Do You Want to See What's in the Space Between? 👀Shadow World. 👤How I Let Wrath Swallow Me 😬
- Sonya Herrera
- May 20
- 8 min read
Updated: Jun 3
I
I can see what's in the DARK!! The darkness of space isn't empty. And I can see it.
May 2025—Sun Valley, Idaho Shadow Man
"Midnight Man" flashes across my screen. A video titled The Midnight Game—When Ancient Shadows Come to Play by The Why Files.
The host describes a game—one college students dared each other to play. A ritual summoning of darkness itself. A letter and blood. Knocking 22 times, the final strike landing at midnight.
My thoughts: Oh my gosh, you don’t need to do all that.
He continues:
You light a candle, and from 12 AM to 3:30 AM, you must keep it burning. If the flame dies, the shadows take you.
The shadow figure appears. For some, a tall, skinny form. For others, an old hag—his own specter. He speaks of shadow lore, myths spanning the globe.
My thoughts: I’ve seen shadow figures. Plenty of them. But you don’t have to fear them.
I was afraid once. And when I was afraid, the experience twisted into terror. But I understand now—fear is the only thing to truly dread. Fear creates the nightmare.
He warns:
If your candle blows out, the shadow will torment you with your worst fears. He recounts his own experience—the old hag attacking him, others suffocating, drowning.
Their intent is evil, he says. They mean to harm you.
My thoughts: Well...he’s right. But it’s our own evil that we deny.
Odessa, Texas—November 2024 The Beginning of Wrath
Odessa. From the Greek Odussomai—to become angry. Not just anger, but the transformation into wrath. The pain that carves itself into the body.
It was there, in Odessa, where the nights first turned strange.
The first time, it was pressure on my legs—heavy, sinking—just as I was falling asleep. I turned on the lamp. Nothing.
I brushed it off. Maybe blood pressure. Maybe stress.
But then, things shifted.
I heard movement in the dark. Subtle, unmistakable. Something shifting where nothing should be.
Then—the door.
It had an electronic lock, a code. The first few times, we were confused. "How the Hell?" It was open. No one opened it.
But then, I was alone.
The door opened by itself.
One Wednesday, I pulled a tarot reading. A road trip. Catastrophe approaching.
It made no sense. I had no plans. No reason to go anywhere.
Then, the code started beeping. The lock clicked. No one was outside.
We were all there in the living. "Like What The Fuck!?!"
It was as if I was being summoned to leave.
Within 24 hours, my wrath ignited—searing, unrelenting.
The weight of injustice pressed against me, a force too great to ignore. Fury propelled me forward, onto a bus bound for South Carolina.
South Carolina—December 2024 Love Me
The house was empty. The family I was staying with had left town.
I sat downstairs, writing. Working.
Then—the noises.
Familiar now. The sounds that came when no one was around. But this time, footsteps.
Descending the stairs.
I lost it. Called my friend, voice shaking. She stayed on the phone with me as I let the dogs in, calming myself in their presence.
It was here I first noticed the red sprites.
They were images that popped up on my phone. I didn’t know what they meant. Not yet.
One day, while reading tarot live, a woman told me—*There’s a man standing next to you.*
Chills.
Then, another revelation. My friend—the widow of my ex-lover. The quilt I slept under, stitched from his old clothes.
Days later, the wrath struck again. Fury, raw and uncontainable. Baggage at my feet.
On Christmas Day, I boarded an emergency flight to Idaho.
Idaho—Christmas Break 2024
At my mother’s house, the message came.
"Don’t get comfortable. Don’t unpack your bags. You’re leaving again."
The red sprites returned.
Anxiety clawed at me. I couldn’t name the reason, only the feeling—impending danger.
And then, as if on cue, the wrath came again.
Once more, I was without a home.
I ended up at a friend’s house.
April 2025 Hello Darkness My Old Friend
I was recovering from reconstructive foot surgery, back at my mom’s house. I’d taken only one pain pill earlier that day—managing just fine.
Until the night swallowed me whole.
I woke up, foot swollen in my cast, panic creeping in. I kept shifting my toes, testing circulation, making sure blood still moved.
Sleep wasn’t happening.
I lay in the dark. Then—flickers at the edge of my vision. The kind of visuals you start seeing when mushrooms or acid kick in. But this wasn’t that. It spread, multiplying.
Fireflies.
But not fireflies.
I stared closer, adjusting, processing. Feathers—glowing, shifting. Eyes. The outline of an owl.
I locked onto its gaze, trying to sharpen the image. And it saw me. It knew me.
Then came the others.
Eyes surrounding it. Creatures I couldn't name, watching me, almost in shock—like I was something unseen before. I felt the panic rising.
What the fuck is going on?!
At times, I’d look away, but sounds filled the room—shuffling, objects knocked over, subtle disturbances in the dark. Impressions pressed into my bed.
I called my mom.
She came. I told her everything. She didn’t think I was lying, but she wasn’t connecting with what I was saying either.
I described it all—the rock-like walls, a world made of darkness, yet iridescent. You only saw it if light hit just right. I was the light source.
I heard jungle sounds. Bells.
I kept freaking out about my foot in the cast. Swollen. Suffocating.
At some point, exhaustion took me, but I woke in a panic—the pressure unbearable.
That morning I went to the hospital.
The doctors? Kind. Polite. Useless at first.
It had been Seven hours since I first woke up. No action. Just careful, cautious words.
Then—the wrath.
I chucked my phone at the hospital door, ripped the cords off me, yelled—
"Cut this cast off NOW! Or I'm walking to Ace Hardware, getting a saw, and doing it myself!"
I laid down the facts. My father’s permanent nerve damage. My sister’s foot injury.
