Jumping at Shadows by Jim Z. Roil and Ryan J. Popalis

The car was off, getting cold, while I listened to the message again. I was parked in my classic Chrysler in front of one of those cookie-cutter suburban houses.

“Hey, its Teresa. Terri. Lisa, I need your take on something. I heard you’ve been looking into things that were… less than normal. I’ve been doing some research on… remember when we used to try and find ghosts when we were kids? I’m not sure you’ll get this message, we’ve drifted so far apart. But for old time’s sake, I hope you do. If you can’t help, thanks anyway. Bye, Lisa.”
I flipped the phone shut and stepped out into the foot-deep snow. My semi-automatic was a comforting weight on my hip, with various types of ammunition in separate magazines in my inner coat pockets.
The smooth valleys of the driveway and sidewalk had a day’s worth of snow on them. Sunday night in April in Butte, Montana, with its blizzards followed by drizzling rain, and streetlights shot out by bored tweakers. Not even a good restaurant open because the mush-mouths are always trying to find a free place to sneak in and sleep through the cold.
“I’ll never get used to Montana weather,” I mumbled to myself as I stomped my feet on the mat, opened my phone, and listened to the message one more time. I guess I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t responded to her call earlier. Just like when you read a letter from your old bestie, two months after getting it, and you get that little twinge in your gut. Except I didn’t forget, I ignored her. Because I was off fighting someone else’s “bump in the night.”
I knocked. Then I waited. And I rang the bell. Nothing. Then I tried the door, and the knob was loose like it had been smashed from the other side. What the hell? I thought as the door swung wide.
I went in and clicked the foyer lights on. One bulb flared, and I put my arms up to shield my eyes. When the flare stopped, I could see that it was one of those old-fashioned Edison bulbs, designed to look old-timey.
I turned around to close the door, and saw a crooked shadow just outside it. The porch light must have been on, or a streetlight I hadn’t noticed, because the shadow was stretching toward me from outside. The door slammed tight of its own accord, and I tried to open it. The doorknob came apart in my hand, and the clack of the other half hitting the boards outside confirmed the damage.
I turned around to face the rest of the house.
“Okay! I’m listening, Teresa! What do you want?” I said into the house.
Again, no answer. The only sound was the buzzing from the Edison bulb. Shadows seemed deeper and doorways darker, and colors were muted in the yellow-orange of the bulb. I reached over and flicked a couple switches, turning off the foyer lights and flicking on the lights in the hallway and living room. There was a letter addressed to me on the catch-all just outside the foyer.
Dear Lisa: I hope this finds you well. Or, as well as can be. The thing I needed help with has become somewhat futile. I’ve had a few days to sit here, trying to sleep through the bright lights, and replacing them as fast as they blow, but I can’t do anything about it. I’ve been jumping at my own shadow. I don’t even know if you’ll come. But it looks like I won’t make it. Even if you do show up, it’ll be too late. Well, goodbye, Lisa. Thanks for nothing. Have a nice life. Terri
"Phones work both ways, you know," I thought. "You could have called again."
I walked down the hall to the kitchen, where a pot was dry but the electric burner was on. A mac and cheese box was open and full next to the stove.
Did she leave in a hurry? What happened here?
Something nagged at me when I switched on each light in the hallway.
My subconscious was whimpering, huddled in a corner of my mind. Wrong. Something. Is. Wrong! Maybe I should have listened to the little creep.
###
I went upstairs to Terri’s bedroom. Bits of our history were scattered on shelves like frivolous trophies. A bottle of dirt with a smashed bullet from our first time at target practice. It was my first slug ever, from a bulls-eye. A poster frame, with a half-burnt Oui-Ja board. We had been twelve. We so had no idea what we were doing. I saved her from possession by throwing the board into the fire. No-one believed us.
We’d seen a fatality scene before, as teenagers. I think that was the last time I saw her cry. Or even scared. That’s what the ash in the corner looked like; a pale grey shadow of a female form.
I knelt down to brush through the ash.
Where the face would have been, there were a dozen tiny bits of steel. Her piercings.
“Oh, Teresa…”
That was when I noticed the source of the niggling in my hindbrain. My shadow wasn’t moving right, and hadn’t been since I came into the house. It was delayed, following along in the wake of my movements.
“What –”
The shadow whipped out from the ashes, sending them puffing into the air, and up the wall and ceiling. I tried to run, but something grabbed my throat at the door. In the edge of my vision, I could see the shadow, cast by nothing, reaching out with its wrists ending at the throat of my own shadow. On instinct, I took my charm necklace out of my shirt. The various religious symbols glowed gold with the light of faith. I pressed it to my throat, and the pressure released. I turned around, and the shadow was gone.
###
Back in the foyer, I pounded on the door with anything solid I could find. It even withstood a wrought-iron coat tree.
