I don’t know what’s wrong with me, whether it’s the gloomy feeling inside which seems to press down until I feel like bursting, or that the shadows talk to me. Not in an I’m insane kind of way, but the way that several people have a discussion, sometimes all at once but other’s and these are the ones that can scare the living daylights out of people, but the one on one discussions which usually result in death. I don’t know if I’m schizophrenic, or if I’m simply unique many people would argue either way. Even at the young age of seven I could hear and see them, shadows. I’d tug on my mother’s dress and whisper “Mummy why are they staring? Don’t they know it’s rude?” She’d laugh thinking it was my childish imagination and say “Why don’t you tell them dear?” So I would. The shadows would contort with rage at the mere sight of seven year olds instruction, I would scream at them to go away, they would for an hour or two.

I remember the first time a shadow person talked to me, nearly 7 years ago. I was 8 years old trying to sleep for the exciting day at school, a new year, new friends, new chances that’s when I heard it, a mummer at first. And for the purpose of simply telling you my name has been changed, “Ebony.” It was withdrawn, and long. The only way of describing it is when your friends creep up beside you and whisper your name trying to imitate a ghost from a horror movie, for me it was exactly like that. My young self tried to ignore the sound from the corner of my room; I desperately pulled a pillow over my head softly saying “Please, leave me alone!” It didn’t, I couldn’t escape the mummer of my name and help me could be heard for the rest of the night. That was the first time they spoke to me, recognizing my name.

They stopped after that for a week or two, I was so glad my parents had noticed my ‘odd’ behavior as they put it, saying I was tired and less enthused. They never came into my room when I scream for them “Mummy, Daddy, help me!” they had gotten used to the screams of terror of a child scared, after the shadow person talked to me that night, they came in the first night afterwards and comforted me, but never again. My imagination was running away with me, they’d say. Eating candy before bed triggered it they said. I still asked why they stared at me when I was outside with mummy, and she replied with something else, changing the subject. Eventually my mummy took me out one afternoon to some ‘lady’ who was going to make me better; I questioned this but mummy said it was best if I went, that I wasn’t well, she looked close to tears, I asked where daddy was, she didn’t answer me. That made me scared.

“Ebony, tell me about the people?” she questioned that fake smile pulling at her lips like a devil in disguise.
“They come to me.” I don’t know who was talking for me, but the replies just came, never thinking, hypnotized by the shadows in the corner.
“Who does?” she kept insisting, as if somehow she could make them go away, as if it was all in my head.
“The shadow people, they get lonely, one talks to me when I’m near my bed.” Her eyes bulged out at this non caring response, they didn’t faze me.
“What does this person say?” she was worried, she didn’t try and hide it.
“My name, just my name and help me. I scream for mummy and daddy by then, I get scared but they never try and hurt me. They could have by now, but they don’t.” And this was true.

She kept questioning my, who were they, what do they want, will they ever leave. I knew what she was thinking, that I was crazy, she put me on some sort of drug, which didn’t help. Mummy and Daddy knew it didn’t help, it made me anxious, twitchy, nervous. Mummy and daddy took me to a place where kids went to get better, they said this was the only safe place I could be now, and that if I wanted to get better I had to do as I was told, I cried and screamed at this, begging them not to go, that I was healthy, that the people were gone, and I was so very sorry. They didn’t believe me, I was 9 when I was institutionalized. I got out when I was 16 years old, I still saw the shadow people, but I never let them believe me, that place was terrifying, all the screams of people around me, insane people. I didn’t belong with them I wasn’t safe, the people are consuming me, they were gathering in my room, not room, more so a cell, a cell for them to gather, to feast upon my fear.

I live with my parents now, they always watch me, they always scan where ever my eyes seem to glance, almost as if they too saw the shadow people, saw them saying my name, they had gotten worse, screaming it, I withheld from blocking my ears, almost if that would somehow save me from their voices. I knew my parents wouldn’t believe me, I knew they thought I was crazy, unnatural, damned to hell. I showed them I wasn’t crazy, I showed them I was more powerful than the shadow people, even if it meant showing them the afterlife, it didn’t matter I showed them I was more powerful, that I wasn’t crazy, that I was sane, and safe from them. A guttural scream filled my ears, shadow people were screaming as so was my sister, the sister I always wanted. I broke down, a laugh filled me and at last I screamed “To hell with you Shadow people!” my sister locked me in the bedroom, the police came next, and I was put back into my cell, a cell where I get to talk with the shadow people, I’m never alone anymore.