Once upon a time, in a small town cloaked in mist, there lived a boy named Alex who had always been curious about the world. One evening, his mother noticed something strange—his shadow was growing faint, fading bit by bit with every passing day. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light, but soon there was no denying it. Alex’s shadow was disappearing.
In desperation, his father sought help from a local historian, an eccentric old man who knew everything about their town’s darkest tales. The man warned them about an ancient curse: when someone came too close to the town’s abandoned cemetery on a night of the blood moon, they would slowly lose their shadow to the spirit world.
But Alex had never been to the cemetery. Or so they thought.
One night, Alex confessed to his father. He’d found a map in the attic that led to an old grave, belonging to a young boy who had been mysteriously forgotten. Out of curiosity, he had visited the cemetery alone. That night, Alex’s shadow flickered one last time before vanishing completely.
To save his son, his father ventured into the cemetery, the air thick with unnatural silence. He found the forgotten grave, and there, barely visible in the dim moonlight, was Alex’s shadow, twisting in agony, trying to escape. After hours of ritual and pleas, he finally managed to release it. But from that day on, the shadow stayed close to his father instead—never quite attaching itself to Alex again.
Every night, as he watched his son sleep, he would notice a second shadow standing behind him, always just a little too close.
As the days passed, Alex’s father became increasingly unnerved by the second shadow, which lingered close, moving with a strange independence. The once-familiar outlines seemed to grow darker and more solid each night, and its shape began to shift. Sometimes, it appeared taller, leaner—almost as though it were trying to take on a life of its own.
One evening, while Alex was fast asleep, his father noticed the shadow stretching unnaturally across the walls, as though it were exploring the room. It slithered along the floor and, for the briefest moment, seemed to look directly at him. He shivered but couldn’t look away. The shadow began to speak in a voice that was low, echoing, and eerie.
“I am no mere shadow,” it murmured. “I am the spirit of the forgotten boy. I saved your son… but now you belong to me.”
Panic set in, and Alex’s father frantically searched for any way to break this final connection. He returned to the historian, who revealed one last secret—the only way to sever the bond was to visit the cemetery at midnight and sacrifice something dear.
So, on the next blood moon, Alex’s father returned to the cemetery, clutching a locket containing a picture of his family. As he laid it on the forgotten boy’s grave, he whispered, “Take this in exchange. Release us.”
In the silence that followed, the shadow drifted away from him, sinking back into the earth. But as he turned to leave, he felt a chill behind him and heard the faint sound of laughter. The forgotten boy’s spirit was satisfied, yet something about the darkness felt more alive than ever.
When he returned home, he found Alex sleeping peacefully, his shadow once again by his side. But each night, Alex’s father couldn’t shake the feeling that, somewhere in the dark, the forgotten boy watched—waiting for the blood moon to rise again.
And so, each night, he kept a lantern burning, knowing that some debts were never truly repaid.