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It took a while before you noticed it.
Why wouldn’t it? It’s not as though you make it a habit to interact with the masked shadow that, without asking, decided to make a home in your living room. Sure, it’s somewhat endearing how attached it is to you, but it’s still an unknown, potentially dangerous entity. It gave you a tongue as a present for goodness sake.
But one day, you noticed it.
“Why don’t you use any hands on your right side?” You ask it, and it tilts its mask. It shifts it around, thinking.
It points to your missing arm. Huh, you weren’t expecting an answer.
“Thanks, you don’t really need to do that just because I lost my arm.” It’s sweet how it’s trying to connect with you through that.
It just shakes its mask. Huh. You wonder what it meant, then. It’s a shame it can’t talk. Maybe it could try writing…?
The masked shadow liked to watch you sleep. That was a fact of life. The sky was evil, you had to fight to survive, and you had two stalkers who watched you sleep at night.
You don’t mind them really, though you did at first. Actually, after a while, it became a little comforting. If someone broke in, they’d be able to deal with it immediately. Or, in the case of Spine, wake you up.
You wonder why Spine didn’t wake you up when the masked shadow first entered your room.
Hm, maybe Spine isn’t actually that reliable after all…
But you trust the shadow, maybe a little too much given the circumstances. The idea of it watching over you is almost familiar.
It reminds you of when you were a little kid. You had an imaginary friend, who was creatively named Smiley. You liked to imagine it standing over your bed and watching you like this.
It looked different of course, it was shaped like a human. It had only one hand, and wore clothes. But still, you can’t deny the similarities.
Maybe that’s why you feel so safe around it.
You asked it about the tongue, once before.
You had asked if it had hurt anyone, or stolen it.
It shook its mask, and you left it at that. You hadn’t known it well enough to feel safe interrogating it further. After all, you have no idea how dangerous it is.
Now though, you feel as though you understand it a bit better.
“Hey, Shadow?” You ask, referring to it by the moniker you and your companions had given it, “Where did you get that tongue?”
Silently, it hems and haws. Eventually, it settles on pointing inside its cloak. Its large, concealed body bends over, as if it too is peeking inside.
That doesn’t tell you anything, “I know you pulled it out from there, but where did it come from before that?”
It stands ramrod straight, shifting its mask about. It stops, vibrating the mask in place angrily. It wants to say something, but can’t.
You had tried to get shadow to write once before. Its writing turned into meaningless scribbles after one, clumsy letter.
It tried more after that, but never could get anything coherent out. For the first time, it showed signs of anger. It ripped the paper into pieces, and pulled at its cloak.
You should have felt terrified, but instead you felt sympathetic. It was the first sign of something actually human beneath its mask. You could connect with the sense of loss.
It didn’t try again after that. The subsequent failed attempt at sign language, was only met with grim resignation.
You return to the present, only for Shadow to lunge forward. It wrenches your jaw open, hard and fast enough you fear it will break. It grabs at your tongue, pulling at it. You’re terrified it will come off, and you desperately claw at its exposed arm. Instead of ripping it off, Shadow just points to it.
It lets go, and glides back.
What in the world was that?
There’s a stain on its cloak.
You feel indignant. How could someone spill something on it? And not even try to clean it up?
“Who spilled their drink on Shadow?” You turn to the rest of the apartment. Everyone looks at you, puzzled by your reaction.
“Are you sure it didn’t spill something on itself?” Sophie asks, messing with some marbles.
“Sam, that stain has always been there.” Hellen states flatly, staring through you.
Wait, it has? You look back at it. Yeah, now that you think about it, you do remember Shadow having that stain when you met it.
Actually… The stain looks familiar, even beyond that somehow. Like you’ve seen it before you even met them. That can’t be right though, you’ve never seen a cloak like that in your life.
You’ve not seen a cloak like that… But when you think back… Seeing that stain on a blanket feels oddly right.
In fact, in that context, the texture feels familiar as well. You feel dread, it can’t be. It’s literally impossible.
You feel nauseous as you reach beneath it’s indistinct form. You rummage around the edge of the blanket cloak, feeling for something you desperately hope isn’t there.
You feel it, you lift up the portion of the blanket.
A tag. A tag from a store close to your childhood home.
You drop it, blood draining from your face.
It’s wearing your blanket from when you were a teenager. How did it get your blanket? It disappeared years ago. You feel lightheaded.
“SaM? whAT WRoNg FriEnD?” Roaches asks, shambling toward you.
You meet its ‘face’, “This is my blanket.”
“It stole your blanket? I knew it was in love with you.” Sophie giggles, unaware of the horror of the situation.
She doesn’t understand how it went missing before the apocalypse. How it’s not possible for Shadow to have stolen it before it was supposed to even exist.
