Heavy knocks echoed through the mansion. The knocks sounded impatient. Nick opened the oak door. Like he thought, a shadowy creature kept knocking on his door. Soullessly it wandered towards him. It was impatient—it needed answers. An Interview about his loved one, who just died.

The shadow in human form seemingly annoyed by not getting a fast welcome entered the house without permission.

There they sat, drinking tea from dark blue ceramic cups. The shadowy figure pulled out a laptop and began typing, its fingers moving mechanically over the keyboard. Then it asked:

“You were the boyfriend of the recently deceased?”

Nick, still eyeing the strange, formless figure of the shadow, replied, “We never made it official. You don’t need to make something official if no one asks. But now... you could say that.”

The shadow took its notes carefully, its movements precise and robotic. Then it continued:

“He always seemed to know the true intentions of people. He exposed corrupt politicians and helped those who were good. You were once his student. Do you know how he did it?”

Nick didn’t need to think. “People like to believe they’re human. Like you. Your eyes say, ‘Look at me, I’m human,’ but your body is formless. You’ve forgotten who you were because all that interests you now are the lives of others. You’re no different from a living corpse. You want to be angry at me in this moment, but are you really?

Let me tell you a story—a story everyone knows.

My mentor had just turned sixteen when he began traveling the world. He came to a country far, far away—one he had never heard of before. They were in the middle of an election. There was a man who stood out. His movements were slow, his emotions robotic. On the surface, he waved to the crowd, but my mentor saw the truth: he was pouring black ink onto the people, trying to infect their minds with lies.

This man was no longer human. He had become a puppet controlled by an uncontrollable hunger for power.

He lied. He faked emotions. He wanted people to stop being human.

My mentor stopped him. How? He showed the people the truth—that this man was corrupt. He saved that country from a bad leader and gave them a new one. He chose a young girl in the crowd who was still human.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The shadow paused, its typing momentarily slowing. Then it asked, “But aren’t we all human?”

Nick looked up, his eyes sharp. “Everyone is born human. But people loose it. My Mentor always said that we get dehumanfied through life” he replied.

“Dehumanfied?” the interviewer asked.

“It’s a word he used to describe the loss of the human essence,” Nick replied.

“What’s the human essence?” the interviewer pressed.

Nick’s eyes flickered with a mix of sadness and determination. “He died before he could figure it out. He was good at seeing people lose it, but like all great philosophers, he could only guess at what it truly was.

Human nature is fascinating. We accept that greed is human, that betrayal is human, and so on. Some people say we’re born pure, while others argue that we’re inherently self-oriented, that we’re not pure because survival in the wild demands selfishness.

I don’t know the answer. But I know this: he believed that discovering what the human essence is would protect you from being dehumanfied. And I will continue his legacy—I will find the answer.”

The interviewer’s lips curled into a faint smirk, and there was a sharpness in their voice as they asked, “But if he could see when someone was dehumanfied, couldn’t he have just avoided the things that made him lose his essence?”

Nick paused, his expression darkening.“Every time he saw someone who had lost their essence, he saw those same flaws in himself. It’s as if the more he recognized it in others, the more he felt himself slipping—becoming dehumanfied little by little.

In the end, I saw it happen. I saw him losing his shape, his humanity... fading away. And now,” Nick hesitated, his voice heavy with sorrow, “I’m afraid I’ll lose my shape too. But I must. It’s the only way to reclaim my true form.”

The shadowy interviewer without a reaction continued: “Last question. You said I was dehumanfied. Have I lost the entire essence?”

Nick turned to face the figure, his gaze piercing through the shadow’s form. “You lost most of it when you were young—around 14 or 15, I’d guess. Since then, you’ve been searching for that missing part, trying to fill the void by delving into the lives of others. But instead of regaining what you lost, you’ve only been losing yourself more and more.

Now, you’re just a shadow—a hollow form with only a faint golden glow left in the center. That glow is all you have left. Don’t lose it.”

Nick pushed himself up from the armchair, his voice firm yet tired. Grabbing his coat, he moved toward the door.

The interviewer’s hollow eyes followed him, their shadowy form unmoving.

Nick opened the door, the cold winter air rushing in. Without looking back, he stepped outside, leaving behind the house that had once been his home.

The interviewer remained seated, alone and confused, in the echoing silence of a house filled with memories that were no longer theirs.