The Shadow That Wasn't His

The damp silence of the basement was broken only by the rhythmic thrum-thrum of the

water heater, until it wasn't. Elias froze, his flashlight beam trembling over a

row of moth-eaten winter coats that seemed to sway without a breeze. From the dark corner

behind the furnace, a sound emerged—not a growl, but the wet, frantic scratching

of many long fingernails against concrete. As he turned to flee, the beam caught

a glimpse of something pale and impossibly thin uncurling from the rafters above, its limbs snapping

into place with the sound of dry kindling. He realized too late that the shadow

stretching toward the stairs wasn't his own; it was detached, widening its jagged