Something doesn’t want me going anywhere, I thought.
I brought my improvised ram into the living room and slammed it into the window. It bounced back like Plexiglas, fouling my balance. My rear slammed on the floor, sending a shock up my spine and taking my breath away for a moment.
The shadowthing attacked again, rising up from a vent in the floor. But this time, my own shadow lashed out and fought back, silently trading blows like some kind of shadow-puppet show.
Too intent on escaping, I took out my pistol and fired five rounds into the glass. Bits of gold, silver, lead, and iron bullets rebounded. The disembodied shadow was hit in the chest, splintering the wooden wall paneling, but it didn’t even flinch. Another round hit a light, sending sparks out from the shattered bulb. The ghost felt that one, sliding away and disappearing into a vent.
My shadow slid across the floor and halfway up the wall. The shadow puppet reached its hands up and clapped, soundless, and it started bobbing like it was jumping up and down for joy.
“And what are you?” I asked it. “Where did you come from?”
It pointed toward the door. The shadow had to extend its arm around the room and into the foyer for me to understand, but I got the point.
“The door? That doesn’t tell me much. Are you a ghost?”
It shook its head, slapping itself in the forehead. The effect was comical, with the shadow-mime act, but when I chuckled it put its hands on its hips. I just laughed harder. It jumped up again, waving its arms to get my attention. I turned around and the shade slithered down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Okay, shadow. Getting out isn’t an option. And when supernaturals try to kill me I usually send them packing. Permanently. So, any idea where I can find something out about that thing?”
It took off, shifting through the doorway and up the stairs. It disappeared around the bend of the stairs and I ran to follow it. I ran to follow my shadow, and not because there was a murderous ghost shadow thing downstairs trying to kill me. Really.
###
Terri’s bedroom was a mess. I’d had no idea that I’d been thrashing around that much.
My shadow was draped across the dresser, trying to look like it was just sitting there, waiting. It started tapping at a top drawer, so I opened it, and found a worn leather-bound diary.
The diary had several shaky scribbles, like they had been slowly copied from some other language’s writing. Several pages in, it was written in English.
"Slipshade," I read. Part of someone’s soul, it –
And again, when I wasn’t watching, the shadowthing slipped up my body and wrapped its fingers around my throat again.
My shadow slipped off the dresser and they began to fight again, a shadowboxing match on the floor. My shadow delivered what looked like a vicious kick to the disembodied shadow, and it slid under the bed. Without thinking, I took the necklace from around my neck. The shadow reached out and grabbed my ankle, tripping me. The chain came free of my neck and fell to the floor. When I grabbed for it, I pushed it under the bed, and a shriek came from underneath. After a metallic jingle, I looked under the bed to find a heating vent. My charms were gone.
###
“So, I think I’ll name you ‘Slip’,” I said to the shadow. “It’s better than thinking of you as ‘shadow’ or ‘my shadow’ all the time.” I opened the book and pointed to a page. “What does this mean, Slip? ‘The shadow’s light will shave the first part of the soul it touches.’ What does it mean, first part of the soul?”
Slip slid her hand over my forehead, where my Third Eye would be. I could feel her press lightly between my eyebrows. It felt like a feather brushing my skin. And then again, over the center of my chest, my pelvis, my knees, and my feet.
“Do you mean the chakras? Chi?”
She nodded, and parted so that it looked like a light was coming through her forehead, hands, chest, and legs. All of the holes closed up but one, right in the center of her chest.
“So that means you came from the chest chakra. My heart?”
She nodded.
“What about the shade? Where did it come from?”
She shifted again, and the light shone through at her heart, but it looked fractured and dim.
“Terri was hurt? Emotionally? Maybe vengeful?”
Another nod.
“Okay… so how do we get rid of it?”
Then a shrug.
“Damnit. Okay, then do we know where you two came from?”
It motioned at itself, and then at me. And then it motioned at the bedroom twice, and finally it pointed at the Edison bulb.
“Right… What does it do? How does it work? Where did it –” I stopped, looked at the silent shadow, and then at the light. “I guess it doesn’t matter right now. Might as well keep this.”
I reached up and unscrewed the bulb. It felt heavy, so I looked closer at it, and it had dozens of loops of filament, but they looked shinier than the copper wires of the standard Edison bulbs. They wove through each other like a Celtic knot. It looked like it took up more than three dimensions. It hurt my head to look at it for too long, so I wrapped it in a soft cloth I keep on hand, and pocketed it.
As I took my hand out of my pocket, I felt a touch on my shoulder. The Slipshade had come back, and this time I decided to take the better part of valor, and ran.
The house got darker. Light switches went out every second, as the shade flipped switches behind us. The darker it got behind it, the faster it moved.
