Hmmmm

PROFESSOR SYCAMORE DID YOU FUCK MY MOM

My Shadow

This is a short story/creepy pasta I wrote based on the traits of the Jeff the Killer types of stories. I also just wanted to try my hand at actually writing since I wanna improve my writing skills so instead of it just wasting away on my pc I decided to post this. So yeah, uhhhhh enjoy my crappy attempt at writing something half decent with the JtK format. Also the images at the bottom are pulled from Picrew, they are not hand drawn by me. I just didn't have time to draw these characters before posting. Also trigger warning I guess for a dark story that does include some child not so happy situations and, as the format of JtK suggests, there is murd3r in this. (idk if tumblr is super ok with those kinds of words yet lolz) So yeah! enjoy this cringy story!

Normally monsters are big, scary creatures with long teeth and sharp claws. Horns and fur and wings. However….. sometimes monsters don’t look like that. Sometimes monsters can blend into society. Sometimes monsters can look like you and me. Sometimes monsters can reside within us.

This is my story. A retelling of sorts that my therapist suggested I do to talk about my feelings and what led me to be here…. In a mental facility/prison.

I have a medical condition called DID. Also known as Dissociative Identity Disorder. It’s the modern day term for a split personality. How this happened is unclear however my doctor thinks it started back when I was a kid, so I guess that’s where I will start too.

I was never the brightest kid. Got picked on in school, had about a C or a B average. And never really had the best home life. My mother was an alcoholic and substance abuser. I never knew my father. You see I was a one night stand baby. And you might be able to see where this is headed. My mother always had a new guy over every week. Sometimes multiple a week. She was selling her body to pay for basic things. Fortunately my grandfather would come by to help take care of me when I was a baby and toddler since she never made a whole lot.

Up until I was about 10 years old this continued. I always saw strange men in the house, my mother was never really coherent enough to take proper care of me, and my grandfather would sometimes teach me how to take a bath or make some toast so I could do things by myself when mother wasn’t home.

Now my grandfather was quite an older man. When I was 10 he was 87. He passed away from a stroke in his sleep. It was so traumatizing for me as a kid cause he was the only real support I had in my life that wasn’t always flickering. My mother was never really a bad mother. Just…. Missguided by her substance abuse.

Sure she would throw things if she got angry, or blow puffs of smoke into my face, and on the rare occasion she would verbally harass me if I was too loud coming home from school and she had a hangover. The real harm came from the men she brought home to do business with.

Most of them were very big muscular guys. Some brought guns, some brought drugs and alcohol. All of them hated me. They hated that I even existed. When mother had men over I would lock myself in the bathroom and play the radio to drown out their sounds. Sometimes the men would need to use the bathroom and get angry at me for locking it up.

Other times if the men saw me, they would abuse me in both physical and psychological ways. Some of them even sexually assaulted me. And it was constant. Every time a man came over and I was seen, all hell would break loose. They didn’t want their living sex doll having a child around.

Once I reached age 13 however, things changed a bit. I was taking care of myself more at this point. Cooking for myself, doing the laundry and things of that nature. The men would come over a lot more often since they didn’t get scared away by the idea of a toddler or child in the house anymore. Now I was practically a teenager and my mom could charge more for having me…. Join their antics.

I don’t blame her. She was under the influence that those demon of substances can cause in people who become dependant on it. I just wish things could have been a lot different.

This is kinda where the DID comes into play. Sometime after my grandfather died, and age 13, I developed a coping mechanism of sorts. My brain would shut off, and a new person would take over my body while these things were happening so that I eventually wouldn’t have to feel the pain anymore. I dubbed them my shadow since they only ever came out when I was scared or knew the men would be coming over.

As kids do, I also kept a journal, like the one I’m writing now. Though sometimes pages I don’t remember writing would show up. The writing was messy and scratchy, yet still legible. It seemed that Shadow was the one who would write these after the encounters with men.

Shadow would write about how it hurt when they touched them and how they felt gross all the time. Thankful for the freedom from a physical body when I was in control. At times I felt bad for this creature who was sharing my skin. I knew the pain they felt since it had happened to me before shadow came to be, however I felt like I shouldn’t try and stop them from taking over when those bad times happened since I was scared to face them myself.

As the years went on, shadow became more… uncontrollable. They would suddenly take over any time I felt any stress of some kind, leading me to be kicked out of school for the actions shadow would do. Based on the records, it seemed that shadow would attack any adult male in the vicinity and also throw cuss words at the adult females.

I did go to the doctor on police request after they had escorted me off school property for the last time, however that doctor just threw meds at me and said “bye”. So I never really got treated. Things continued like this until one day, shadow wouldn’t come back. I don’t know how long I was out for, as I never remember what happens when shadow takes over, however I just remember feeling like something wasn’t right when I returned.

What I returned to, days later according to my moms phone, was a bloody mess. A man had come over a few days before, and thus shadow took over. From the journal it seemed like shadow had enough of the torture and hated whomever was the other soul in this body for making them go through such terrible things. Shadow has killed the man, and my mother when she tried to stop shadow from attacking him.

Every day for those few days I was out of it, a new man was scheduled to show up and shadow killed them as well. So when I woke up, a good 4 or 5 bodies had piled up in our little apartment at this point. The smell was unbearable and I threw up on the spot. Someone else in the apartment building reported the smell and police arrived a few hours after I had come to. I was thankful they had showed up since I was so traumatized by the scene in front of me I couldn’t speak.

The police took me into custody and interrogated me for hours. They found my journal, and the fact I was covered in blood and vomit didn’t help them in not suspecting me. Since I was 13 at the time, they couldn’t really throw me in prison for the murders of my mother and those men. However they did send me to juvie and I was finally looked at properly by a competent doctor.

As I aged I grew out of juvie and into the adult correctional system. Still going to therapy and taking medications though. It took a lot of work, however shadow never comes out anymore. At least when I’m awake anyway. Sometimes shadow will come out when I’m sleeping and write things down about how they hate me still even though the torment is over.

I’m not 23 and living a relatively normal life. For someone who’s in a mental institution and prison that is. I’ll never be allowed to be released since unless I constantly take my meds and am under supervision, shadow may come back when I get scared and could go on a rampage again.

I don’t mind that quite so much…. It’s safe here and my therapist actually cares about me. I’ve taken up drawing in my time at this facility so I’ll attach a few drawings I have done of myself and what I believe shadow looks like as well. We are two separate individuals after all.

So I guess that’s where the story ends? This story may have been a bit rambly cause it’s all from memory and most of this stuff happened 10+ years ago. I guess thanks for reading of you get this far? I honestly don’t know why my therapist wants me to write this…

Myself: