Rad Red (1991) · Track 10
Shadow Beings
A comforting ode to the unseen, exploring the quiet connection between light and dark. With smoky imagery and ethereal tones, it invites listeners into a world where shadows hold secrets and the unknown feels like home.
- Runtime
- 2:38
- Year
- 1991
- BPM
- 104
- Mood
- Soothing
CDSYNC91 00016-CD ALB-15ST US #T10
DigitalSYN91 00016-DD REI-35ST T10
The listening room
Let the echoes in.
Cherry Ember / 1991
Shadow Beings
Ready when you are
“Shadow Beings” by Cherry Ember is a hushed, glimmering refuge nestled within Rad Red, an album that revels in dreamy atmospheres and introspective warmth. With a voice as soft as candlelight in a darkened room, Cherry Ember transforms childhood fear into gentle fascination, crafting a soothing ode to the mysterious presences that once haunted her childhood home. Instead of cowering from the flickers in the corners or the whispers down the hall, Shadow Beings embraces them, imagining a quiet camaraderie with the unseen. After the passing of her beloved cat, these shadowy figures became an unusual source of comfort—a spectral audience to her solitude, and perhaps even friends in the silence.
Musically, the track flows like a fog rolling over forgotten rooms—shoegaze guitars shimmer at the edges, while dream pop melodies drift over an ethereal, weightless beat. It’s both haunting and tender, with a slow-burning build that invites listeners to lean into the unknown rather than turn away from it. Smoky and lush, the song’s atmosphere wraps around you like the soft hum of night, as Cherry’s voice glides over lyrics that treat darkness not as danger, but as a place of shared secrets and patient understanding.
“Shadow Beings” offers the kind of gentle reassurance rarely found in songs about the supernatural. It’s not about exorcising ghosts, but befriending them. By the end, the house that once felt eerie becomes a sanctuary where the shadows no longer scare her—they simply stay, quietly keeping her company from dusk until dawn. In Cherry Ember’s hands, fear dissolves, and what remains is a love letter to all that lingers unseen.
Verse & chorus
The words inside.
I walk these halls, soft and slow,Figures flicker, part of the glow.Whispers rise, a quiet sound,No fear here, shadows unbound.
Shadow beings, gather near,Let’s talk secrets you hold dear,Show me what the dark can’t hide,I’m here to listen, stay by my side.
They move like smoke, dreams untamed,Ghostly shapes without a name.I close my eyes, feel them near,A silent world, crystal clear.
Shadow beings, gather near,Let’s talk secrets you hold dear,Show me what the dark can’t hide,I’m here to listen, stay by my side.
In this house, shadows roam,But they feel a bit like home.Stay with me, don’t drift away,We’ll speak in darkness, night to day.
The visual world
Album artwork.
An open door. Unseen company.
View artwork This image conjures a haunting and atmospheric scene, suspended somewhere between a dark fairytale and a lingering ghost story. Saturated in muted reds, deep blacks, and aged sepia tones, the setting exudes quiet dread. The viewer is drawn into a dilapidated room—its walls crumbling, its wooden floor cracked and streaked with ominous red stains, reminiscent of rust or old blood. Shadows crawl across every surface, bathing the space in an eerie, decayed light. There is no clear indication of time, only the oppressive sense that this place has long been abandoned to silence and memory.
Read the full artwork notes
In the foreground, a young girl stands just to the left of an open doorway, her presence as still and ghostlike as the air around her. She wears a simple white nightgown that glows softly against the darkness, her scuffed black shoes planted on the stained wood. Her pale face, framed by long, unkempt black hair, is eerily expressionless. Her impossibly wide, deep black eyes stare blankly forward—calm, detached, and unsettlingly composed. One hand rests gently on the head of a white cat at her feet, the other hanging loosely by her side. The pose is frozen, ritualistic almost, as if she has been standing like this for a long time—waiting, watching, or perhaps welcoming something.