We hit the kitchen at a run, slapping the light switch, and I shut and locked the door. I stuffed towels in the doorway, hoping that not letting light through would keep the shade out. I checked cupboards and drawers, and pulled out several flashlights and enough batteries to power half of the block for a day.
I took out the book and started reading again.
“I think it says here that the shadow light peels a piece of your soul away and projects it as a shadow. Okay, so you’re a part of me, but not?”
Slip gave a thumbs-up.
“And they – you – get more powerful as time goes. And with more shadow. So it was making itself more powerful by turning lights off?”
Two thumbs up.
“And without anywhere to hide from light…”
###
I opened the door and slapped all of the lights off. The effect was immediate.
The shade was in the room, fighting with Slip. I turned the lights on and blocked the door again.
A kitchen knife dropped as if it were suspended from the ceiling and the string had been cut.
The buzzing industrial-type kitchen lights punctuated the silence as the shade dashed around looking for some shade to hide under. When it hid in one place, I shined a flashlight there, chasing it out.
Eventually, the shade was driven into a coffee can. I slapped on a lid, and the can vibrated gently as the shade tried to fight its way out.
“Okay. Slip, this is almost over.”
###
The living room and office took up the same large room.
I sat at the desk and fit the bulb into the lamp. Then I opened the coffee can, and turned the light on.
Nothing happened.
“Huh. Maybe I should have turned on –” I stopped, as feathers brushed my throat.
I threw the chair backward and scrambled for the closet. I tore down all of the coats, turned on the light, slammed the door, and locked it from the inside. A few coats at the bottom of the door, and I was alone with Slip in the closet.
“Not too bad a plan, if I hadn’t forgotten to turn on the light before letting the little bastard out.”
The faint clicks of light switches drifted through the door.
“What the hell?”
Click click click… SLAM!
Something had been thrown at the door with enough force to crack the middle panel.
SLAM!
Splinters fluttered down.
CRACK!
With a burst of fear and adrenaline, everything moved slower. I blinked in time to keep the splinters out of my eyes, but couldn’t move fast enough to escape the paperweight that slammed through the door. It smacked right between my eyes, and I was dazed.
Then, through the dim light from the kitchen, I saw a shadow, solid black, seep through the hole. It took its trademark move, and wrapped its iron-strong hand around my neck. It squeezed.
I gagged and tried to cough. I kicked and scrambled for a hold on the Slipshade, but my hands slipped through like it were a normal shadow, not an iron claw crushing my windpipe. I kicked the door and the wall, leaving splinters and holes. Everything pulsed red and black. My larynx snapped. Or maybe my neck. Then there was nothing.
###
Darkness. Light. Lisa…
No breathing. No pulse.
Foyer. Slip Foyer.
Door. Door is open.
Lisa. Lisa’s shadow…
###
I was cramped in a box. I staggered out to a doorway. Something was niggling at me. Something wasn’t right.
“Only one light o—” I was interrupted by a rattling cough. My throat hurt.
What am I doing? Where am I?
I turned on an overhead light in the office area.
Terri’s place? Right. Teresa called me. And there’s only one light on. Why have I got two shadows?
And then it hit me. The phone call, the letter, the diary… the Slipshade.
Slip slithered around me and poked my shadow in the head. I could feel a full-fledged poke on my temple.
“Well, you’re still around. And now I have my real shadow? Now what do we do?” I croaked.
###
I snuck into the bedroom and flipped on the lights.. The shadow didn’t seem to notice me until it lashed out at Slip and my shadow. I jumped onto the bed, closer to the light, making my shadow bigger. By Slipshade physics, it should make it stronger.
I curled my fingers, but in my shadow it looked like a scythe. I swept my arm from right to left, and my shadow tore a chunk out of the shade. It lifted briefly into the air and fluttered to the ground. Slip took a page out of my book and did the same. We worried and tore at it until there were dozens of floating shadow scraps on the ceiling, walls, and floors. Where they landed, beads of blood seeped from the edges of the Slipshade’s bits.
I took the bulb out of my pocket, and screwed it into the light socket. I jumped off the bed and went around the corner. I reached around, and turned on the light in the room. A raspy shriek issued from the room as the Edison bulb flared. An endless scream, coming from a hundred different throats. It felt tortured, and angry. But it stopped.
“That was for Terri.”
Inside the room, dozens of black smears littered the room like a giant spider had tap-danced around the room with soot on its feet. The Edison bulb was untouched, so I unscrewed it, found a large jewelry box on the dresser, and nestled it safely inside.
###
I listened to Terri’s message one more time.
A shadow sat in the backseat, lounging after a hard night.
From the phone, “Thanks anyway, Lisa. Bye.”
“I’m sorry, Terri. Goodbye,” I said as I pressed a key.
Then an automated voice came, “Message Deleted.”