The Shadow Person


Note: This is a work of fiction.

I was in my room when I heard something fell in the living room. Living in an old house, I got used to things falling off something all the time especially when it was raining outside. I had tried to do many things to prevent the event from reoccurring, but nothing work. “Sometimes, things just happen,” some people would tell me and I would just nod in agreement simply because I don’t want to argue more over something pointless.

Eventually, I got out from my room because I knew that I need to pick up the things that fell off most probably from the shelve. I opened my door, turned on the lights and saw a shadow running down the stairs. “That’s probably just the cars passing by,” I said to myself as usual, trying to comfort myself whenever something ‘paranormal’ happened. Growing up in an atheist family, I had never believed in ghosts. “There’s always a logical explanation to everything,” people would tell me and I found that the saying is always true.

I saw that one of my books and fallen off. It’s always the same book and although I felt curious, I didn’t do any other ‘investigation’ to why it’s always the same book because it’s the heaviest book that I have. That was when something reached for my arm. Startled, I looked in front and saw the same shadow that ran down the stairs. It’s other hand reached for my neck and it started to choke me.

As a car passed by, I could see that the shadow is a person and I know the person. A year ago, I killed someone when I was driving home drunk. Obviously I didn’t stop my car or anything to avoid getting into trouble. Besides, the person was probably some peasant so, I was doing him a favour. “Not you again,” I said smacked my head into his skull. I was sure that I would get a bad headache but it didn’t matter. I took out my gun and shot him dead, again.

“Well, you are worthless anyway,” I said and shot him again. This time, it was just for fun. I will tell the cops it was to defend myself and they would believe me cause I’ll pay them as usual. I picked up the phone and called the cops. Impersonating a panic and scared voice I said, “Help me! Someone broke into my house!”. “We will send someone soon,” the operator said and asked me a stupid question, “Is the person still there,” to which I replied, “No, I had a gun,”. I was sure that they knew what I meant but it didn’t matter.

About an hour later, the cops took him away. “That’s one less poor and useless people in the world,” I said to myself. I didn’t feel guilty for killing the person twice. Nobody cares about poor people anyway, to them, they are just shadows. Shadows that walk around the country, trying to find something to eat, probably to survive for another day.


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