Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1998 10:46:03 MDT From: "Robyn M. Herrington" Subject: [WRITERS] SUB: Halloween Sub--Lost In The Shadows Submission deadline for the 5th annual WRITERS Halloween Contest is October 15th, midnight. 2 entries per person, 3,500 limit per piece of fiction. Email entries to ME at rmherrin@ucalgary.ca There are prizes to be won, folks! Hand made paperweights, done by yours truly (who is sporting a one-inch long third-degree burn across the back of her right hand as proof that she really makes these things...) Next entry in the Halloween cavalcade... "Lost in the Shadows" Ed Montague laid a wreath of flowers on the casket. He lowered his head and whispered a prayer. Then he lifted his head and gathered himself to face the grieving family. He hadn't seen them since the police decided not to press charges, and under the circumstances he was in no mood to see them again. But Ed felt obligated to pay his last respects. He had, after all, been driving the car. The boy's death was, in some part, his fault. Ed held out his hand, apologetically, to the boy's father when he reached them. With a cold, unfriendly stare, the man refused it. Then he turned away. His wife, a small, sleight woman, nodded half-heartedly, disdain etched on her face, and lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry," Ed offered. "I didn't see the boy until it was too late." The woman nodded again, then, without looking up, asked him to leave. "It was dark; hard to see well through the storm. The boy got lost in the shadows," Ed continued. And then the old woman pushed her way between them and promptly spit in Ed's face. "Murderer!" she howled, her haggard face no more than two inches away from his own. "You killed Tommy! That's his name Tommy. Not boy! How dare you try to justify your actions?" Ed could see the blood in her eyes as she jabbed a bony finger in his face and growled, "It should have been you." Startled, Ed could think of little to say in his defense. "It wasn't my fault," he finally stuttered. "There were too many shadows to see him on the bike. No way to avoid him." "Liar!" the old woman yelled, and suddenly grabbed his wrist. She had a strong grip and spoke slowly. "You are nothing but a lousy, drunken murderer. You may have fooled them, but you can't fool me. You will answer to a higher power." Wrestling himself free from her grasp, Ed grumbled, "I wasn't drunk. I just couldn't see the kid riding toward me. I only came here because I felt bad about what happened to him. But I'm not putting up with these accusations. It was an unfortunate accident. Not murder." Ed turned to leave, disgusted by the old woman. As he reached the door, she shouted, "The dark and shadows are your excuses, are they? Then they will be your enemy. And no light will be able to save you from their vengeful lust. This I swear to you." Crazy old witch, he thought. then shook his head and stormed out of the funeral parlor. Yes, she was right. He'd killed the kid. But it was an accident. Wasn't it? How could she threaten him like that? It wasn't right. She'd called him a drunken murderer. OK, it was true. He'd had a few drinks that night, maybe four or five beers. But he wasn't drunk. Didn't the fat cop's Breathalyzer test prove that? Could he have reacted quicker, maybe missed the kid somehow? Maybe. But there was no way to go back in time and change what had happened. The boy just appeared in the car's headlights, out of nowhere. Even if he'd kept his eyes on the road, instead of looking at the radio dial, it wouldn't have made a difference. It was dark and it was raining. Through the seemingly endless sheets of water, visibility was no more than 20 feet, even with the nearby streetlight. No, it wasn't his fault. If he was riding his bike in the street, in that weather, the boy should have been watching out for headlights. Shouldn't he? Hadn't anyone taught him that? Anyone in the same situation would have done the same thing, and still have hit the boy. So why did that old hag's comments bother him so much? Maybe he could have missed the kid somehow, noticed him sooner. No, it wasn't possible. The boy shouldn't have been in the street. That night, Ed couldn't sleep. He consoled himself with a stiff scotch and an old movie. After it was gone, before the first commercial was over, he was off to the kitchen for another. He pulled the bottle of scotch from the cupboard and poured himself a double, then gazed out the window, into the cool night. Suddenly, it started to rain. As the shower intensified, falling harder with each passing moment, it pummeled the ground with a fiery rage. Ed watched intently, hypnotized by the angry storm, until he made out the shape of the streetlight, at the end of his driveway. It was hard to distinguish from the rest of the blurry shadows. Just like the night when he was heading home from the poker game. He sipped the scotch and wondered. Was there anything he could have done differently? Yanked the wheel at the last minute? Slammed on his brakes? Would it have mattered? Those last few moments kept running through his mind. He could see nothing else. It was as though there were a movie reel playing again and again in his mind's eye. Over and over. