“The Third Shadow”
I live alone with my 7-year-old daughter, Lily. It’s just the two of us in a small, cozy house on the edge of town. Quiet neighborhood, friendly neighbors—nothing ever felt unsafe. Until a few nights ago.
It was just past 2 a.m. when I was jolted awake by Lily’s screaming. It wasn’t a nightmare scream. It was raw, terrified, real. My heart slammed against my chest as I bolted out of bed and sprinted down the hall.
“Lily!” I called, fumbling for her doorknob.
When I burst into her room, I expected to find her tangled in sheets, maybe sweating from a bad dream. But what I saw stopped me cold.
She was pressed against the far corner of the room, eyes wide, pointing at the closet. Her voice was shaking. “Mommy… someone’s in there.”
My skin went cold.
I turned to the closet—only half closed—and that’s when I saw the shadow. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t Lily’s. It was too tall. Too still.
There was a third person in our house.
Without thinking, I grabbed Lily and backed us both out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I barricaded it with a chair and dialed 911 with shaking fingers. The dispatcher told me to stay calm, that officers were en route. It felt like forever before I saw flashing lights through the window.
When police arrived, they found a man—dirty, disheveled, hiding in the closet. He had broken in through the kitchen window while we were asleep.
He didn’t speak. He barely reacted. Just stared, blankly.
They later told me he was a transient, possibly mentally unstable, and had been sleeping in vacant homes. But our home? It wasn’t vacant. He had crept in and waited, maybe planning to leave before dawn… or maybe not.
The part that haunts me the most?
Lily said, “He wasn’t there when I fell asleep. He came in while I was dreaming.”
We’ve since installed alarms, cameras, and new locks on every door and window.
But at night, when it’s quiet, I still hear the echo of Lily’s scream…
And sometimes, I swear I see that third shadow just out of the corner of my eye.