I had half a bar of chocolate in my jacket, and I offered it to Benson. He took it gratefully and broke off a piece. He popped it in its mouth and we were silent. He watched the people, looking for the bad ones. Even though I couldn’t see what he did, I looked anyway.
“Does it hurt them, when they go I mean?”
Benson shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. I know they don’t feel me taking the shadow, and they never die right away. It’s always later. I like to tell myself that there is no pain, but I’m only guessing.”
“The papers said Luke went in his sleep and wouldn’t have felt a thing. Same with Charlie.”
Benson nodded, popping another piece of chocolate into his mouth.
“Well, that’s something I guess.” He muttered, taking a long hard look at a young woman’s shadow as she walked across the other side of the street.
“Bad one?” I asked, partly dreading the answer.
“No.”
I nodded.
“That’s why you only ever come out at this time isn’t it Mr. Benson? When it’s sunny and the shadows are easy to see.”
He nodded.
“Makes my work easier. The older I get, the harder it is to function. I don’t suppose I’m long for this world son. Even though people here see me as some crazy bum, I've worked hard at trying to make the world a better place. Only thing is, there are too many bad ones now. Way more bad than good. There is only so much I can do.”
“Are there others like you, Mr. Benson?”
“I don’t know son.” He sighed. “I hope so. I hope there is an entire army of them, because if not, the world is in trouble. I’m working as hard as I can, but this old body of mine is running out of steam.”
“So what happens now?” I asked him.
“That’s up to you. If you want to go to the police or repeat what I have told you, I can’t stop you. But I know your shadow, and I believe what it tells me.”
“That I’m one of the good ones?”
“Yes, you are.”
The orange of the sunset had turned to red, and the day was starting to become night.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said, watching as he finished the last of the chocolate. “I think you're doing a good thing, Mr. Benson. I think you're one of the good ones too.”
“Thank you, I hope you're right.”
I turned my bike around and readied to set off.
“Will I see you again Mr Benson?”
“I don’t know.” He said with a shrug. “You know where I’ll be, for as long as I’m able. As soon as I know it’s the end, I’ll go someplace quiet and end it my own way.”
I nodded, and we shared a look that was a bond greater than any friendship or relationship that I have experienced since.
“Good luck Mr. Benson.”
“Thank you for understanding. And for the chocolate.” He said. I started to ride away when he called me. I turned on my bike, and once again he was just a withered, broken old man.
“Keep being one of the good ones.” He said, and then turned back to the road and the people.
I never spoke to Benson again after that day, although I did see him a few times, always on that overturned crate, always at that same time of day when the shadows were strong and easy to spot. I think it was around six months later when he stopped showing up. I guessed he had made good on his promise, and found himself a nice quiet place to finally get his peace. I hope he went to a better place, and that his service to our species was well served. I remember my conversation with him, and our hope that there were others out there like him, and that they were doing all they could to protect the rest of us. But the more horror I see in the news, the more terrible things that I see happen, the more certain I am, that Benson was one of a kind. There is one thing for sure, though, without him, the world is a much worse place.
I never told anyone about Benson, not until now, but I did heed his advice. I have tried to be one of the good ones. I have a beautiful wife and three amazing children who I’m trying to bring up as best I can. As I write this, I’m watching them playing outside in the garden. It’s a beautiful day, and I’m incredibly grateful for what I have. My children’s shadows dance in tandem with them, and I can only hope that they are pure and untainted and that they will grow up to be one of the good ones, just like Benson was.
WATCHERS
You know me. You might not think so, but you do. I’m in the corner, watching and waiting just like I’ve done your entire life. Sometimes you might sense me, but I’m always one step ahead, gone by the time you stare into the darkness and try to figure out what that sound you just heard was. I don’t mean anything by it. I just get bored, and when that happens you’re an easy target.
Let me explain.
I’m that thing.
You know what I’m talking about. The glimpse of a shadow moving in the corner of the room or the stealthy thud that wakes you at night. The horrible feeling that comes over you for no reason and makes your skin crawl.
All me.
It’s funny. You humans are so easy to scare. There’s no sport in it anymore. The world has changed now. It’s all gadgets, electronics, and social media. Everyone is just so damn busy these days that a lot of the innocence has gone. You humans became desensitized and stopped believing in the possibility that something like me could ever exist.
Don’t worry, though, I’m still here.
I always have been.
Of course, it was different when you were younger. It was easier back then, easier to fuck with your susceptible little mind. That part is always fun, especially at that ripe age where kids still believe in monsters and the boogeymen, and things that go bump in the night.
Kids, in general, are more receptive, more aware of things from my side of the world. Hell, some kids can see us no matter how much we try to hide. We light up like Christmas trees to them, which makes the job harder than it should be. They’re rare, though, and we have specialists who deal with the ‘bright light’ kids. You call them psychic. We call them a problem. Lucky for me, though, you’re not one of them. Don’t get me wrong, back when you were a kid, you were plenty aware of me. I remember those nights when you were tucked up in bed, lying awake and staring into the darkness and just to fuck with you, I would make a noise. Something subtle. Maybe just a whisper, or maybe I’d drag my claws lightly across the floorboards next to your bed. I’d watch you sit there, covers pulled up to your chest as you glared into the darkness. It always amused me the way you tried to justify everything that those sounds could be, dismissing them one by one until you were left with the only possible option.
Me.
Don’t sweat it, though, it’s just jest. It’s a way for me to get my kicks and whittle away the boredom whilst I wait. Sometimes I would make myself into a physical form and watch you sleep. I’d stand over your bed, a towering, shapeless, black thing, and watch you dream. If I was feeling mischievous I would touch your cheek and watch as you shuddered and pulled the blankets closer to you and away from my cold, dead hand. No, sir. There is nothing more fun than messing with the minds of kids. I’ll tell you what my favourite thing is. You know that feeling when you are just drifting off to sleep, and you jerk awake for no reason?