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly thought he saw something move in the bushes near the house. A chill ran up his spine. Was someone out there? Not in this weather. He looked at the clock. Four a.m. Much too early for the paperboy. And too late for the neighbors' kids to still be out on the prowl. He went to the living room window and peeked outside. No one was in the yard. A stray cat, perhaps? Ed went back to the kitchen and retrieved his drink. That's when he noticed the silhouette under the streetlight. It was too dark to see who it was, and the rain was falling too hard to determine whether it was a man or woman. But it was definitely human-shaped. That much he could tell. What fool would be out on a night like this, Ed wondered. He squinted and tried to get a better look at the mysterious figure. There was a flash of lightning and Ed blinked. When he opened his eyes, the shadow was gone. He shook his head. Too much scotch. Or maybe not enough. Maybe it was time to get some sleep. Start fresh with a new day. The rain continued for four more days. It was the worst weather anyone could remember -- driving sheets of rain, violent lightning and terrible thunder. Ed's boss had shut down the job at the construction site. The rain had turned it into a muddy quagmire. Even when the storms finally broke, it would be days before the mud had dried enough to start working again. Instead, Ed sat at home and watched TV, the accident weighing heavily on his mind. Could this be Mother Nature's way of punishing him -- taking money from his pocket? A monetary penance. No, it was worse than that. And more disturbing. Every night, Ed was sure he saw a shadowy figure huddled beneath the streetlight. The first night, he just watched it. But it never moved. Not once. On the second night, he opened the door and called out to it, offering protection from the rain. There was no response. It just stood there, saying or doing nothing. By the third night, Ed was sure it was there for a reason. Watching him. His friends all thought he was crazy, but Ed knew it was real. They said it was the result of one too many late night drinks. He was hallucinating. Letting his imagination get the best of him. But Ed was certain the figure was there. Then, on the fifth day, the rain stopped. The clouds moved aside and the sun returned. Ed took it as a sign that things would soon be normal again. But the blue skies weren't enough. That strange feeling just wouldn't go away. Instead, it grew stronger with each passing day until finally, Ed was sure he'd caught a glimpse of someone following him one autumn morning, back behind the operations trailer. When he turned to see who was there, he was surprised to see no one. Odd. He was sure he'd seen a shadow. He shrugged and turned back around. But there it was, a second shadow. Alongside his own. With each step, it drew closer. It sent a chill down his spine. He stopped to look again. But again, there was no one behind him. He turned away when he heard a familiar voice, on the other side of the trailer. And when turned back around, the shadow was gone. From that point forward, Ed began to feel that he was being followed wherever he went-day or night. He was afraid to tell anyone because he was sure they'd say he was paranoid or hitting the bottle. But Ed was sure he wasn't imagining them. The shadows. He knew he saw them, even if no one else did. So that's when he decided to buy the gun. Whoever was following him would eventually show their face. And when they did, Ed would be ready. The gun was supposed to bring a sense of security, but somehow, it didn't help. Nothing seemed to stop the overwhelming anxiety which burned in the pit of Ed's stomach. And then one night, just when he thought things couldn't get much worse, the rains began again. The storm was violent. Too violent to go out. Ed figured that staying at home would be the safest place, so he settled into his favorite chair with a drink in one hand; the gun in the other. He clicked on the TV and sat staring blankly into it, waiting for the alcohol to take effect and dull his troubled mind. Suddenly, the power went out. The weatherman had warned about possible outages, but who listened to the weatherman anyway? Ed set his drink down on the table and stumbled out of the living room, into the kitchen, where he knew he'd stashed a few candles. But where did he put them? Frantically, he tore through the cabinets one at a time, tossing their contents randomly around the