The Shadow in the Corner

Eli listens to his imaginary friend in a time of trouble

Ten-year-old Eli had always been a quiet kid, the kind who’d rather sketch in his notebook than kick a ball around with the neighborhood boys. His parents, Sarah and Tom, didn’t mind much. They figured it was just a phase, like the “imaginary friend” he’d been talking about since he was six. Eli called him Shade—a name that made Sarah chuckle and Tom roll his eyes. “He’s got a vivid imagination,” they’d say when Eli described Shade’s cryptic advice or strange, whispered stories about “watching the threads of the world.” To them, it was just a kid’s way of coping with a big, lonely house in the suburbs.


Shade wasn’t like the imaginary friends other kids had. He didn’t play pretend tea parties or fight dragons. He was a voice, low and calm, that came from the shadowed corners of Eli’s room at night. Sometimes, Eli swore he saw a flicker of movement—a silhouette that wasn’t quite human, too tall, too thin, with eyes like pinpricks of starlight. But whenever he turned on the light, there was nothing. “Just your mind playing tricks,” Tom would say, ruffling Eli’s hair. Eli wasn’t so sure.


It was a Tuesday night, sticky and warm, when everything changed. Eli was in his room, sketching a weird symbol Shade had described—a spiral with jagged edges—when he heard a crash downstairs. Glass shattered, followed by his mom’s muffled scream. Eli froze, pencil hovering over the page. Shade’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and urgent: “Eli. Move. Now.”


Eli’s heart pounded. “What’s happening?”


“No time. Downstairs. Kitchen. Stay low.”


Eli didn’t question it. He never did with Shade. He crept out of his room, barefoot, avoiding the creaky floorboard in the hall like Shade had taught him years ago. The house was dark, but he could hear voices—his parents’ panicked whispers and a deeper, rougher one demanding, “Where’s the safe?” A robber. Maybe more than one. Eli’s stomach twisted.


“Back door,” Shade hissed. “Crawl. Under the table.”


Eli dropped to his knees and scooting beneath the dining room table, where he could see the kitchen. His parents were on their knees, hands behind their heads. A man in a black ski mask loomed over them, a gun in one hand, a crowbar in the other. “Open it, or I start breaking things. Starting with you,” he growled at Tom.


Eli’s breath hitched, but Shade’s voice was steady. “The knife block. Third slot from the left. Pull it out. Slowly.”


Eli hesitated. The knife block was on the counter, ten feet away. He’d have to cross the open kitchen. “I can’t,” he whispered.


“You can. You will. Move when he turns.”


Eli waited, heart hammering, until the robber spun to yell at Sarah. He darted out, silent as a shadow, and grabbed the knife—a small paring blade. Shade’s voice was relentless: “Under the sink. Bleach. Mix it with the dish soap in the spray bottle.”


Eli’s hands shook as he followed the instructions, crouching behind the counter. The robber was still shouting, oblivious. “Why are you telling me this?” Eli whispered, screwing the spray bottle’s nozzle back on.


“Spray his eyes. Then the knife. Aim low. Thigh.”


Eli’s mind screamed that this was insane, but Shade’s voice was a tether, calm and certain. “Wait for the signal. You’ll know.”


The signal came when the robber grabbed Sarah by the arm, yanking her toward the hallway. Eli’s fear burned away, replaced by something sharp and cold. He stepped out, sprayed the bleach-soap mix into the robber’s face. The man howled, clawing at his eyes, dropping the gun.
Eli didn’t think—he drove the knife into the man’s thigh, just like Shade said. The robber crumpled, screaming.


Tom lunged, tackling the man to the ground, pinning him until Sarah could grab the gun. Eli stood there, trembling, the spray bottle still in his hand. The police arrived minutes later, sirens blaring, and the robber was cuffed and hauled away, still cursing about his eyes.


In the chaos, no one noticed Eli slip back to his room. His parents were too busy thanking the officers, too shaken to question how their scrawny kid had known exactly what to do. But Eli knew. He sat on his bed, staring at the corner where Shade always lingered. “You’re not imaginary, are you?” he whispered.


The air shimmered, and for the first time, Shade stepped fully into view. He was tall, impossibly so, his form flickering like smoke, eyes glowing faintly. “No,” Shade said, voice soft but clear. “I’m something else. Something older. And I’ve been watching you for a long time.”


Eli swallowed. “Why me?”


Shade tilted his head, as if the question was amusing. “Because you listen. Most don’t.”


Before Eli could ask more, Shade vanished, leaving only a faint chill in the air. Downstairs, his parents called his name, their voices full of relief and confusion. Eli didn’t tell them about Shade. He didn’t need to. Whatever Shade was—guardian, ghost, or something stranger—he’d saved them. And Eli knew he’d be back, whispering from the shadows, guiding him through a world that was suddenly much bigger than he’d ever imagined.