You know that feeling you get when you're just beginning to feel terror? That icy, unbearable shiver that runs down our spine as the dread begins to settle in? The feeling that makes you paranoid, that feeling that makes you think that someone...or something is watching you out of the very corner of your eye, just out of sight?

Imagine that feeling. Imagine the sweat, the fear, the instinctive urge to run. Imagine it. Let it settle itself in your body. Embrace it. Welcome it home with open arms.

Because it will never go away.

All my life I have been hounded by this feeling. By the shadows. By the monsters lurking in the dark. It whispers to me, sweet nothings that lull me to sleep. People usually avoid me. I imagine my appearance is quite...unusual. I'm not allowed to use mirrors. The Shadow runs and hides when I catch my reflection. I don't want the Shadow to run. The Shadow is my friend. The Shadow has never done me any wrong. The Shadow doesn't want to hurt me.

People hurt. People do wrong. The Shadow can do no wrong. It's just a shadow. Just a ghost against the Sun.

I imagine that I look a bit frightening, See, I don't go out much. I don't eat much. I don't sleep much. There's no use for sleep, except the wasting of precious time in our already dreadfully short human lives. The Shadow is my guide. I do what the Shadow tells me.

The Shadow is my friend.

I can hear it whispering now, softly, quietly. Calling out to me. It's a very strange thing, to hear a shadow. It's like trying to decipher the wind; the ethereal sound barely audible. I, slowly, stood, pushing myself away from my bed. Without the Shadow, I just stare blankly at the wall, my head consumed with the thought of when the Shadow will be back.

But the Shadow was now.

The Shadow was whispering.

I moved as if in a trance. Slowly...fluidly...the Shadow attached to my heels as I descended the stairs into the black abyss of the basement. There were no lights here. The Shadow could move freely here. No more imprisonment of the light.

The Shadow held my hand when I came upon the door at last. Its touch was colder than ice, colder than the eternal hold of Death herself. My skin began to smoke within milliseconds of the freezing touch, but I didn't notice. I was too busy smiling. I liked it when the Shadow touched me. Even if it was only to pass me off something to hold.

The Shadow's hand fell away, and I gripped the object tightly. The door swung open of its own accord, the Shadow whispering in my ear. My eyes fluttered shut briefly as I moved forward once more. My hand twitched, my fingers gracefully dancing the object between them. I opened my eyes, coming to a halt.

The man was shaking from his kneeled position before me, his back bowed and his blindfolded eyes aimed at the floor. I took a deep breath. I could smell his fear. I could taste it. I could see him shudder as that icy, terrible, wonderful feeling took ahold of him. I could hear his heartbeat thumping noisily and ceaselessly in his chest. It made me grin. It was an addicting scent.

A hand made its way up my back and onto my shoulder. I shuddered at the touch. There was that feeling. That feeling that I craved even more than the scent of fear. The Shadow settled its hand there, perched, its nails digging into my vulnerable flesh. The Shadow doesn't like harsh noises. My grin faded to a scowl.

This man's heartbeat must go.

I paced around him, my footsteps soft. The man only whimpered. His clothes hung off him. He never stopped shaking. And the thumping. Seconds ago it had been a pleasant sound. Now it was simply aggravating. I stopped in front of him once more. He made a strangled sound, hunching over further. I raised my hand, object glistening.

And, like cutting the strings on a puppet, my arm dropped, plunging the knife into the man's back.

He collapsed like a deadweight. His blood glowed.

I stared at him, watching as his skin paled, as the unforgiving stone drained the heat from his corpse. My expression didn't change, didn't twitch, not even as at last the annoying thumping faded for good.

The Shadow's hand shifted. I felt guilty. I'd nearly forgotten the Shadow was there.

The icy hand moved, trailing up my throat to my cheek, leaving frost-covered burns in its wake. The other came up to cover my eyes, leaving my breath to hitch in my throat.

Ever so slowly, the Shadow tilted my head to face it, and, gently, covered my lips with its own in a scarringly freezing kiss. I didn't flinch, I didn't move, I didn't breathe as the blood spilt by the knife stilled held firmly in my grasp began to soak through my shoes, my skin. My knees felt weak. My eyes closed behind the deathly hand. My chest tightened, lungs beginning to burn as the kiss continued, my soul bleeding out passed my lips with a sigh.

I would do anything for the Shadow.

The Shadow would do me no harm.

The Shadow was my friend.