I have had two shadows for as long as I can remember - my own shaded double and another. A foreign soul that does not heed me. Instead, it retraces my footsteps, an unknown figure with a front-view seat to every personal moment in my life - the joyful and fond memories I store close to my heart, the rare times when I become distraught enough to be tender and weak, and the deep, dark secrets I hold close to my chest. It followed me through the shining light of day and the shrouded darkness that is night. Having itself as a being above the laws of the universe.
"Leo! Honestly, I swear pigs would be fluttering the day you are not late for school." My mother sighed, bringing up her hands to rub her forehead as she interrupted my racing thoughts, bringing them to a sudden stop. Blinking my bleary eyes rapidly, I squinted from my place on my bed, attempting to peer at my mother. She was standing on the threshold of my room, hands on her hips. With a roll of her eyes, she strode towards me, seized my blanket and bunched it in her hands. Then, she ripped it off my body with a strong tug, brutally leeching the warmth and leaving me to the tender mercies of the chilly air circulating through the room.
Lillian Davis was a worn woman, wrinkles crinkling her skin. She held a sort of weary air - like she had already faced anything and everything life had thrown at her and still came out kicking. My father had passed away just a few months prior and my mother was still recovering from that heavy blow. Ezra Davis had died due to lung disease - an entirely anti-climatic end to the energetic adventurer.
"Mum!" I whined, shaking off any remaining thoughts concerning my buried father. I am already morbid enough.
"Don't you dare 'mum' me, young man." Lillian snapped, pointing her index finger towards me in warning. "This is the fourth time you are late. This week."
"Sorry, I know-" I cowered, casting my gaze down to my feet as if they are the most exciting object here. I never did realise how intricate my shoes are.
"No, you do not know." My irritated mother stressed, glaring at her squirming son. I sheepishly rubbed my neck, accidentally knocking over a family photo placed on my bedside table.
"Um..." I trailed off, unsure whether commenting on this would just further aggravate my aggravated mother. My mother merely sighed, looking just done with me before crouching down to pick up the frame. Lifting the object with two fingers, she dangled the image in front of me, raising an eyebrow.
The picture was taken at the moment of my birth, the pastel image of my mother and father leaning on each other, each cradling a baby in their arms. Across the joyful memory ran a spiderweb of hairline cracks, its reaches stretching from one end to another.
Turning the picture to examine it herself, my mum froze and rose slightly shaking fingers to trace the outlines of the people in the frame, blissfully ignorant smiles curving their lips. Unshed tears quietly rose from behind her eyes, an old would still not fully scabbed over.
"We were going to name him Levi, you know? Knew he was going to grow up a heartbreaker." Mum whispered, fingers painfully digging into the broken glass of the wooden frame. Her voice was broken, mind still lost in painfully happy memories.
"My twin? The one who died at childbirth?" I blurted without thinking, my curious mind betraying me once more. Once I realized what I said, I winced. Curiosity aside, I should have phrased that sentence better.
"Sorry." I weakly added, biting my bottom lip nervously. My mother just let in a breath and nodded, letting a small smile form.
"It's alright, love." She reassured, squeezing my hand.
"Still, that does not mean that you are off the hook." She continued, narrowing her eyes. I giggled before making a swift grab for my bag and took off, quickly hefting the bag over my shoulder. From the corner of my gaze, I could catch the sight of my mother waving her fist towards me and although her lips were pursed, a mischievous shine twinkled from her deep blue eyes.
Groaning, I valiantly attempted to prevent my eyes from drooping. Rapidly shuttering them, I squinted blearily at the hazy figure that was my teacher. Somehow, he had managed to drone about World War One for the past two hours. I had sort of switched off during the explanation of the Trench Wars, letting the information enter one ear and fly off through the other.
Randomly, my stomach churned, expressing its displeasure. An uneasy feeling coiled itself into my gut as my hands began to twitch in place. I dug my fingers in the soft cushion that was my seat, biting down on my bottom lip nervously.
"It's probably just a nasty side effect of having to play statue for an hour," I muttered under my breath, attempting a sensible explanation for this unsettling feeling. However, even to my ears, the argument did not sit right.
