**My Daughter Always Comes Home at 1:00 AM from SchoolAnd Her Shadow Doesnt Follow**
Some things you only notice when you stare too long or when something refuses to stare back. For me, it started with what I *didnt* see.
A shadow.
My daughters shadow.
It wasnt there.
And it hasnt returned since.
Her name is Emily. Shes twelve. Loves mangoes, maths, and dancing to TikTok routines in front of the bathrooms cracked mirror. For the first twelve years of her life, Emily was sunshine with legsmessy braids, dirty socks, always humming some off-key tune.
Until three weeks ago.
Thats when she started coming home at 1:00 AM.
The first night, I nearly fainted when the front door creaked open so late. Id fallen asleep on the sofa waiting up after her after-school club. She was supposed to be home by 6:30 PM. By 10:00, Id called her school, her friends, her tutorno one had seen her.
Then, at 1:00 AM sharp, she walked in.
Too calm. *Too* quiet.
I bolted upright.
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 around her was icy, like shed stepped out of a freezer. The hallway lights flickered once, then steadied. I told myself I was overthinking it. Kids her age get weird, dont they?
Wrong.
Next night, same thing. Not home 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 the dining room wall 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 blank. 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 demanded to know why theyd let her out so late. The woman on the phone hesitated. Then said,
Mrs. Whitmore, your daughter hasnt attended since mid-term exams over three weeks ago. We sent notes, but you never replied.
My heart stopped.
She leaves every morning, I whispered. Wears her uniform. Even takes her water bottle.
After the call, I checked the fridge.
Her water bottle was still there. Untouched. Exactly where Id left it the day of her last exam.
That night, I didnt sleep.
I turned off all the lights. Sat by the living room window.
And waited.
At 1:00 AM sharp, the front gate opened by itself.
And she walked in.
Emily. But not Emily.
On the outside, she looked the same. But her eyes didnt blink right. Her breath came in odd, staggered pulls. She tilted her head at me.
Why are you awake, Mum? she asked.
I forced a smile. Waiting for you.
Then, without thinking, I said:
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 hammering, 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 Creeps Under the Door**
Since Emily came back, the house doesnt breathe the same.
By day, everything seems normal.
Emily gets up, sits at breakfast, but doesnt eat. Stirs her cereal.
Pretends to flip through her notebooks. Sometimes hums songs Ive never heardlyrics in no language I recognise.
And by evening, she just vanishes.
No goodbye. No asking if she can go out.
The door opens and shuts itself at 6:45 PM. Not a minute early. Not a second late.
And Im left here waiting. In the dark. Alone.
With one gnawing question:
*Is that thing really my daughter?*
I started noticing little things.
The walls, for instance, *breathe*.
At least, they do when Emilys home.
The cracks in the ceiling stretch slightly, like theyre expanding around her.
And the plantsthe ones Ive kept alive for yearsare wilting only in *her* room.
Like something invisible touches them each night.
One night, I woke up thirsty.
Passed her slightly open door. She wasnt sleeping.
She sat on the edge of her bed, back to me.
Humming that wordless song.
Brushing the hair of a doll with no eyes.
And on the wall behind her, I saw a shadow.
But not *hers*.
Taller. Thinner. Moving *before* she did, not after.
Like it was leading *her*, not the other way round.
I ran to my room. Barricaded the door.
Prayed.
But not even God answers when evil walks in willingly.
The next day, I did something desperate.
I compared a recent photo of Emily to one from a month ago.
And there it was.
The eyes.
In the old Emily, her irises were hazel.
In the new Emily a greyish green, like stagnant water.
And then I saw it.
Her pupils werent round. They were *slits*. Like a cats. Or a snakes.
That night, I sprinkled flour on the hallway floor.
A simple trap.
At 1:00 AM, I heard the door open.
Soft footsteps.
Then, a pause.
I pretended to sleep but kept one eye cracked open.
Emily stood in my doorway.
Silent. Unmoving.
Then I saw something move at her feet.
In the flour, there were no human footprints.
Just thin, dragged marks like something with long claws walked close to the ground.
But the worst part was the last mark:
a long, curved line, like a tail dragging behind her.
This morning, I found a note under my pillow.
Not handwritten. Like the words had been *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 by itself.
**Episode 3: The Voice Behind the Door**
1:00 AM.
The clock ticked over.
Then: the front door opened on its own.
I sat in the living room, the note still clutched in my hand, my heart slamming like it wanted to break free and run without me.
But I didnt go to her. Not this time.
I hid behind the curtains, phone silenced, lights off.
I heard the steps.
One. Two. Three.
Too heavy for a teenage girl.
Like something was weighing her down. Or like she wasnt *quite* human.
Then, her voice.
Mum Im home.
But it wasnt *her* voice.
Not entirely.
Too deep, with a strange echolike two mouths 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.
Not wet. Not soft.
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 it.
But then I remembered the note.
*This isnt me. Dont let her in tomorrow.*
And even though that thing was already *inside* I understood.
The
