Bedroom Shadows

Millie Gordon had always been the type who never settled easily. When her family dragged her to a new house in the sleepy town of Larkspur, she figured it’d be just another place to count the days to college. Dad thought the house with creaky floors, peeling paint, and a musty smell was “charming." Millie wasn’t so sure. It all started the first night. She couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. That prickly sensation was more than just the usual first-night jitters. You know that moment when you wake up, but you're not quite sure what shook you from your dream? That became Millie's every morning. Shadows played tricks on the walls, stretching long fingers across the room. Each night, she swore they mocked her apprehensions, whispering in voices only she could hear. "Get a grip, Millie," she told herself, hugging her knees tighter beneath the blanket fort she had made. Besides, only a coward would ask to share their parents’ room at her age. The whispers were soft at first, like a gentle breeze on a snowy day. Curious but cautious, Millie would walk around the room, inspecting every nook and cranny. The usual suspects—closet, window frame, under the bed—were no more suspicious than usual. Yet, a strange allure kept drawing her back in. Days became weeks. School was routine. Days were busy and nights were shadowed nightmares. One evening, curiosity bested anxiety, as it often does. She tiptoed to the darkness where the whispers were strongest. “Who’s there?” Nothing. A beat of silence—then a sound, a timid chuckle. Her hair stood on end. She closed her eyes, letting the clammy room envelop her small form. When she summoned the courage to open them, a silhouette sat crouched in her favorite reading nook. “Millie.” The voice shouldn’t have been so familiar. It was her voice. The shadow flickered with emotions she camouflaged every day. The projector of her insecurities. A reflection catching her unawares. But soon came compassion. The spirit revealed its origin: a young girl who once lived in the very same house, feeling invisible and misunderstood before disappearing without cause or trace. “Did anyone hear your world crumble when your parents divorced?” It asked almost kindly. “Did anyone notice your cries in the night? Yes, I heard them. I was once...unseen.” A chill ran down her spine but not from fear, from connection. This wasn’t a monster; it was a reflection of her unspoken fears, relentlessly seeking to be heard. Determined to help, Millie set herself on a mission. A soft resolution warmed the room. The next week became an exploration of the house's history. A newspaper article, dormant for years, recounted the spirit’s tragic tale—a tale too close to Millie’s heart. Armed with understanding, she returned to the shadow. “I see you now,” Millie whispered. “Together, we can change our stories.” For the first time, warmth flooded the room. She felt the weight lifting, the shadows retracting. The spirit flickered a faint grin. She didn’t do it alone. With supportive words, newfound friends, and a surprising closeness with her parents, Millie wielded newfound bravery, facing shadows—both inside and out. The house remained hers, and the space felt lighter. As Millie gradually settled, the whispers grew fainter. Shadows, acknowledged and accepted, blurred into memory. And Millie, once at the mercy of her fears, learned to be her own champion.