That alleyway doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s a multiplex now, complete with a cinema, restaurants and all the other bells and whistles associated with modern living. But if you go and stand outside at just the right time of day, then you can almost still see him - a ghost from the past that reminds me that it was all real and not just a figment of my imagination. The doubt never lasts for long anyway. Especially when the sky becomes the colour of fire, and the shadows become deep and narrow and start reaching out of the dark places.
I was twelve when I first encountered Benson. The world was a different place then of course. Nowadays everyone is so private, so inaccessible and desperate to keep themselves isolated and alone as they try to fumble their way through life. I guess I was just lucky, because when I was growing up, it was in a real community where you knew your neighbors and it was safe to go to bed without locking your doors at night. Hell, kids could even play outside without fear of being abducted or murdered.
I first saw Benson when I was out riding my bike with my buddy, Luke. Under normal circumstances, I’m sure that I wouldn’t have noticed him, but it was that special time of day, just before dusk, and something drew my attention to this skinny old man in the alley as he sat there at its mouth on a wooden crate just watching the world go by.
“Afternoon boys.” He said as we passed, grinning toothlessly and shielding his face against the sun, which had become a fiery red-orange as its leading edge began to dip below the horizon.
“Hi,” I mumbled in response.
Benson nodded, then looked past me to Luke.
“Ooh, that’s a good one, ain't it?” He muttered, pointing at the ground.
I looked. Luke looked, but neither of us saw anything.
“What’s your name son?” He asked, watching me through watery, grey eyes.
“Andrew, sir,” I replied.
“You got a last name, or is it just Andrew?” He cackled, his eyes flicking to Luke for a second, then back to me.
“Thompson.”
“Ahh, you must be Annie Thompson’s kid?”
“Yes sir,” I replied.
He paused and sniffed the air, then licked his lips.
“Well, you be sure to tell your mother that old Benson said hi.”
I nodded, and even though I wasn’t scared, not then at least, I was a little uncomfortable, because his attention had moved away from me, and he was staring at Luke with greedy, hungry eyes.
“Say boy.” He said, managing to tear his eyes away from Luke and back to me.
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you do an old man a favour, and get me a lemonade from the corner store?” He said as he thrust a handful of change in my direction.
I knew the store, as I went there all the time. It was just a little way down the street and I could see the blue and yellow awning above the door from where I stood, my forearms leaning on the handlebars of my bike.
“I would sir, but I can’t take my bike into the store and my mother doesn’t want me leaving it out on the street.”
“Well, you can just leave it right here with me, I’ll look after it for you.” He said, his eyes flicking back towards Luke and lingering there for a while.
I shuffled and stared at my feet.
“I shouldn’t, I just got it for my birthday,”
Benson paused, flicking his tongue back and forth inside his mouth, then clapped his hands and grinned.
“Okay boy, how’s about this? Your friend here can stay here with your bike whilst you run and get the lemonade. How does that sound?”
I looked at Luke, who shrugged his indifference. He wasn’t picking up any bad vibes, and that, in turn, made me feel foolish for being so spooked.
“Okay,” I said, climbing off my bike and leaning it against the alleyway wall. “I’ll be right back.”
He handed me the change and I ran as fast as I could to the store. Hell, I think I ran everywhere back then, but I pushed just a little bit harder this time, because I wanted to get back, and not only to my bike. The fact is that I didn’t want to leave Luke alone with Benson any longer than I had to.
All kinds of thoughts raced through my mind about what would happen when I got back, but when I did, Benson and Luke were chatting, and I felt foolish for the second time in quick succession. The old man saw me coming and grinned. “Ah, here he is.”
I held the bottle of lemonade out to him and he smiled and shook his head.
“You know son, I don’t much feel like lemonade anymore, but I’ll tell you what. Since you were good enough to go, you and your friend here can share it.”
“That’s okay, you can maybe drink it later,” I said, setting the lemonade down beside him and climbing back on my bike. “We have to go. It’s getting late.”
“Nice to meet you, Mister,” Luke said as he turned his bike around.
“Benson, son. You can call me Benson.”
Luke nodded, and I risked looking the old man in the eye. I had expected to see some hint of the darkness that I could sense, but his gaze was friendly, and yet again I wondered if I was making more of the situation than I should be. Luke and I set off, leaving Benson and his alleyway behind. I had intended to ask my mother about him when I got home, but within half an hour I had pushed the thought to the back of my mind. By the time I arrived back at the house later that night, I had forgotten it all together.
It wasn’t until a week later that Benson popped into my mind, right after Luke died.
At first, I was convinced that Benson was responsible somehow, and it wasn’t until a few days later when my mother told me that he died in his sleep that I accepted that Luke’s death was just a tragic accident. She said there was some kind of problem with his heart that nobody had known about until it was too late. Just like that, I had lost my best friend. It was my first experience of death, and it hit me hard. For a few weeks, I was inconsolable.
