The Prescott family stood outside their new home, a sprawling Victorian with weathered shutters and ivy creeping along the walls. To Nathan and Claire, it was a dream come true—a fixer-upper with charm and space for their two children, Emily and Jack.
"This is it," Nathan said, smiling as he carried the last box inside. "Our fresh start."
The first few days were uneventful, spent unpacking and exploring the nooks and crannies of the old house. Emily, 12, loved the attic, while Jack, 8, was fascinated by the basement. But by the end of the week, Claire noticed something odd.
The shadows on the walls seemed… strange.
At first, it was subtle. A shadow wouldn't quite match the object casting it—stretching too long, or bending in ways the light couldn't explain. She dismissed it as her imagination, the tricks of old lighting fixtures and uneven walls. But as the days passed, the shadows grew bolder
One evening, while the family watched TV, Jack jumped up to get a drink from the kitchen. Claire glanced at the wall and froze. Jack's shadow didn't follow him.
It stayed seated on the couch, mimicking his earlier position.
"Jack," she called, her voice unsteady. "Come back here for a second."
He returned, confused. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Claire said quickly, shaking her head. When she looked again, the shadow was back to normal.
Later that night, as Claire prepared for bed, she caught a glimpse of her own shadow in the mirror. It was brushing its hair—just as she was—but the rhythm was off, the movements too deliberate.
The shadows began to grow more defiant. They lingered in doorways, twisted unnaturally, and sometimes disappeared entirely. Nathan dismissed Claire's concerns as stress from the move, but she noticed it wasn't just her.
Emily screamed one night when her shadow didn't climb into bed with her—it stood at the foot, watching her. Jack refused to play in the basement after claiming he saw a shadow moving on its own, even though no one else was down there.
Nathan finally began to believe when, late one night, he saw his own shadow stretch unnaturally across the living room wall, its arm reaching for something that wasn't there.
The family tried to ignore the shadows, but they became more aggressive. The Prescotts noticed the shadows weren't just mimicking them anymore—they were acting independently.
During dinner, Claire dropped her fork when she saw Nathan's shadow walk away from the table, even though he was still seated.
"What's going on?" she whispered, trembling.
"We need to leave," Emily blurted out. "The shadows don't like us here."
That night, the house was alive with movement. Shadows flitted across the walls, even in rooms where no one was. The family huddled in the living room, too afraid to sleep.
Determined to find answers, Nathan ventured into the attic the next morning. It was Emily who had first explored the space, but she hadn't noticed anything unusual.
Now, as Nathan dug through dusty trunks and old furniture, he found a box of yellowed papers. Among them was a journal belonging to the home's previous owner, a man named Edward Grayson.
The entries became more erratic as they progressed:
"The shadows are alive. They mimic us at first, but they have their own desires.""They feed on us. Not our bodies, but our essence.""I locked the attic door for a reason. Do not disturb them."
As Nathan read the final entry, his breath caught in his throat:
"When the shadows stop mimicking you, it means they no longer need you."
That evening, the family tried to leave the house, but the shadows wouldn't let them. The front door slammed shut, and the windows darkened as if ink had spilled across the glass.
The shadows now moved freely, no longer tethered to their human counterparts. Emily's shadow lunged at her, wrapping her in darkness before retreating to the wall. Jack's shadow loomed over him, its shape shifting into something monstrous.
"Stay together!" Nathan shouted, but the shadows were too powerful.
In the chaos, Claire noticed her own shadow standing by the staircase, motionless. It raised a hand and beckoned to her, its grin visible even without a face.
The family retreated to the attic, the only place the shadows seemed hesitant to enter. Nathan, clutching Edward Grayson's journal, flipped through it desperately for a solution.
"They need light," he muttered. "Bright, unrelenting light. It's the only way to weaken them."
The family gathered every flashlight, lamp, and candle they could find. They created a circle of light in the attic and huddled together.
The shadows swirled outside the circle, their forms growing more grotesque with each passing moment. They clawed at the edges of the light, trying to snuff it out.
But the family's hope was short-lived. The batteries in the flashlights began to die, one by one. The candles burned low.
As the last light flickered out, Claire whispered, "Stay together. No matter what happens."
The darkness swallowed them whole.
Weeks later, a moving truck pulled up to the Prescott home. A new family stepped out—a young couple with a baby in tow, eager to start their lives in the charming old house.
Inside, the walls were quiet, the shadows still.
For now.