The white cat, with the same wide black eyes as the girl, sits still and alert beside her. It mirrors her in appearance and posture, its pristine fur creating a stark visual contrast with the dark, rotting room. More than just a pet, the cat feels like a familiar—a guardian spirit or silent sentinel that shares the girl’s eerie calm. Together, they form a strange, ghostly pair: untouched by the decay around them, yet seemingly of it.
Behind them, the doorway yawns open into a thick, oppressive darkness. Inside, vague human-like silhouettes stand just barely visible, faceless and immobile. They bleed into the shadows, their forms elongated and smeared with faint red hues. The figures don’t move, but their presence is suffocating—watchful, unknowable, and deeply malevolent. This abyss beyond the door feels like another world entirely, or perhaps the same world, but long forgotten by the living.
To the right, the broken window offers no escape. Beyond the cracked glass, more shadowy forms press in, barely distinguishable through the red-stained grime. The walls around it are etched with scratches and stains, some faintly resembling smeared handprints. Everything in the space whispers of long-passed events, of stories never told but deeply felt. It’s a room full of silence—and something sinister dwelling just beneath it.
The mood is one of quiet, unbearable stillness. Nothing is actively threatening, yet a deep sense of unease permeates every detail. The girl and her cat are not frightened; they seem to belong to this place, as much a part of its eerie atmosphere as the shadows themselves. Themes of innocence surrounded by darkness, of haunted isolation and silent guardianship, echo through the composition. It’s as if the child and her companion are both victims and keepers of this haunted space, caught in a moment that either precedes or follows something terrible—and refuses to let it go.
Stylistically, the artwork blends gothic horror and dark fairytale elements with a gentle, storybook simplicity. The palette—limited mostly to reds, blacks, and whites—amplifies the emotion without overwhelming the eye. Despite the visual softness, the scene holds a chilling weight. The girl’s delicate design and the cat’s stillness contrast sharply with the decaying room and shadowed figures, making the entire image feel like a beautiful nightmare—one that lingers long after you’ve looked away.
From her notebooks
From her
notebooks.
Cherry Ember
This Strange Endless Stage
“Shadow Beings” was the song I never knew I needed to write—until I did. It poured out of me like breath fogging up an old mirror, revealing the shapes behind it that had always been there, waiting. When I was little, I lived in a creaky old Victorian house that moaned with every gust of wind, and the darkness there was never empty. It was alive—with flickers in the corners, soft footsteps when no one else was home, and a hum that settled into your bones. At night, I’d tuck myself under layers of blankets and tell myself they were just dreams. But I always knew better.
Years later, after my cat, Tigger, passed away, the house felt even quieter—too quiet. That’s when the shadows seemed to return, but this time, I didn’t feel afraid. I remember lying on my bedroom floor, feeling like someone—or something—was there with me, just watching gently, like Tigger used to from the windowsill. Instead of panicking, I whispered into the air. I spoke like they were old friends who’d simply never introduced themselves properly. That’s how “Shadow Beings” was born: not from fear, but from an odd kind of longing. A need to connect with what couldn’t be seen, only felt.
Musically, I wanted it to feel like walking through fog with a flashlight dimmed just enough to make you wonder what’s on the edge of its beam. The song carries the hush of midnight and the softness of candlelight, and recording it felt like stepping back into those haunted hallways—only now with open arms. It wasn’t about banishing ghosts or solving mysteries. It was about companionship. The idea that maybe, just maybe, those shadows stayed because they were lonely too.
There’s a lyric in the chorus—“Let’s talk secrets you hold dear”—that still makes my chest tighten when I sing it. It’s a question, an invitation, and a promise. To listen. To sit in the dark without trying to turn on the light. Writing “Shadow Beings” helped me reframe my childhood hauntings not as trauma, but as connection. A hidden kind of love that lingers in places people forget to look.
Cherry Ember · This Strange Endless Stage
Across the years
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