I next saw Benson a few months later, talking to a kid I knew from school called Charlie Denner. It was as if time had stood still for Benson, and he had been waiting there at the end of the alleyway since I last saw him. He was dressed the same, looked the same, even the weather was the same. He looked up and saw me walking towards him, and although I expected fury or surprise that I had interrupted him, he flashed his gummy grin and waved at me. A quick stab of terror raced through me, but I waved back and think I even managed a smile. Maybe it was just because of my earlier discomfort around him, but I didn’t like how he looked, bathed in that deep orange glow of pre-dusk. The shadows made his thin face look almost skeletal, and from where I was, they fell across his face and made his eyes looked like empty, gaping sockets. I went straight past the alley without stopping, and although I didn’t look over my shoulder, I knew Benson was watching.
Charlie died a week later.
Just like Luke, they said it was natural causes, but I didn’t believe in coincidence, and somewhere, deep down, I knew that it had something to do with Benson. I asked my mother about him, trying my best to feign disinterest despite my incredible curiosity. I watched for any hint of terror or horror when I mentioned his name, but she only smiled.
“Oh, Benson is a lovely old man. He has lived in that alleyway for years.” She said as she set the dinner table.
“Why doesn’t anyone help him or try to get him a home?”
“Well, that’s the strange thing. He has a home. He’s a very wealthy man. I think he had some family issues and decided he preferred to live out on the street.”
“So what happened to his house?” I asked, trying to imagine what kind of man would willingly sleep rough unless they were up to no good.
“His daughter lives there now, I think. As far as I know he gave her the house and all his money.”
“How long has he lived there in the alleyway?” I asked, still watching to see if she would give anything away.
“Oh, it’s been years. Your father remembers him living there when he first bought this house, so at least ten years.�
�
I wanted to tell my mother my suspicions about Luke and Charlie, and how I thought Benson was responsible, but I daren’t yet in case I was wrong. After all, she was my mother, and if she said he was harmless, I owed it to her to believe it.
The following week I went out of my way to ride past the alleyway. It was a cold, grey morning, and although I couldn’t decide if I was afraid or excited, I ended up being disappointed because when I arrived, Benson wasn’t there. I stopped my bike at the mouth of the alleyway and stared into it. It was pretty unremarkable. It ended after around twenty-five feet with a huge brick wall. There was a large green dumpster about a third of the way down and behind that, the shadow of a recessed doorway.
I inched my bike into the alleyway, wrinkling my nose at the smell. It was ammonia and garbage and something else which I couldn’t place. I wondered as I made my way into the alley how anyone could live in such conditions.
“Mr. Benson?” I called out, or maybe I whispered. I couldn’t be sure.
My stomach churned and my heart was beating fast, but I didn’t turn back. I was at the edge of the dumpster and paused. I think I almost turned and ran then, but I was determined to see it through. I edged forward and looked into the doorway.
Empty.
Not only empty, but there was no sign that anyone had even set foot in the alleyway for years, let alone lived there. Nothing added up, apart from the fact that I was surer than ever that there was more to Benson than met the eye.
It rained every day that week, but even so I went past the alleyway every day, sometimes three or four times a day to try and catch a glimpse of Benson, but he was never there. Even though I had nothing to go on, and nobody else seemed concerned with him, my curiosity grew into an obsession and then into frustration with his constant no-shows.
I had almost given up on ever seeing him again when I decided to have one last ride past the alleyway. The bad weather had cleared, and it was one of those deep orange hued afternoons, where the shadows were long and the first stars are just starting to become visible. I rode towards the alleyway, my shadow elongated and racing ahead in front of me, and when I rounded the corner I drew a sharp breath.
He was there, timeless as always sitting on his overturned crate and watching the world go by. He had a sly, secretive smile, and as I approached, he flicked his eyes towards me.
“I understand you've been looking for me, sonny.” He said, the sly smile elongating on his thin lips.
Excuses raced through my brain along with lies and denials, but I chose to tell the truth instead because I needed to know what Benson was all about.
“Yes, I have.”
“Why?” He asked as he watched a couple walk past with their dog.
“I want to know what you did to Luke and Charlie. I came back, but you were never around.”
“Oh, I’m always around.” He said with a dry chuckle. “I’m never too far away.”
It was as if the rest of the world had melted away and it was just me, Benson and the alleyway. I said the words before I had thought about them. Maybe because I had a feeling there were no secrets from Benson and suspected that any bluffing would be pointless.
“I think you killed Luke and Charlie.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, and I waited for a denial, maybe an outburst or for him to threaten to tell my mother, and in some way that would have been better because it would have been a normal reaction. Instead, he sighed, and turned his attention to the road. He watched as people walked back and forth and I stood in silence, waiting for whatever came next.
“It’s not what you think.” He said, squinting up at me. The sun was low now, and the shadows were deep and cast his wrinkled skin into black scars.
I wanted to ask him more but realised that real life wasn’t like it was in movies or on TV shows where the star always had a witty retort or comeback. I was too afraid to do anything but stand and stare. He smiled, but it was wistful, and somehow tired.