Resigning myself to my sorry predicament, I raised a hesitant hand in the air, setting my mind to get a breather as dull and stale atmospheres will do no help to my current mood. As if I had donned a tutu and broke out a spinning ballet routine on the class tables, the attention of the class immediately veered on me, glad to catch a break from the mind-numbing trip to the past. Shrinking in my seat due to the hefty weight of numerous prying stares, I shakily pulled myself up, taking comfort from the sturdy wooden handles flanking me.
"Uh, Sir? I might need to use the washroom." I sheepishly pipped up, rubbing the back of my head. My history teacher set his piggy eyes at me, narrow glasses resting on his nose. Pursing his lips in obvious displeasure, he reluctantly stabbed a stubby finger towards the exit, directing a piercing glare at my rapidly retreating back as I quickly dashed towards the closed door. Reaching out, I yanked the handle open and scrambled out, hiding the urge the gag as a whiff of his body odour reached me, strangely resembling the heap of junk dumped behind my house.
The hallways were devoid and empty, a barren ghostland. It was jarring compared to the typical commotion and chitter-chatter echoing through these halls. Feeling slightly unnerved by the unusual silence, I picked up the pace, the clack of my boots resounding through the empty air surrounding me. I came to a stiff halt in front of the paint-chipped door of the school bathroom, the handle, dusty and cold to touch. I raised a hand to wave away the cloud of dust as the door opened with a creak and I entered the dim-lit room.
The bathroom was shabby and worn like one of the forgotten chambers of the ancient pyramids, not seen the light of day for thousands of years. The stall doors were hanging on a thread, coils of rust already curling their way into the hinges. There was only one working tap out of the five present and the sole source of light was the swaying old lamp that has long outlived its allotted period of time.
Trudging my way to the decaying sinks, I turned on the sole working tap and sighed as a pitiful stream of water tricked down the spout. Placing my hands underneath the dripping water, I gathered as much as possible and splashed it on my face, the cool liquid a welcome refresher for my tired mind. Lifting my head upwards, my attention drew to the cracked mirror in front of me, the splinters of light twisting reality for a fleeting moment. I allowed a worn smile to twist my lips as I met deep blue eyes.
Wait.
I don't have blue eyes.
I immediately tore my stare away from the midnight blue, my blood rushing through my veins, leaving the pallor of my skin ghostly white.
"It's probably just an illusion, the light playing tricks on my tired mind." I reasoned to myself, squeezing my eyes shut with a determined forcefulness.
Letting my eyelids shutter open after a beat, I sucked a sharp breath in, my pulse slowly rising in tempo. The boy in the mirror - who was not me - lifted a mocking hand to wave, his lips twisting into a cruel smile. By reflex my hands drifted upwards towards my mouth, checking whether they were formed in that mockery of a smile. They were not. The boy's eyes bore into me, eyes flaming pits of hatred and loathing. You could drown in them, I thought absentmindedly, buried underneath the sheer contempt and no one will hear your screams.
"Who are you?" I breathed, stumbling back. Bracing a shaking hand on one of the stalls, I leaned against it, feeling that my knees were threatening to give out under me, dropping me like an unwanted sack of potatoes.
The figure merely began a leisurely stroll, its destination becoming glaringly clear as its presence loomed closer and closer to me. I pressed my back as close as possible to the decrepit door, eyes stuck to the advancing figure. I wanted to move, run, or do something but couldn't. My body remained stuck in place, refusing to heed my call like a puppet forced still by its master.
The creature came to a halt right before the glass, the thin, cracked sheet being the sole barrier between reality and the realms of the unknown, far beyond human perspective.
Suddenly, he gently tapped the glass with an elongated finger, the nail cut to a sharp point. A web of hairline fissures surfaced into existence like the thin, twisting forms of weeds as they took over bright bushes and blossoms. I made a quick scramble away from the cursed mirror as I finally regained control over my bodily functions, hands rising to shield myself from the flying shards of the splintered mirror as it imploded into a million minuscule, glinting pieces. The lamp flickered, red-hot sparks scattering across the area before giving out, subjecting the confined room to pitch-darkness.
