The Wayward Shadow

By Jesse Eric Whitehead

The alarm buzzed, shattering my sleep. 6 a.m. already? I groaned, rolled out of bed, and headed to the bathroom. Something caught the corner of my eye. I saw my shadow dart away from me and head for the open bedroom door. I rubbed my eyes. Nah, no way. But when I looked again, sure enough, there it was, my wayward shadow halfway out the door. I screamed.

I recovered from the shock and moved towards the shadow as he slipped out the door. I followed down the hallway a few steps behind. The shadow entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. To my disbelief, I saw another shadow hop out of the fridge and reach for my shadow’s hand.

I pinched my arm to be sure I’m not dreaming. Ouch…that hurt!

Shadows don’t live in refrigerators. Shadows don’t detach from their physical bodies, do they? But there they are. Two distinct shadows, with no bodies, holding hands like lovers. I watched my shadow lean towards the fridge shadow, and I swear, they kissed!

“Shadow, get back here!” I shouted, but he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he ignored me. Either way, both shadows scurried into the living room and dissolved right through the closed front door like two ghosts. Like they were going out on a date or something. Crazy!

I looked down at my bare feet, where normally I would see my attached shadow. My faithful companion, always at my side, perfectly mimicking my every move without complaint or question. But there was no shadow now. Only me, standing all alone.

I hope I didn’t do something to scare him off, or make him mad. What am I saying? It’s a shadow, not a person. He can’t have feelings or emotions. He can’t get mad. Maybe I’m the one who is mad.

I’ve seen too much. I’m calling in sick to work, taking a sleeping pill, and going back to bed. When I wake up, I know my wayward shadow will be back where he is supposed to be. He will comfort me and assure me that all is right with the world. If not, then surely I am going mad.