**Episode 1: My Daughter Always Comes Home at 1:00 AM from SchoolAnd Her Shadow Doesnt Follow**
Some things you only notice when youre looking too hard… or when something refuses to look back. For me, it all 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. She loves strawberries, maths, and practising TikTok dances in front of the cracked bathroom mirror. For the first twelve years of her life, Emily was sunshine in human formmessy braids, muddy trainers, 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 club. She was meant to be home by 6:30 PM. When the clock struck 10:00, I called the school, her friends, her tutorno one had seen her.
And then, at 1:00 AM, she walked in.
Calm. Too calm.
I jolted awake.
“Emily! Where were you? I was”
But she just raised her hand slowly and said,
“It’s fine, Mum. 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 a long time. Something felt… *off.* The air around her was icy, like shed stepped out of a freezer. The hallway lights flickered once before steadying. I told myself I was overreacting. Kids her age act strange sometimes, dont they?
I was wrong.
The next night, the same thing. She didnt come back until 1:00 AM. Again, she walked in like she lived in another time zone, offering no explanations. Same words. Same tone.
But this time, I noticed.
She passed under the hallway 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 beneath them. Still 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 away.
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 leave so late. The woman on the phone hesitated. Then she said:
“Mrs. Whitmore, your daughter hasnt attended school since the midterm exams… over three weeks ago. We sent home letters, but you never responded.”
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 bottle was still there. Untouched. Exactly where Id left it the day of the midterms.
That night, I didnt sleep.
I turned off all the lights. Sat by the living room window. And waited.
At exactly 1:00 AM, 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 breathing came in odd, uneven rhythms. 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.”
Then she walked past me.
But I swearwhen she passed the hallway mirror, something *did* appear for just 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.
Asleep 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 way.
During the day, everything seems normal.
Emily gets up, sits at breakfast, but doesnt eat. She stirs her cereal.
Pretends to flip through her schoolbooks. Sometimes she hums songs Ive never heard beforelyrics in no language I recognise.
And in the evenings, she just… disappears.
No goodbye. No asking permission.
The door opens and closes by itself at 6:45 PM sharp. Not a minute early. Not a second late.
And Im left here… waiting. In the dark. Alone.
With a question growing louder in my head:
*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.
As if something invisible touches them every night.
One night, I woke up thirsty.
I passed her door. It was slightly open.
Inside, she wasnt sleeping.
She sat on the edge of the bed, back to me.
Humming that song with no language.
Brushing the hair of a doll with no eyes.
And on the wall 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 following.
I ran to my room. Locked the door.
Barricaded it with a chair.
Prayed.
But not even God answers when evil has already invited itself in.
The next day, I did something desperate.
I took a recent photo of Emily and compared it to one from a month ago.
And there it was.
The *eyes.*
In the old Emily, her irises were hazel.
In this Emily… a murky grey-green, like stagnant water.
And then I noticed something else.
Her pupils werent round. They were *vertical.* Like a cats. Or a snakes.
That night, I sprinkled flour on the hallway floor.
A trap.
Simple.
At 1:00 AM, I heard the door open.
Soft footsteps.
Then, a pause.
I pretended to sleep but kept one eye open.
Emily stood in my doorway.
Didnt speak.
Didnt move.
And then I saw something shift beneath her feet.
In the flour, there were no human footprints.
Just thin, dragging marks… like something with long claws was crawling just above 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.
It wasnt written in ink. The words looked burned into the paper.
It said:
*”Mum, Im trapped. This isnt me. Dont let her in tomorrow.”*
And now Im afraid.
Because its 12:59 AM.
And the front gate…
is already opening by itself.
**Episode 3: The Voice Behind the Door**
1:00 AM.
The clock ticked its familiar chime.
And then: the front door swung open on its own.
I was in the living room, clutching the note, 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 curtains, phone silenced, lights off.
I heard the steps.
One. Two. Three.
They werent the light steps of a teenage girl.
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 a 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 twisted.
I held my breath.
She didnt come in. Not yet.
Just pressed her forehead against the door.
And started crying.
But the tears didnt sound like tears.
They werent soft or wet.
They were dry, crackling, like something inside her was splintering apart.
*”Mum… Im cold. Let me in…”*
I wanted to
