Calnca had always been an ordinary man—nothing about his life stood out, except for one peculiar fear that had slowly consumed him. He was terrified of his own shadow. It wasn’t that he feared darkness or the unknown, but something about that dark shape following him everywhere he went sent a chill down his spine. It didn’t matter how bright the sun shone or how confident he felt. As soon as he caught sight of the outline of his body, stretching long and unnatural on the ground, his pulse quickened, and a pit formed in his stomach.
But Calnca wasn’t one to admit such irrational fears. No, not him. He told everyone it wasn’t his own shadow that terrified him, but rather the shadow of others—people lurking in the corners of his life, enemies waiting for the moment to strike.
“It’s them,” he’d say, his voice tense, his eyes darting nervously at the corners of the room. “I’m being watched. They’re always there. Watching. Waiting.”
He would glance at the street, convinced someone was following him, but when he looked behind, he only saw his own shape creeping on the pavement. He’d shake his head in disgust, muttering under his breath, “No, it’s not me. I’m fine. It’s them.”
No matter how many times someone tried to comfort him—telling him that his fear of the shadow was unfounded—he never listened. They couldn’t see what he saw. They didn’t know what it felt like to be trailed by something that wasn’t human, but still so sinister.
Calnca began to retreat further from people, convinced that his shadow was a constant reminder of the malevolent forces surrounding him. It was an omen, a sign of a greater plot unfolding. The shadow was not his own, it was an enemy’s. And soon enough, he found solace in the words of a man who appeared to understand his fear.
This man, dressed in plain robes and speaking with an air of quiet authority, promised that there was a greater power at play. “You’re being persecuted,” the man said, his voice soft but firm. “The shadow you see is not your own. It’s the manifestation of all the dark forces in this world—those who want to keep you down, those who want to control your mind.”
Calnca nodded eagerly, soaking in the words like a sponge. For the first time in a long while, he felt understood. The enemy, he realized, wasn’t just in his mind; it was out there, controlling his every step.
“Do not be afraid, my child,” the man continued. “Trust in the power of faith. Once you follow the path, the shadow will lose its power over you. It is only the unfaithful who let the darkness consume them.”
But instead of being relieved, Calnca’s anxiety deepened. The more he followed the man’s teachings, the more convinced he became that his shadow was the source of all his misery. It wasn’t just a natural part of life—it was an adversary that needed to be conquered. The more he tried to pray it away, the more it loomed over him. The darker it seemed.
“I need to rid myself of it,” Calnca whispered to himself late one night, pacing in the dim light of his room. “I need to destroy it before it destroys me.”
In his search for answers, Calnca turned to extreme measures. He purchased strange relics and talismans, hoping they would ward off the looming figure that followed him. He took to strange rituals, calling on spirits he couldn’t name, convinced that only by ridding himself of this sinister force could he truly be free.
But no matter what he did, the shadow never left.
Soon, people started to notice. Friends who once tried to comfort him now started avoiding him, unable to understand the depths of his fear. His family, too, watched from a distance, helpless as their loved one became consumed by a terror that no one else could see.
One afternoon, his best friend, Mikos, sat him down, desperation in his eyes. “Calnca, this isn’t real. It’s just your shadow. Your own fear is making it worse. You have to face it.”
But Calnca shook his head violently. “No, you don’t understand. You never have. It’s the others. It’s always been the others.” He pointed at Mikos, his finger trembling. “You think I don’t see what’s going on? I know what they want. They want to control me. The shadow is proof of that.”
Mikos sighed, looking as though he was on the verge of giving up. “You’re losing yourself to this. This fear—it’s all in your head. You have to see it for what it is before it’s too late.”
But Calnca refused. He didn’t trust Mikos, or anyone for that matter. His mind was made up. The shadow was real. The enemy was everywhere. And as the days wore on, Calnca’s paranoia deepened, and his grip on reality loosened.
One day, when his world had become nothing but a series of terrifying shadows, Calnca stood before the mirror in his room, staring into his own eyes. His face was gaunt, his skin pale. His hair had grown long, unkempt, and his clothes hung loosely from his frame. The shadow at his feet was more pronounced than ever.
Suddenly, in a moment of clarity—or perhaps madness—he realized the truth.
The shadow wasn’t his enemy. It wasn’t some malevolent force out to destroy him. It was him. It had always been him.
It was the part of him he couldn’t face, the side he had been running from his entire life. The fear, the doubt, the darkness within him that he refused to confront. His own weakness had shaped his reality. It had driven him to see enemies where there were none.
But even then, it was too late. Calnca had fallen too far down the rabbit hole. The shadow had become his obsession, and now it was too entwined with his being to separate. He would never truly escape it, not because of external enemies, but because of the one thing he refused to acknowledge: his own mind.
And so, the man who feared his own shadow remained a prisoner of it, forever chasing a phantom that was nothing more than a reflection of his own deepest fears.
