“Thank fuck for smoke breaks.” Emma declares as she steps out of our office building. “If that phone rings one more time I think I’m going to hang myself.”

“Tough morning?” I ask sarcastically, taking a sip of my fresh coffee and placing it on the ground by the smoking shelter and lighting up.

“Emma, are you seeing this?” I ask with my eyes locked on my shadow on the wall.

“What am I looking at?” She replies, barely looking up from her phone.

“My coffee cup.” I furrow my brow. “It’s on the floor, but on my shadow it looks like I’m still holding it.”

Emma looks up from her phone at our shadows and takes a long drag from her cigarette.

“Are you high? You’re cup is in your hand…”

Emma slowly reaches for my empty hand and as she grabs for the coffee cup it pops into her hand like a glitch in a bad video game. I stare at her confused and then back to the ground where I thought I had placed it.

“Seriously, Cass, are you okay?” Emma asks me with a look of real concern on her face.

“Maybe I’m just stressed out.” I try to shake it off and take another sip of coffee before placing it back down. I make sure to check my shadow but this time everything seems okay. “My poor brain is probably just overtired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Sounds like you need-“ Emma’s next words never emerged. She gasps and chokes but no sounds come out.

I look blankly at her panicked face as she stares into my eyes. Gasps and wheezes are all that she can manage as spittle flies from her lips.

“Emma, what’s wrong?”

Her face begins to turn red as I stand frozen to the floor, unable to move or help.

A couple of other workers on their smoke breaks notice what’s happening. Thankfully, they throw down their cigarettes and rush over to us.

“She’s choking!” I exclaim in a much more monotone voice than I thought I could ever produce,

“Of course she’s choking,” one of the workers hisses at me, “you’ve got your hands clamped around her neck. Get off of her!”

“What?” I raise my hands to my face, they are most definitely not choking my friend to death. A shudder runs up my spine as I catch a glimpse of my shadow. Sure enough, my outstretched arms reach out and connect with Emma’s shadow at neck height.

“Let go of her, you psychopath!” They seem to be clawing at invisible hands locked around Emma’s throat. Trying to pry away non-existent fingers squeezing the last bit of life from her.

I watch on in horror as Emma’s body begins to convulse. Her glassy eyes lock onto mine again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I can’t stop it.”