Taking advantage of the opportunity presented, I bolted like I had savage hyenas nipping at my heels, slamming the door with a deafening thud. Resting shaking hands on a rusty locker, I bowed my head, ragged breaths escaping from my trembling mouth.
Letting a weary sigh escape from my lips, my thoughts drew back to that bathroom encounter. I shuddered. If I ever had to suffer another meeting with whatever that was-
"I'll be fine. That was probably not even real." I rationalized, yet even to me, that explanation fell splat on the ground.
However, one thought nagged at the back of my mind. I remembered those eyes. I have seen them before. I just- can't remember where. The memory was at the precept of my mind, like on the edge of a cliff, but it refused to fall.
Slowly, as if in a trance, I rose to the gong of the school bell, students flooding in like the aftermath of a violent incident. A sudden chill snaked down my spine as something struck me about that encounter. I remembered my trembling hands, grasping on the flaking wall, paling tone as horror rushed through my veins, and my feeble shadow. My single feeble shadow. There was no trace of the other one.
Pushing the worn and familiar oak door guarding the entrance of my childhood house, I collapsed inside, resting my back on the firm wood. Letting my eyes finally fall shut and envelope me in darkness, I inhaled a shaky breath, curling my trembling arms around my knees, attempting to steady myself before my mother caught a glimpse of my shaken state.
"Oi, Leo! Took you long enough. I need your help with dinner. Honestly, the rice was two seconds away from burning. Literally burning." My mother greeted me from inside the house, her voice muffled from having the burden of passing two thick walls. She must have heard the door banging, I realised before rising to my feet, plastering a forced smile on my face.
"Mum, you really need to learn how to cook rice. What will you do when I leave the house?" I teased back, projecting my voice over the rooms as I quietly ambled my way across the house.
"Maybe, not cook rice." She grumbled, turning to glower at me as I entered the kitchen, leaning on the threshold.
My mother lets her glower melt to an exasperated smile, shaking her head fondly. Leaving the doomed rice to its fate, she crossed the room in long strides to enfold me in her arms, lips curving into a content smile.
"How was your day, sweetie?" She inquired, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head. Ducking my head to hide the red blush, I mumbled a quick 'good' under my breath.
"Only 'good'?" My mother questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"You know, good is such a close-minded and instinctive answer." She mused, lips twitching upwards, "How was your day? Good. How was the sleepover? Good. How was the trip? Good. Do you youngsters never utilize that wonderful creativity of yours these days?"
"We 'youngsters' don't utilize our creativity probably because we prefer to not say an intricate and well-woven reflection every time we return home," I grumbled, pushing away from her comfortably warm body.
"Well, how else can we help you in building up your vocabulary?" My mother taunted me as she pushed me towards my room with a laugh, "Enough loitering around. I bet you have a mountain of work waiting for you."
"You know, if this is the gold mine waiting for me at the end of the rainbow, then I really must have been, like, a serial killer in my previous life," I grumbled, reluctantly pushing the chair towards me and lowering myself on it. My mother merely pressed a quick kiss to my forehead and walked off, presumably to try her hand at making an edible dinner.
Twirling my pen absentmindedly, I sighed as I fought back a yawn, my eyes stubbornly refused to stay open. Finally admitting defeat, I closed the textbook with a defeating thud, reaching out to shut the flickering lamp. Allowing the darkness to surround me, I slipped inside my covers, burrowing myself inside the warm and cosy bed.
"Mommy, look- candy!" A boy squealed, waving a small, stubby hand in the air. He was pointing at a colourful carnival stall, decorated with numerous fluffy tufts of pastel blue and pink.
"Darling, as much as I would love to entertain your cotton candy fantasies, I believe you must actually just burst." The woman standing behind him, spoke up, laying a fond hand on his shoulder.
"With a jolt, I realized that I recognized these people. In fact, I know this scene - the bright and joyful carnival, the bustling crowds and the jaunty tune dancing in the background.
