Pentober 2026 - Day 18: Shadow

Ok so, what is Pentober? Promptober? It's a writing tradition that's been around the web for a while where you write up a short story every day in October based on prompts. Some go for pen and paper, some digital; everyone has their own style. I'll be posting here, and I'll be using the prompts from https://www.topinfiction.com/p/pentober-2026 

House rules are that I vomit-write the story; no planning, just taka taka taka on the keys. I get ONE edit at the end of the draft (if I even have time, lol), then we post it. House rules also say that I get to play catch up and do multiple days separately on one day or combined if work gets wild and I can't write. Get it? Got it? Good! Here we go.

---

The hotel room's blackout curtains had been drawn tightly shut for how much time no one could say. The hotel room was nearly pitch-black; the only lighting was the occasional underglow of sunlight from the curtains, the glow of LEDs and LCDs from the hotel room's mandatory technology, and the dull, red glow dying embers.

Fire had burnt down to ash and char; you could still smell the stench of sulfur on the air mixed with sweat and bodily fluids. You must have gone...thirty rounds by now? No matter where you sit or lie down, the surface is damp with the leavings of pleasure and fear. You can't see her. The searing heat from her body damaged your vision long ago, like a sunburn on the retinas. You know this isn't done yet. You've been caught in a loop, waiting for daybreak, waiting to clean up and get onto a plane home.

Every time, every knock, she seems to reset; there's no recollection of the last time, no reaction to the alarming state your hotel room is in, just 'knock, knock', pushing past you, having you go shower, or get them a drink, or something, and when you return they're spread-eagle and nude on a surface: the bed, the rug, the other bed, the ceiling, the footrest, the chair, the shower, name it. They leap for you with impossible speed, or pull you in with some form of animal magnetism, and consume another chunk of your soul, another morsel of your flesh, cross another boundary, and bring you closer to whatever inscrutable design they have for you.

This isn't an old flame. This is a shadow from beyond the void. Did you even get delayed at the airport? Did you even land at the connection? Did you die mid-flight? Did your plane crash? Did you go to hell?

It must be hell. You noticed it at least a dozen rounds ago, in a brief interlude, when there were still dry patches in the bathroom: veins of flame we sprouting from cracks in your lips, the nailbeds of your index and middle fingers, of your now chaffed and bruised manhood, out from scratches and rends of flesh in your back and sides. The flames of hell were growing inside you, consuming you. You were becoming one of them.

Knock. Knock.

You exhale and make your way up from peering out from behind the curtains. You notice the sun hasn't moved at all, you marked where it was on the window with sharpie an hour ago. Still a dull sunrise. You open the door to the hotel.

"Come on in, Lily." Was that even her name? It didn't feel right. You forgot. What was Lily short for? It was short for something.

No one enters. You have to blink several times for your eyes to adjust to the relatively intense hallway light. You poke your head out into the hallway and see her shadow leaking around the bend. She's stood in a high editorial lean, wiggling her hips back and forth gently as if to stretch, as if to say 'I'm waiting, come chase me'.

You give up. You leave the door open and go sit on the desk. You're tired and don't want to play this game any more. You just want to wake up. Or figure out where you are. Or anything other than this.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The entire structure vibrates; the springload on the blackout curtains trigger and roll them up. It's a blindingly bright, cloudless noon. Your shadow casts long and into the hallway. It bends unnaturally and heads down the hallway. You can't see it, but you can feel it. The talons are gently stroking your back again in wider and wider circles until they start working over the front of you, too, lower, and lower. The shadow tugs on you and you slide off the desk, nearly hitting your head on the way down.

You notice as smoke begins to ooze out of the fiery veins you're covered in. You cough. You reflexively inhale. They smell like frankincense, it's heady and makes it hard to concentrate. You're getting dragged by your shadow, rug-burned every inch of the way by grimy hotel carpet. You try and fight, flip over, grab onto something but are thrown about. You sit up a bit to see where you're going, you can see the shadows mauling each other up ahead.

You close your eyes. You're not in control. You feel light vanish and pure eigengrau take your vision. You see in your minds eye halfdemons being born to prowl the earth. You open to peer and you see an unexplainable, billowing mass of shadows folding into and out of itself. You exhale. Breath pushes forward from your lungs and throws the smoke emanating from your body into the mass of shadow, spinning it into a donut torrid that circles its null center.

You stare at it.

It stares back.

You know you can't fill the void. If you touch the void, the cycle will just begin again. You have to stare at the void. Knowing the void is there prevents it from manifesting.

Knock! Knock!

A flutter of light.

The shift of al LED.

Ding.

'We apologize for the turbulence, some weather was giving us a rough landing. Connecting flights are likely delayed or cancelled. Please be cautious in getting your luggage, there was a lot of banging, items likely shifted. Welcome to Atlanta"

You drowsily open your eyes. Jetlag. This is the last leg on a long leg back from Singapore for work. That was weird. Did you take those new sleeping pills? Did you accidentally mix something up? What's that smell? Smells like...rubber? From the tires landing? No. Sulfur? Where is that coming from? You look around and the plane is mostly empty. You don't get a good look at the occupants of the seats around you. Cabin lights are still off, but the bulkhead light is on. One of the hostesses is casting a long, low shadow while putting something away. You blink. The divider curtains for first class look like wings. Your sides hurt. Did you sleep on them weird?

Another bump while taxing, you fall flat back into your chair, shutting your eyes from the impact.

Knock! Knock!

A flutter of light.

The shift of al LED.

Ding.

'We apologize for the turbulence, some weather was giving us a rough landing. Connecting flights are likely delayed or cancelled. Please be cautious in getting your luggage, there was a lot of banging, items likely shifted. Welcome to Atlanta"

The AC is cut off. It's really hot in this cabin.