SHADOW

Fear

A shadow passed near her window, and she screamed into her pillow. There was a tingling sensation every night when she went to bed, as if someone were watching her from behind the glass. She didn't dare open the windows, but she just knew it was there. The pressure in her gut—the painful, growing fear that made her breathe heavily—seeped into her bones like a rabbit sensing a predator.

Every night, she locked her door, her windows, and checked every single latch. The girls living with her on campus thought she was crazy, but she didn't care. She often watched the dark line of the forest beyond the academy grounds and wondered what darkness hid beneath its canopy. Nobody else seemed to notice, but Sha felt it.

When one of the girls disappeared, she knew it had been real. She told everyone—but they only laughed.

Tonight, she watched the moon through the window. It was round and heavy, its glow both beautiful and sinister. Its golden light spread across the empty courtyard, drawing long shadows over the trees. The moon felt like her guardian, a silent protector preserving her sanity. She watched for hours, a quiet sentinel of the night.

Each time the moon slipped behind the clouds, her breath caught and her hands trembled. The darkness felt total.

Her roommate had gone home for vacation, and she regretted not doing the same. Maybe tomorrow she would pack her things and leave. No summer celebration on campus was worth this constant dread. Perhaps she was just going mad—after all, she wasn't used to living alone in such a large, empty room.

She looked at the white linens glowing faintly in the moonlight and smiled weakly.

"I'm a fool. I need sleep," she murmured to herself, stepping barefoot across the cold floor in her barely warm slippers. The sheets were icy, and she shivered, pulling them tightly around her body.

Don't cry, little Sha. Don't cry. Your grandma is in a better place, the old neighbor from the farm next door had told her once, handing her a red apple still dusty from the yard. She had rubbed it against her faded blue dress before biting into it. The sour-sweet taste of the fruit mingled with the salt of her tears.

That was the last summer she spent in the fields—the last summer she felt free. Only her grandmother had ever accepted her completely: wild and dirty, rolling in the grass, counting sheep in the clouds, rummaging through the old forest.

Her parents had sold the farm and sent her to this cold stone academy to make her a lady.

The nightmare always returned when she was stressed, and now the red apple appeared again. She cried in her sleep, and the taste of salt filled her mouth.