Creepypasta Stories

Shadow Over Glass

When I was twelve, I gazed out from the window in my bedroom, which was on the second floor of my house. My body was well-warmed, but the sight locked my head and eyes in place as though they were chilled solid.

The frozen lake was lit in a pure, near-fluorescent light. The moon was hovering in a clear sky, shifting the the usual darkness to a form of near-daylight. A few scattered stars surrounded the gleaming sphere, but my attention was focused on the landscape below. At the other edge of the cove was a surrounding tree line, formed into a jagged silhouette.

I examined this image for a few days, until the moon appeared to be at its brightest. I stopped watching. I walked.

With my first step onto the solid water, the flustering cold of the air disappeared from attention. For the first time in my life, I had seen the moon cast my shadow. It followed me, along the new tundra that was the outdoors, my outdoors. I marched across the entire cove, sensing a newfound energy from the different land. I became numb to the winds, both physically and mentally. By the time I returned home, only just then did I realize my skin turned a vicious pale, even beneath my coat, gloves, and boots.

This was my lone "winter activity". I wasn't a fan of the cold outdoors, even at a young age, but walking on that ice made me forget my disapproval. My parents were, to say the least, quite alarmed when I told them of my first adventure. I was an twelve year old wandering alone, after all, let alone the fact it was in the winter night (with deadly water beneath my feet, of course). As years past, I began to sneak out while they slept. They eventually accepted my adventures, seeing that I hadn't yet drowned or froze to death (or both).

I continued my night walks for years, on that same cove. An average night was satisfying, but the full moon was always a must. I walked during those bright nights at every opportunity, for almost five years.

After that time, I was stopped.

In the year of 1998, while I was seventeen, a severe, powerful ice storm overtook much of the state. Freezing rain and sleet fell at a near constant rate for a good few days. Homes lost power for weeks, roads became unusable, and school was closed for much of the recovery time. I spent almost the entire duration indoors. I was left sleepless most nights, listening to the pounding of frozen drops colliding with the roof. Every window in the home seemed to crack every few minutes. It was unlike any winter weather I had experienced, still to this day (and I live in Maine, for god sakes). "It's almost supernatural", my father had joked, stumbling inside after being pelted by sleet.

When the raining cold stopped, school was still closed due to the roads, as were many stores and town departments. Power was still in a blackout. When I wasn't gathering wood with my father, I spent most of the time peering out the window. The lakefront, along with the woods, became a cross between a wasteland and a glass exhibit. The open sunlight casted through the frozen branches, trees, and surfaces, lighting up the area in an array of glimmers and reflective specks. Large areas of the lake were covered in a uneven, clear layer of ice, while the tree lines at the opposite shore were washed in a shade of white.

A night later, the full moon made its appearance. I saw the light glow from my window. It was about an hour before I would sleep, but it was the chance for me to see the lake in a way I never had. I couldn't miss it. It was ten thirty. Like many times before, my parents were asleep. I walked out into the night.

The world outside was a foreign, frostbitten land. The sky was clear, allowing the moon to cast its full gleam along the ice and surroundings. The branches of trees became hubs of sparkles, every twig reflecting their own light. Other objects, both natural and man-made, were coated in a layer of fine ice. The snow, which crunched and shattered with my steps, was wet and heavy.