“You couldn’t imagine how much of a burden it is.” He said, letting out another deep sigh. “It just has to be done.”
“Are you going to kill me?” I asked, dreading the answer, but needing to know all the same.
He looked me up and down, his eyes dark and probing. I felt invaded, and his gaze came to rest on my shadow. He frowned, sniffed the air, and tapped his fingers on his tattered trouser leg.
“No. No, I’m not. You're one of the good ones.”
“Charlie and Luke…?”
He looked at me, and whatever darkness that had been in his eyes when he looked at my shadow was gone. He was the same tired old man that everyone else saw.
“They had to go, son. Best to catch them early.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“Bad people. Bad, bad people.” He muttered and turned his gaze back to the street as everyone else went about their business around them.
“Luke was my friend, he wasn’t bad.”
“Bad, bad, bad, bad.” He muttered, scratching at his matted hair, which stuck up at the back like Einstein.
“I have to tell the police,” I said.
He looked at me and grimaced, the expression horrific due to his absence of teeth.
“If I show you why, will you promise not to tell?”
I could see that he was upset, and that made me curious.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” He said. “As long as you see for yourself.”
“Then show me,” I said before I could change my mind.
He nodded, and then he did it.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, the breath seeming to last for an eternity, then he opened them and breathed in. My shadow, deep and rich as it lay across the ground was drawn up towards his mouth. I was frozen, watching as he sucked it in, and like a glass, his eyes started to fill with opaque from bottom to top as he took it in.
It happened instantly. It wasn’t a flashback or a series of images, but I knew. I understood everything. I saw snatches of images which punctuated the stream of knowledge passed to me from Benson.
I saw Luke as the friend I knew, smiling and perched on his bike, only his shadow was warped and distorted, shimmering on the ground next to my perfectly normal one. I saw him as a man, and what would have become of him. How he would become a prolific and violent serial killer of children and women.
I saw Charlie, and like Luke, his shadow was distorted and broken, and then I understood. Because as harmless as he was as a child, as a man, Charlie would get into weapons trading with Middle Eastern countries, and supply them with a suitcase nuclear bomb that would go on to be used to devastating effect in the city of Chicago. Or at least it would have if Benson hadn’t stopped him.
Benson was moaning, and bloody tears rolled down his cheeks. The world went on around me, but it was muted and hollow as if I were underwater. Benson balled his fists and began to tremble, then opened his mouth. My shadow filtered back out and reattached itself to my feet, streaming from him like billowing black smoke. His eyes returned to their normal colour, and as they did, the connection between us was severed, and the world came back to its usual vibrancy.
He wiped away the bloody tears and looked at me. He seemed somehow even older, and his efforts had exhausted him.
“Do you understand now boy?” He whispered, still trying to catch his breath.
“You can see them can’t you Mr. Benson?” I croaked. “The bad people. But you see them before they are bad. You see it in their shadows.”
He nodded. “The shadow and the soul are connected. People think that they are born into this world with a clean slate, but it’s not like that. Bad people are born bad.”
“Are you some kind of angel?” I asked him, and despite his exhaustion, he found it in himself to chuckle.
“No. I was born in Boston actually.”
“Then how?” I trailed off and stared down at my shadow which just a few minutes ago had been ingested by th
e withered old man in front of me.
“I don’t know the how’s or why's.” He said with a shrug. “I didn’t get the power until I was in my early forties. Fell off a ladder when I was painting the house and banged my head on the concrete. Knocked myself out cold. When I woke up, I saw my neighbour who had come to help me and see if I was okay. His shadow was tainted, all fuzzy and jittery. Course, I didn’t know what it meant at the time. I thought it was just a concussion, and didn’t give it much thought. A couple of years later he was all over the news. Serial killer. But by then I was starting to suspect what had happened to me.”
I nodded, letting him go back and remember and tell his story.
“First time I took a shadow was nineteen sixty-six. I don’t know how I knew to do it, I just did. I knew how and I knew why. But whatever it was that showed me what to do, didn’t tell me how to live with the guilt. And you better believe it boy, it’s hard to sit down to eat dinner with your family when you have just condemned a soul to death.”
“But it’s only bad people, isn’t it?” I whispered.
“Good or bad they are still people. And even bad people might still have good qualities.”
“How many…” I muttered as he looked off into the distance.
“I don’t know. Thousands I expect. One thing I can tell you is that the guilt doesn’t get any easier to live with. When a man can’t look his family in the eye, it’s time to stop burdening them.”
“That’s why you moved out of your house, isn’t it?” I said.
He nodded, and I noticed that his hands were shaking.
“Are you okay Mr. Benson?”
“I will be. It takes a lot out of me these days. Every shadow I take eats a little bit of me. That’s the way it is. That’s the rules. Sugar helps. That’s why I asked you to go for lemonade, for after I took your friend's shadow.”
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