"I'm not going to have permanent nerve damage because this cast is too damn tight! Cut it off NOW!"
And they did. Saw in hand they worked fast. Then checked for blood clots.
I felt drained the rest of the day, napping when I could. But when night fell—
The shadows returned.
Silhouettes. Moving. More than before.
And this time—agitation.
When I got scared, the beings grew frantic, almost ready to strike.
Ezra was in jail. I texted Gabriel, Ezras brother, desperate, asking if he knew anything about them because he had told me about himself seeing things before. He had told me not to talk to him but I was desperate to not be afraid. Told him I didn’t care if he called the cops.
No response.
Then a phone notification.
"Follow Kai. Follow Kai on Instagram."
What the hell?
I messaged Kai. He hadn’t talked to me in a year. No one was responding. No one was helping.
Victimhood crept in.
No one listened. No one cared.
And that’s when all Hell broke loose.
The rocks—their beauty twisted. The glow turned orange, molten, like the pits of hell.
The shadow beings—frantic. Then—something greater entered the room.
Darkness. Towering. Overpowering.
Chains.
The sound jolted me out of self-pity.
A force. A message.
"How dare you pretend to understand the big picture?"
"How dare you not see how blessed you are—this experience, this moment?"
I snapped out of it. Humbled myself.
Gratitude flooded me. For the lessons, the pain, the chaos. All of it.
And just like that—the room settled.
The beings moved, but no longer hostile. More like doctors working over a patient. Orbs hovered—soft, white, transparent.
Peace.
Then, clarity.
Ezra. In my dream. At dawn. He was there. He’ll always be there.
I felt calm. At rest.
The shadow beings remained, but the energy shifted.
Yet, the question lingered.
Am I about to die?
I worried, texted everyone, told them how much I loved them. Posted my love on Facebook.
Something released inside me—I spoke freely, no restraint. Messaged Ezra, knowing he wouldn’t see it yet.
Most people didn’t reply.
That’s the wound now—the healing I still need.
There is a whole world in the space between us. The light distracts us from seeing it.
I decided to go back to the hospital. Something wasn’t right.
My foot—exposed, unwrapped—worse than before.
I think I was being prepared for what was to come.
Then came the wrath.
April 2025 Dr. Evil
I was scared. Maybe there was a blood clot. Maybe I was dying.
I just wanted to talk to Ezra.
Hyperventilating. Upset. My foot, wrapped all wrong.
By the time the doctor arrived, I’d already explained my situation three times. He cut me off immediately—yelling at me to slow down.
"I’m trying!" I was crying, trying to steady myself, but he wouldn’t let me finish.
He didn’t even look at my leg until the very end—when he finally wrapped it. Kept saying it’s fine, though he hadn’t actually seen it beneath the wrap.
His yelling pushed me to a breaking point.
I decided to leave.
Got on my knee scooter, booking it out of there. But I was weak—too much stress, too little sleep, no pain meds in 48 hours.
I fainted.
Hit the floor. Landed on my injured foot.
The doctor stood over me, yelling.
"Get up! Stop with the theatrics!"
He called me a liar. Said I did it on purpose. Said it was all on video.
"I didn’t fake it. I don’t care if it’s recorded. I’m weak."
I asked for my stepdad. The doctor blocked everyone from helping me. Cops stood there, unmoving.
I was hurting. Could barely breathe.
Eventually, my stepdad stepped in, helped me calm down.
The doctor kept barking orders—*"You’re having a panic attack! Calm down! It’s 3 AM! Just stop!"*
They gave me lorazepam. Probably tested me for drugs. He sneered—*"Oh yeah? Where are they?"*
"At home. Almost the whole bottle is still full."
His PA and nurses watched him with disgust—they knew.
I filed a report with the medical board. The hospital CEO reached out, filed an official complaint.
Turns out, five other people had reported him before me.
I was furious.
But what I kept coming back to—the way everything twisted when I felt like a victim.
Fear warped reality into something monstrous.
And wrath? Wrath reveals belief. The belief that someone has the power to harm you.
I want to rewrite that belief.
Their harm wasn’t harm—it was promotion.
The Sun Was Black Like Sack Cloth
Later, I explained to my mom—
"If the sun turned black..."
"And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood." ([Revelation 6:12, KJV])
Would everyone start seeing what I saw? Would it be hell because they don’t understand—because their own fear made the nightmare real?
Ezra was released. Briefly.
Not surprisingly, he ignored all my messages.
Days later—another notification.
"Follow Kai. Follow Kai on Instagram."
So I did.
After a year of silence, he messaged me—telling me to leave him alone.
Soul-crushing. Over and over again.
But maybe that’s the point.
I keep taking it personally.
I don’t need to.
I need to move up.
May 2025—Sun Valley, Idaho Medusa
New job.
First day—three hours into training—the higher-ups pulled me aside.
"Your hair is pink. You can’t have pink hair."
I thought it was blonde enough.
"I’ll get a wig," I said.
Then—*"Take out the Medusa ring."*
"I thought we could have a stud near the nose—it says so in the manual."
"It’s up to my discretion."
I told her I needed to think about it.
Decided—no. I wasn’t taking it out.
Offered a clear one instead.
Talked to her, talked to the bigger boss above her.
Now, there’s a meeting. About me.
A decision.
And I wonder—
Why am I seeing this Shadow Man now?
Is it connected to what’s happening now? Or something bigger?
I feel the same way about this boss as I did about the others who fucked me over.
Or rather—who promoted me.
All I want to do is keep writing.
By Sonya Herrera
✨❤️🔥🏵️ AWEnomALi🏵️❤️🔥✨
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