With my heart still racing, I make my way to the animal club meeting after school. The hallways seem brighter, the conversations around me louder, as if the world is celebrating my small victory.
When I enter the art room, the atmosphere shifts. Walls splashed with color, showcase's with different infant animals and the gentle hum of chatter envelop me like a warm embrace.
I scan the room and spot Lana at a showcase housing a infant owl, surrounded by a few other students, all jotting down notes of their observations and inquiries to later follow up on. She waves me over, and I take a deep breath, stepping forward with a mix of trepidation and excitement.
"Hey! I'm glad you came!" she says, enthusiasm bubbling in her voice.
"Me too! I've always wanted to be part of this." I reply, surprised by my own confidence.
"Awesome! We were just discussing what animal we should all vote for the club to get next. Do you want to join us?"
As I settle in beside her, I feel a sense of belonging wash over me. But just as I begin to relax, a chill sweeps through the room. The lights flicker, and an unsettling silence falls over the group. A shadow looms in the corner, dark and twisted, lurking just out of sight.
"What was that?" I ask, glancing around the room.
Probably just the old wiring," Lana replies, though her smile falters.
But as I look at the owl to jot down notes about it I decide to see the direction its staring, and my eyes widen upon what I see, its a shadow which seems to stretch and pulse, and I can't shake the feeling that it's alive. The air thickens, heavy with an oppressive energy that presses down on my chest.
"Let's start taking notes," Lana suggests, trying to lighten the mood. We each pick up our pencils, but the shadow remains, lingering at the edge of my vision, whispering thoughts I can't quite grasp.
As we write down our notes, I find my hand moving almost of its own accord, the pencil gliding over the paper with an unsettling fluidity. Instead of writing down notes I sketch a figure, its features shrouded in darkness but shaped like a owl, eyes glowing like embers. The more I draw, the more the atmosphere shifts, as if my art is awakening something that should remain buried.
Suddenly, the lights flicker again, and a low hum fills the air. The other students exchange nervous glances, but I'm too entranced by the figure on my page. It seems to pulse, almost alive, as if it's reaching out to me.
"Are you okay?" Lana asks, her voice laced with concern.
"I… I don't know. Something feels off."
At that moment, the door slams shut, and the temperature drops. The shadow in the corner shifts, stretching toward us, tendrils of darkness curling around the edges of the room. Panic ignites among the group, but I can't pull my gaze away from the figure I've drawn. It's calling to me, urging me to embrace the darkness.
"Stay back!" I shout, instinctively holding my sketchbook close. But the shadow seems to respond, swirling and gathering strength, feeding off our fear.
Lana steps closer, determination shining in her eyes. "We need to leave. Now!"
But as we move toward the door, it won't budge. The shadow thickens, creeping along the walls, suffocating the light in the room. My heart races, and I realize the figure I've drawn is not just an image—it's a manifestation of my own fears, a dark reflection of what lurks within.
"Help me!" one of the students cries out, backing into a corner as the shadows reach for them, tendrils grasping hungrily.
"Don't let it take you!" Lana shouts, and I feel the weight of her gaze on me, pleading for a solution.
In a moment of desperation, I raise my sketchbook, the darkness swirling around us. "I can control it!" I yell, surprising even myself. The pencil quivers in my grip, and I focus on the figure I created, I then see the infant owl fly into my sketch and fall out the other side of my notebook as a figurehead on the ground, something tells me to pick it up, a tugging of my essence almost.
To my astonishment, the shadow hesitates, as if waiting for my command. I close my eyes, pouring my will into the figurehead, and feel the energy crackle around us.
"Back!" I command, imagining the shadow retreating. When I open my eyes, it pulls away, a reluctant beast pushed into submission, then the same chaotic energy that seemed like it was out to kill us was absorbed into the figurehead.
The door creaks open slowly, and the group surges forward, relief washing over us. I glance back at the figurehead, which now writhes in frustration, but I can't shake the feeling that this isn't over.
We spill out into the hallway, panting and disoriented. Emily grips my arm tightly, her eyes wide. "What was that? You were incredible!"
"I don't know how I did that," I reply, breathless. "But I think... I think it's connected to what I drew."
"Maybe we need to talk to someone about this," she suggests, but deep down, I know this is only the beginning. The shadow wasn't merely a specter; it was a glimpse into a world I never wanted to acknowledge—a world where my very being and essence reached out to the world and brought chaos.
as I walk home I reflect on how I grew up in a suburban neighborhood where my parents emphasized the importance of kindness and empathy. I've always been the "nice guy," known for helping classmates with their homework and volunteering at community events but never close enough to call anyone friends, always noting in my mind that they are just people I know and help like a passerby giving the homeless some money. I never had a close-knit group of friends and Im often seen as the an outlier, comparable to a drifter one could say.
Despite my outwardly cheerful demeanor, Ethan carries a heavy burden of expectations. He feels pressure to maintain his image as the perfect son and Helper, leading to internal struggles he rarely shares. Recently, I've have been grappling with a growing sense of alienation. I feels misunderstood by those around me and struggles with feelings of anger and frustration that seem to emerge out of nowhere.
The catalyst for my internal turmoil comes from when I witnesses a shocking event at school—a bullying incident that I felt powerless to stop. This moment awakened something in me, igniting feelings of rage and helplessness that I never knew existed. Instead of addressing these emotions, Ethan begins to withdraw, spending more time alone and immersing myself in dark literature and music that reflected my growing discontent.
As I delved deeper into these themes, I started to experiment with more extreme forms of expression, such as studying animal anatomy filled with anguish and dark imagery. I had no-one to notice the changes except Mr. miller but he was unsure how to reach out. Beneath my gentle exterior, I wrestles with the fear that embracing this darker side might alienate me further from the people I love as few as they are such as my parents even though I don't see them often.