When Shadows Pretend to be Monsters

The porch camera chimed again, breaking the fragile silence that filled the room. Renee clutched her blanket more tightly. Jake approached the window quietly, his movements silent and his stance tense with warning instinct. The light from the security app illuminated his face as he drew the curtain slightly.

*Nothing.*

Rain quietly dripped down the porch rail, collecting on the steps. There was no sign of a figure or any movement. The shape they had noticed just a moment ago had vanished, seemingly swallowed by the mist. Renee’s heart pounded in her chest. “Jake, what did you see?”

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “It might have been just a shadow. Possibly the camera picked up rain movement. Or maybe it was nothing at all.” Still, the tension in his shoulders suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. The phone pinged once more, and this time, the kitchen sensor was triggered. A faint click sounded from somewhere inside the house. Renee held her breath. Jake was already in motion, examining the monitor and scanning all the feeds with a clenched jaw.

“It’s the back camera,” he said. “It’s glitching.” Renee moved closer. “Glitching how?” Jake focused on the screen. The image flickered like a distorted reflection in water. A dark, elongated shape emerged near the edge of the frame, stretching against the siding. Renee’s throat tightened. “Jake.”

He tapped the screen again. The shape disappeared. “It is a camera error,” he said, though his voice was not as steady as he wanted it to be. “These systems will trigger false alarms when they detect wind, temperature changes, or anything else.”

Renee shook her head. “It looked like someone was standing there.”

Jake paused. “I understand.” She hugged herself, trembling uncontrollably. “He tampered with the island’s cameras. He waited for us. He watched. What if he left something else behind? Something we haven’t discovered yet.” Jake gently and firmly touched her shoulders. “Renee, look at me.” She met his gaze. “There’s no one else in this house but us. The front door is locked, the windows are secure, and the alarms are active. The last signal from Latham was yesterday. You’re safe.”

Her breath trembled. “Then why does it feel like he is still here?” Jake pulled her into his chest, holding her firmly until her shaking subsided. “Because he scared you deeply. Fear does not vanish overnight. It lurks in the corners, making every shadow seem like him. But fear is not the truth.” Renee pressed her forehead to his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, grounding her. “I hate that he did this to me,” she whispered. “I hate that I flinch at nothing. I hate that I cannot tell the difference anymore.”

“You will,” Jake murmured. “I promise you will.” But the cameras chimed again, this time from the driveway. Renee froze. Jake lifted the phone carefully. The feed loaded slowly. Rain blurred the lens, headlights reflecting in hazy streaks. A car sat at the gate with its lights on, the same car from earlier. Jake frowned. “The officers must have doubled back.”

He zoomed in. There was no police logo or patrol lights, only a dark sedan idling in the same spot as before. Renee felt a cold rush in her chest. “Jake, why is it still there?” she asked. He didn’t answer. The porch camera pinged next, motion detected. Jake moved toward the window again, but Renee grabbed his arm. “No, wait for the feed to load.” The camera slowly focused, the grain sharpening into the shape of a person at the bottom of the steps. Rain soaked the figure’s jacket. Their head remained lowered, and their body swayed slightly as if listening. Renee’s breath caught. Jake leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. Then the figure lifted a hand, not to knock or threaten, but to wave, a simple, hesitant wave.

Jake blinked. “Wait. I recognize that jacket.” The figure looked up. Renee’s knees almost buckled. It was her neighbor, Mr. Hawkins, the older man from three driveways away, wearing his old raincoat and carrying a water-soaked grocery bag. Jake slightly opened the door. “Are you okay?”

Hawkins shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry for the bother, everyone. I saw your lights on and noticed this at the end of your driveway. I thought it might be a delivery and didn’t want it to get soaked in the rain.” He set the bag on the porch. Then, voice lowering, he added, “Also, someone was parked out here earlier, and I didn’t like how he looked.”

Jake tensed. “Did you see his face?” Hawkins shook his head. “No. He left when I came out with the flashlight.” Renee stepped closer. “Did he walk or drive away?” Hawkins hesitated. “He walked.” Jake’s entire expression changed.

Renee whispered, “Jake.” He kept his eyes fixed on the dark yard. “He’s walking,” he repeated softly. “Which means he’s still on the road or in the tree line.” Hawkins swallowed hard. “I’d keep your doors locked.” Jake thanked him, shut the door firmly, and locked it. The house felt smaller than ever. Renee kept her gaze on Jake.

“Tell me,” she whispered. “Do you think he’s still here?” Jake met her gaze without blinking. “I believe someone is.” Renee’s mouth felt dry. She stared at him, as if blinking could make the moment seem less real, but Jake’s expression lacked his usual softness reserved for her. His shoulders were stiff, and his eyes stayed on the window, as if he was waiting for a shadow to shift the moment he turned his eyes away.

“What do we do now?” she whispered. “Stay together,” Jake said. He kept his voice calm and steady, showing he chose each word carefully. “We do not separate. We do not turn off any lights. We do not step outside unless an officer is in the driveway.”

Renee nodded, though her legs were unsteady. She hugged herself, realizing how thin her sleep shirt was against the cold in the room. “Jake. What if he’s watching us right now?”

Jake moved closer and softly held her face. “Then he realizes you’re not alone,” he said. “And he sees I’m not someone he can intimidate.” Yet, as he spoke, the porch camera pinged once more. Renee startled. Jake picked up the phone and watched the feed. Rain ran down the lens in silver streaks, distorting most of the view, but in the top corner, the motion alert blinked again. Nothing appeared to move.

The porch stared back at them. Jake lowered the phone, saying, “The storm is messing with it,” but his tense jaw betrayed reassurance. Renee pressed closer, her heart racing. Neither spoke for a moment; the silence felt thick and almost alive. Jake kissed her forehead. “Let’s sit in the living room, somewhere with more light.”

They walked down the hall, shoulders brushing. Jake rechecked windows; Renee checked locks twice. The living room glowed softly. Jake made her sit on the couch, sat beside her, and held her hand, thumb brushing her knuckles in calming circles. For the first time, Renee realized she was trembling. “Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“What if he never left the property?” Jake’s eyes lifted to hers, slow and deliberate.

“Then he will make a mistake,” Jake said, calm and confident. Renee felt fear and instinct as she leaned into his shoulder for solidity. Outside, the wind groaned, and a branch snapped in the dark. Renee flinched. Jake tightened his hold. “It’s just the weather,” he said. But then, the porch camera beeped again, a subtle movement. Darkness shifting. A lone ping that pierced the silence like a heartbeat. Jake took a slow breath and placed the phone aside. “Stay right here,” he instructed. He rose to his feet.

Renee seized his wrist. “Don’t open the door,” she warned. Jake glanced at her hand, his face softening briefly. “I’m not opening anything,” he assured her, “I only need to see.” He moved toward the window. The porch light flickered. Renee held her breath. Jake reached out and touched the curtain, hesitating for a moment before pulling it aside.

His body went still. Renee asked, “What do you see?” Jake didn’t turn. His voice was low and unreadable. “Not a person.” Renee’s pulse pounded. “Then what?” Jake exhaled slowly and controlled. “A letter.”

Renee felt her heart drop. “Jake, what letter?” he finally asked, glancing at her with a pale face. Someone had folded a piece of paper and pinned it beneath the porch light, using a stone to keep it from blowing away. Across the front, in thick, uneven ink, her first name was written.

‘Renee’, her vision blurred as Jake whispered the words she dreaded most. “He was here tonight.”