My version of the memory held a much more fuzzy sheen like I was opening an old picture, stowed safely in my side pocket, folded and re-folded too many times to count.
"But Mommy-" Younger me piped up from behind my back, a childish gleam to his eye as he waved his small, delicate fist in the air.
"No." My mom interrupted firmly and it was almost comical to watch the child slump in dramatic despair, giving my mum a cute pout.
"Pretty please, with an extra cherry on top?" He begged, dragging the please as he folded his hands together. Looking at the sight in front of her, my mother's expression softened, as she folded like wet tissue.
"Well, while we can't get cotton candy, there is still that cute fluffy blue panda over there just waiting to get a hug, no?" She allowed, letting a warm smile curve her lips as she ushered little me towards another colourful and bright stall - selling enormous stuffed animals. With a short squeal, the child ran towards the shop like a bullet released from a gun, needing no further encouragement.
Clutching the giant blue teddy bear to his tiny frame, tiny me gave a toothy grin, the stuffed animal engulfing his tiny body with its magnitude. Lifting it up with an exaggerated huff, he tilted it towards the sky and waddled back, eyes cross-eyed in concentration.
Biting back a laugh bubbling up my throat, I let a fond smile creep up on me, my mind caught in the seductive nature of nostalgic memories. Against my mum's exasperated wishes, the teddy had stayed chained to my bed for a full five years until I mustered to courage to throw it out. As my favourite colour, I always was vulnerable to any hint of green, including the palm fur of that-
"Green?" I murmured in confusion, my current train of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt. Abruptly, I remember- the teddy was green, not blue. I did not crave cotton candy but rather ice cream. And it was not my mom who had bought me that teddy, it was my dad.
"This- this is not my memory. Who-" I muttered, shaking my head in confusion. Suddenly, the ground began to shake and trembled, splitting in its seams. Scrambling in my place, I only gaped as my surroundings were ripped from me and settled- anew. There was a dinner table, lavish plates laid on the burnished wood, polished chairs glinting in the dim light. My mum and dad were there, along with little me, laughter weaving itself into the air itself. A cooked turkey was placed in the centre, fumes rising from the newly-made dish. Stumbling forward, I ran my hand over the wood, ducking under to check whether the cursive script was engraved below the table.
It was. The letters were unrecognizable, presumably done by a toddler, but the 'L' present in the short name is unmistakable. Wearily, I let myself unwind the shortest inch, seating myself upon one of the empty chairs as I ran my eyes over the glossed bookshelf, straining under the weight of numerous novels, the swinging lamp hung on the ceiling, the smiling figures of my parents and the smiling baby blues of my little-
I don't have blue eyes. I don't have blue eyes.
Tumbling away from the innocent scene, almost mocking to my eyes, I wearily observed my surroundings as I came to a few mind-numbing realizations. I typically prefer to eat the turkey's arm first- the leg I save for last, the bookshelf was supposed to be bare- I have always abhorred books with an inexplainable passion and that swinging lamp- I had broken it before this dinner, with a misplaced tennis ball.
"Whose- whose memories are these?" I whispered weakly, hands grasping for purchase on the rough, wooden floor as I collapsed on the ground. Hunching into myself, I lifted my shaking hands to my ears, covering them as I was assaulted by a barrage of whispers. Slithering their way around me, they struck, quick and hard, leaving me trembling on the floor.
"This is how it was supposed to be."
"MINE."
"It was mine."
"You took my place. Now I am taking it back."
With a jolt, it struck me like lightning, that cursive script was not Leo.
It was Levi.
I could only watch as my second shadow rose before me, a towering figure, eerily shadowed by the swinging lamp, which should not be there.
"Hello, brother of mine." It- he purred, grasping my chin, "You took something of mine. Now, I am taking it back."
Then, all I knew was darkness.
"Leo. Leo! Wake up. Are you alright?" Lillian exclaimed, worriedly, shaking the prone figure of Leo Davis awake. Shooting up with a jolt, his eyelids flew open to reveal deep, midnight blue eyes.
Levi let a truly horrific smile twist his lips as he laughed.
"Oh mum, I am better than fine."