June 22, 2008
The classroom was alive with chatter and the scratch of pencils on paper. Carina sat near the window, her chin resting on her palm as she stared outside. The sky was bright and cloudless, but the field just beyond the schoolyard seemed darker somehow, the tall grass swaying despite the stillness of the air.
“Carina,” her teacher called, snapping her attention back to the room.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Her classmates giggled, and Carina shrank into her seat, cheeks burning.
“Daydreaming again?” the teacher asked with a raised eyebrow.
Carina nodded sheepishly. “Sorry, ma’am.”
The teacher sighed and gestured to the board. “Focus on your spelling, okay?”
Carina glanced at her notebook, her neat handwriting filling the lines, but her mind was elsewhere. She could feel it—the faint hum in the back of her head, like a soft, constant melody only she could hear.
It was always there now, ever since that night when the shadow had finally spoken to her. It wasn’t words exactly, but an understanding, a voice that wasn’t a voice.
"I’ll stay with you, forever."
The thought made her smile.
After school, Carina lingered at the edge of the playground, waiting for the tricycle that would take her back home. Other kids played tag or chatted in groups, but Carina sat alone, her bag clutched tightly to her chest. She didn’t feel lonely, though.
“Hey, loner!” a boy called, his voice loud and mocking.
Carina ignored him, her gaze fixed on the distant field.
The hum grew louder, wrapping around her like a protective shield. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the shadow standing behind her, but of course, it wasn’t there—not yet.
When the tricycle finally arrived, Carina climbed in, her small frame wedged between two older students. She stared out the window as the vehicle rumbled down the dirt road, the landscape blurring into streaks of green and brown.
The hum softened, settling into a steady rhythm that matched the bumps in the road.
By the time she got home, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the field. Carina dropped her bag by the door and raced upstairs to her room.
It was waiting for her.
The shadow stood in the corner, a figure now, its form more defined than before. It had arms, legs, and a faintly glowing outline that shimmered like black fire. Its head tilted slightly, as if acknowledging her arrival.
“You’re here,” Carina said, closing the door behind her.
The shadow pulsed, the hum vibrating through the room.
“I had a bad day at school,” she confessed, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “The other kids don’t like me. They think I’m weird.”
The shadow stepped closer, its movement smooth and deliberate. It stopped just short of the bed, its glowing edges flickering like embers.
“You don’t think I’m weird, do you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The hum deepened, warm and reassuring.
Carina smiled. “Thanks.”
She reached out, her fingers brushing against its surface. It was cool to the touch, but not unpleasant. The shadow’s form shifted slightly, as if it was leaning into her hand.
“Do you have to stay hidden?” she asked. “What if someone else sees you?”
The shadow pulsed again, and Carina understood without needing words. It wasn’t ready to be seen—not by anyone else.
“That’s okay,” she said. “You’re my secret friend.”
The shadow seemed to nod, its form flickering with approval.
As the days passed, Carina spent more and more time with the shadow. She played games with it, spinning her wooden top and watching as the shadow mimicked its motion, its dark form swirling in circles.
She told it stories about her classmates and the lessons at school. It never responded with words, but the hum would change, rising and falling like a melody, and Carina felt like it was listening.
One evening, she brought a book to her room and read aloud, her voice filling the small space.
“…and the brave knight fought the dragon, his sword shining in the moonlight,” she recited, glancing up at the shadow.
It stood at the foot of her bed, its form steady and watchful.
“Do you like stories?” she asked.
The shadow’s edges flickered, the hum rising slightly.
Carina grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
But not everything felt right.
There were moments—brief, fleeting—when Carina felt a coldness in the air, a sharp contrast to the shadow’s usual warmth. Once, she woke in the middle of the night to find it standing closer than ever, its form towering over her bed.
“Shadow?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
The hum was softer then, almost inaudible. The shadow didn’t move, but Carina felt its presence pressing against her, heavy and overwhelming.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself back to sleep. By morning, the shadow was back in the corner, its glowing edges flickering harmlessly.
Carina tried to push the unease away. The shadow was her friend—her only friend. It wouldn’t hurt her.
On June 22, the shadow spoke again.
Carina was sitting on the floor, drawing pictures with her crayons. She had sketched the field, the tall grass bending in the wind, and in the corner of the page, she had drawn the shadow—a tall, glowing figure with no face.
“Do you like it?” she asked, holding up the drawing.
The hum grew louder, resonating through her chest. And then, she heard it—a voice, not in her ears, but in her mind.
"I’ll stay with you, forever."
Carina froze, her crayon dropping from her hand. The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it carried a weight that made her heart race.
“Forever?” she whispered.
The shadow nodded, its glowing edges pulsing in time with the hum.
Carina felt a strange mixture of fear and comfort. She didn’t know what “forever” meant, not really, but the shadow’s presence was so steady, so constant.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Forever.”
The shadow flickered, its glow brighter for a moment, and the hum rose like a song, filling the room with its haunting, beautiful melody.
****