Title: Shadows Within
The street was empty, cloaked in darkness, with only the pale glow of streetlights cutting through the night. A lone figure ran desperately, his breath ragged, eyes darting left and right as if the shadows themselves were alive. Behind him, Alex moved silently, a predator in human form. Each step measured, deliberate, carrying a cold intent.
The man’s frantic sprint took him through winding alleys and narrow corners, but fate led him to a dead end. Panic overtook him. “Please… don’t!” he begged, trembling, his voice cracking under fear. Alex’s eyes showed no mercy. Slowly, he raised his weapon and, with a single strike, ended the man’s life.
The next morning, sunlight spilled into Alex’s room. He woke at 10 a.m., his body fresh from a cold shower and an early workout. Stretching, he turned on the TV while pouring himself coffee. A news bulletin caught his attention.
A murder.
The anchor described the crime in chilling detail—strikingly similar to the killing Alex had carried out the night before. As the report continued, Alex’s heart skipped a beat. “A serial killer is on the loose,” the news said, listing ten victims in the same calculated pattern over the past month. Alex sipped his coffee, feigning calm, but an unfamiliar unease curled inside him. The city was crumbling under fear, and yet he felt… nothing.
Days passed. By daylight, Alex was just another man walking down the street. One afternoon, holding hands with his girlfriend, he noticed a man harassing a girl near a busy road. Without hesitation, Alex stepped forward. The man, startled by Alex’s imposing presence, fled. The girl thanked him, oblivious to the predator lying dormant beneath his calm exterior.
Night fell. Alone in his apartment, Alex slept, but something within him stirred. He awoke suddenly, a new energy coursing through him, a dark clarity sharpening his senses. The world was different. The streets outside called to him. The predator had returned.
He found the man he sought leaning against a lamppost, puffing a cigarette, unaware of the shadow closing in. “What are you doing here? Want trouble?” the man sneered, striking first. But Alex moved like liquid, dodging, countering. The fight was brief—his opponent weakened, trembling, unable to rise.
Alex lifted his weapon. The man’s eyes widened. “Why… aren’t you speaking? Why are you trying to kill me?”
A drop of rain fell on Alex’s face. In that moment, something inside him shattered. Memories, feelings, and questions flooded back. Who was he? Why did he feel such cold rage? The clarity of his other self faded like mist, leaving only confusion. He stumbled backward and fled into the night, rain soaking him to the bone.
Sleep eluded him that night. The questions burned too brightly. By morning, he sought answers at the hospital. Psychological tests and MRI scans revealed the truth: Alex had dissociative identity disorder. The other personality—cold, ruthless, and methodical—was the one committing the murders.
The realization struck him like lightning. The city’s fear, the police’s frustration, the pattern of killings—all led back to him. But not him. The shadow inside him was the killer.
Alex looked into the mirror that evening. His reflection stared back, serene, unassuming. But in the corners of his eyes, the darkness lingered. He knew who the killer was now, and it was horrifyingly intimate.
The last thought that crossed his mind as he stood in the rain again, feeling the rain on his skin, was chilling yet oddly liberating:
"The enemy isn’t out there… it’s me."
And somewhere deep within, the other personality stirred, waiting for the next night to claim the streets once more.
