a word.
Didnt move.
Then I saw something move under her feet.
In the flour, there were no human footprints.
Just thin marks dragged. Like something with long claws walked close to the ground.
But the worst part was the last thing:
a long, curved line, like a tail dragging behind her.
This morning, I found a note under my pillow.
It wasnt handwritten. The words looked burned into the paper.
It said:
Mum, Im trapped. This isnt me. Dont let her in tomorrow.
And now Im scared.
Because its 12:59.
And the gate outside
is already opening on its own.
Episode 3: The Voice Behind the Door
1:00 AM.
The clock ticked over like always.
And then: the front door opened by itself.
I was in the living room, the note still in my hand, my heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted to break free and run without me.
But I didnt go to greet her. Not this time.
I hid behind the curtain, phone on silent, lights off.
I heard the steps.
One. Two. Three.
They werent the light steps of a teenager.
They were heavier. Like she was carrying something. Or like she wasnt entirely human.
Then I heard her voice.
Mum Im home.
But it wasnt her voice.
Not quite.
It was too deep, with this strange echo, like two mouths were speaking at once.
One higher, trying to sound like Emily.
The other dragging syllables like claws on glass.
Mum are you awake?
The doorknob turned.
I didnt breathe.
She didnt come in. Not yet.
Just pressed her forehead to the door.
And started crying.
But the tears didnt sound like tears.
They werent soft or wet.
They were dry, cracking, like something inside her was splintering.
Mum Im cold. Let me in
I wanted to. I wanted to run to her.
It was my daughters voice.
At least, part of