You remember, shortly after it going missing. You saw something, something you dismissed as a hallucination. You and your roommate were talking, about sports or something. And then, you saw it. A dark, cloaked figure, with a porcelain mask.
But if it was a hallucination, how could you both have seen it?
The masked figure you saw back then, it looked different didn’t it? Its body was obscured by shadow, but you remember its face clearly.
It didn’t have red eyes. It had blue eyes. Blue eyes, with a brown spot. Heterochromia just like yours.
You only manage a few steps before you puke on the floor.
Later that night, you wake up in a cold sweat.
Other than a creeping sense of horror, you did your best not to think of Shadow any more than you had to after that… That mess.
But now, you have nothing else to do but think, with it staring at you.
Except… No, it’s not in your room tonight. No, it’s only Spine, curled up beside you.
You shift, turning to the spot on the bed where she would be. You remember something that bothered you earlier, before you got to know Shadow better. It’s silly, but… You need to take your mind off this.
“Spine?” You murmur.
“Yes, Sam?” The weight on your bed shifts.
“Why didn’t you warn me about Shadow, when it entered my room.” You don’t want to know the answer, but you ask anyway.
“It’s always been there… I thought you knew about it… It feels like you, after all.” She rasps, her echoing voice slithering into your ear.
“What do you mean feels?” You’ve touched its hands, its cloak, even its mask. It feels nothing like you.
She strokes your chest, raking across it gently “I can feel your heartbeat… I can feel your breath… I can feel what’s underneath it, too. The part of you that others don’t see.”
“It feels like you… It smells like you…” She lovingly grasps your cheek, and you feel something warm and slimy trail across it. You shudder.
“It didn’t feel like a threat. How could anyone be a threat to themself?” You mull over her words, your half-awake state unable to comprehend any implications.
You don’t understand, but you feel sick again. You don’t throw up, but it takes a while before you manage to fully fall back asleep.
The next time you awaken, you walk to the Shadow. It’s early in the morning, everyone else is still asleep. That’s fine, you probably look horrible anyway.
“What are you.” You ask it. You need answers, immediately.
It doesn’t hesitate, its mask doesn’t even move.
It just points to you.
“H-How? How are you me? I remember seeing you as a kid! What are you?” You yell, leaning into its face.
“You don’t even act anything like me!” It grabs your hand, dropping something into it.
It feels smooth, warm. It feels well worn, as though it was caressed lovingly by thousands of hands, for a very long time.
You look down.
A skull, black as pitch, black as the inside of its stolen cloak.
You can see the beginning of deformities, as if it was starting to change, but didn’t get the chance to.
It’s cracked down the middle, and it splits in half in your hand. Your breath hitches in your throat. Despite signs of innumerable age, it’s covered in blood.
Slowly, Shadow’s hands reach to take it back. Gently, it cradles it in dozens of hands, all right handed. As if it has been done a thousand times before, it slips the mask on, keeping it from falling apart.
You can’t see any signs of the skull anymore, as it pulls it back.
You don’t know how you know. What makes it any different from the tongue but…
It felt like yours. It felt like you were holding your life in your hand.
“How?” You plead, shakily.
It points up.
“How are you here. How were you here before The Visitor?” Tears fill your eyes, you feel like sobbing. You feel fear, disgust, hatred. How do you even begin to process what you turned into. Will turn into? Is it an alternate self? Will it be you?
It tilts its mask, and shrugs. Why? Why? Why?
It’s so different from you. It doesn’t act anything like you. It doesn’t think anything like you. It doesn’t understand humanity, or morals, or even how you think.
It can’t be you. It just can’t.
It doesn’t even act like it cares. Why doesn’t it care? It doesn’t act mournful, or want to interact with anything but you!
“What is wrong with you!” You yell, and the dam breaks, tears stream down your face. “Why are you acting like this isn’t important! What happened to you! Did the ritual do this? Will I be this? For fucks sake why don’t you care!”
It grabs you, pulling you tight to its equivalent of a chest. It cradles you, several hands running down your back gently, lovingly. It looks down at you, like you’re a child. A pair of hands brush through your hair.
It’s nothing like you. Its hands and cloak feel cold.
You scream into its body, as it continues to attempt to soothe you. Tears soak through the blanket that conceals its alien form.
Eventually, it lets go. You stumble around blindly. You fall on the couch.
You cry silently, and it watches. It doesn’t make any further attempts at comforting. The others wake up, but it takes hours before you’re able to get up again. You barely manage to keep breakfast down.
It’s time to leave. You walk out the door, ready to deliver the final offering to Jasper. You ignore the masked shadow. You don’t want to even think about it anymore.