room. Finally, in the silverware drawer, he found them, next to a pack of matches. He removed one and lit it, its pale light suddenly illuminating a small circle of the room. As he shuffled back to the living room he noticed movement in the hallway. Maybe in the confusion someone had gotten into the house. But how? He'd heard nothing. The front door was locked. Wasn't it? Ed went to the front door and checked. It was locked. They couldn't have come through there. A window, perhaps? Or the back door. But before Ed could check, something moved again. This time in the dining room. He looked down at his hand. It was empty. Where had he left the gun? In the living room? Or the kitchen? If he could get to it first, he'd be safe. Quietly, he tiptoed back to the living room. Slow. No noise. But when he got there, the gun was gone. Worse, he saw something scramble through the kitchen. Panic consumed him. Shaken, Ed crawled to the corner, up against the wall, and huddled in fear. Whatever it was, it would show itself eventually. He huddled there for what seemed like forever before the shadows appeared. They came at him from all sides, slowly, inching across the floor, the ceiling and the walls. Dozens of them. "Show yourselves, you cowards!" Ed screamed. "I'm not afraid." A bluff. Met with overwhelming silence. The shadows moved closer. Ed waved the candle in front of him, desperately trying to ward them away. But they continued to close in on him, choke his space. He thought they would grab him, but instead, they merged with his own shadow. It sent icy chills up his spine. He screamed. It was horrible pain. Cold, empty and all-encompassing. Ed leapt up, shaking free from their frozen grip, then sprinted for the front door. When he got there, he turned just in time to see the lit candle catch the floor on fire. All around the vibrant flame the shadows danced on the walls and ceiling. Celebrating victory. Just as quickly, the dark beasts set their attention back on him, gliding quickly down the hall. Ed flung the door open and fled outside into the rain. He looked over his shoulder and saw the army of shadows pursue him outside, floating across the front lawn. Rain pounded the ground around him. Mud splashed onto his pant legs. He could barely see much, beyond the fiery glow that came from the living room. And then he noticed the light near the street, and quickly remembered the streetlight. If he could reach it, perhaps its intense light would keep the shadows away. His heart pounded as he ran. Pounded so hard he thought it would burst from his chest. When he reached it, he dropped to his knees and tried to catch his breath. He looked up and noticed the shadows hadn't followed. They avoided the light. And then Ed felt strange. Warm. Dry. Dizzy. It made no sense. He held out his hand and noticed the rain didn't hit it. It was raining everywhere else, but not under the streetlight. He peered out at the street. In the distance, a car came barreling down the street. And, no more than ten feet from him, there was a little boy on a bicycle, pedaling furiously through the rain. Ed yelled out to the boy, but he didn't hear him. He kept pedaling, right at the oncoming car. Oblivious to its hulking mass. Ed yelled again. Again, there was no response. When the car was close enough to see it clearly strange, considering the strength of the storm it looked very familiar. In fact, it looked like his car. He tried to rush after the boy, to warn him before it was too late. But strangely, he couldn't move his legs. He tried to yell, but no sound rose from his throat. He tried to move again, but his feet were stuck to the ground. It was a bad dream, him just standing there, watching the accident all over again, helpless. And then Ed found himself back behind the wheel. The boy was directly ahead of him. No more than 15 feet. He yanked on the wheel. The car swerved left and went into a tailspin, narrowly avoiding the child. As it whirled, Ed saw the shadows again. This time, however, they didn't frighten him. Instead, they beckoned him. Just as suddenly, the car straightened out. And there was the streetlight. Glowing brightly in front of him. Welcoming Ed home. It was the last thing he would ever see. --------------Critiques encouraged! Send them to me, rmherrin@ucalgary.ca I'll pass them along to the anonymous authors! -- ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*-------------------------------- Robyn Herrington,Editor rmherrin@ucalgary.ca InfoServe www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin New Currents in Teaching and Learning Com/Media University of Calgary Ph: 220-2561 == Inter tormentia latitia == ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*-------------------------------- of Calgary Ph: 220-2561 == Inter tormentia latitia == ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*--------------------------------