Guess who.
Of course, it’s a lot harder now. You grew up and stopped believing in things like me. Those noises that used to make you shit your Jim-jams, you barely even hear anymore. You forgot about me, and before I knew it, you had moved out and started a family of your own. I came with you of course. Those are the rules. Each human gets assigned one of my kind at birth who will stay with them until it’s time to die. Lucky for you, I’m fucking good at my job. Some might say one of the best.
Want to know just how good I am?
I’m watching you right now, just waiting for you to switch the TV off and go to sleep. You, of course, have no idea I’m here because I don’t want to be seen, not yet, at least, and so that’s how it will be until I decide otherwis
e. Even so, you might feel a chill if you walk through the place where I’m waiting. And wait I will. Time doesn’t mean anything to me anyway. Some might say it’s all I have.
Believe me, if there’s one thing you need for this job, its patience. Sometimes you don’t have to wait for too long, and in a way, those gigs are the best. You can be clinical, efficient. Grade a professional. On the flip side, sometimes it can take a while.
Let me tell you it ain’t easy. There are no breaks; no clocking off at five to go home, put your feet up and catch up on the latest goings on in the soaps or to see which country is edging the world closer to a third world war... No-sir-ee. When we get assigned to someone, we’re there 24/7 until the end. Like I said, it’s a big commitment.
Some of the others like me, they don’t like the long jobs. No patience for it, they hate the waiting around until you punch out for the last time.
Me?
I never had a problem with it. I get a kick out of seeing how you humans grow up, watching as the innocence is driven out of you and the cruelty of the world rears its ugly head just before it kicks you right in the balls.
Man, I couldn’t tell you the things I’ve seen. I’ve seen good kids go off the rails and become vicious murderous scum, and I’ve seen bad kids turn their lives around and go on to do great things that make a difference.
Oh, that’s another thing you should know.
There are no secrets from me.
I know everything. Every dirty, little, private moment that you think is yours alone, I know it. I see it.
I’m always with you. From beginning to end, right there by your side.
What a waste of a life. You had it all. Wife, kids, promotion in the offing if you just applied yourself a little harder, made a little more effort. As always, you still managed to find a way to screw it all up, and now you’re all alone.
Such a shame.
To tell you the truth, it’s bittersweet. For twenty-seven years I watched you grow, watched you change as you discovered that the opportunity-filled world which your parents painted for you was all bullshit. You became cynical, and with it, lazy. As is the way with your species you started to look out for number one, screw everyone else. You piss and moan and think you have it tough, and to that, I say…
You should try living in my shoes for a few hundred years. Still, I can’t complain. This job isn’t too bad. I could have done better, that's for sure, but I could have also done a lot worse, and unlike you I choose to look on the bright side. Every cloud, and all that bullshit.
And so here we are, the watcher and the watched. The dying and the already dead. I can see you staring at another one of those shitty reality shows that you seem to be hooked on these days, all the glitz and glamour.
Fuck that.
You’re yawning, though, and I can tell you’re getting tired.
Soon then.
I suppose it’s only fair as I wait for you to finish watching this god awful crap on the TV that I tell you what I do. It makes no difference to you, in the long run, of course, but I don t often get to talk about my work and for once I want to indulge. Call it nostalgia; call it readying myself to move on from this job to the next. Whatever you like.
I take souls.
I know. Scary, right?
Let me give you a second to digest that little snippet, whilst I tell you a little more. We have time yet. I can see you well enough from the shadowy place here in the corner, and you don’t seem quite ready to give in to the tiredness.
First up then, a few harsh truths.
Heaven and hell aren't as it seems. You people have this idea that it’s some kind of titanic battle between good and evil, which, incidentally, causes no end of amusement over on our side. The reality is that it’s a business. The guy upstairs and the guy downstairs work together to achieve a fine balance. Of course, every now and again, they will clash, and stupid decisions are made. The Boxing Day Tsunami in Indonesia and the 9/11 attacks on New York being just a couple of examples of when things got out of hand and one of them spat their dummy out. Mostly, though, they get on fine. They share the workload and it’s left to guys like me to get down on street level as it were and do the dirty stuff.
If you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this, then you’re a little slow on the uptake. See, tonight is your night. You shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been coming for a while. The problem is that you humans never learn. It’s always live fast, work hard, play harder. You never take a moment to sit back and look at the world. Even now, you’re screwing around on your overpriced smartphone, and it pains me to see what that innocent little kid in the Spiderman pyjamas who always dreamed of being an astronaut has become.
I’m right here in the room with you, something that as a kid, you would have picked up on in an instant, but not anymore. A damn freight train could plough through this shithole apartment of yours and it still wouldn’t stop you from gawping at the tiny screen which contains your entire fake world. I’m tempted, just for a second to goose you, just to see if I can get a reaction for old times’ sake, but I won’t.
You’ll get yours soon enough.
Just know that if I did choose to let you see me, I mean if I changed from this transparent thing in the darkness and materialized in front of you...well, to put it bluntly, it would blow your little fucking mind. I knew a guy once who got so pissed off with his assigned human that he made himself visible and started throwing the guy's furniture around. The human had a heart attack right there in his bed. When the cops arrived, his hair was white, and he was barely alive. He’d also gone blind. That’s what it would mean to see us for what we are. You might think I have a problem with humans, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. See, I used to be just like you. Human, I mean.
Now, of course, I’m nothing. A formless thing, an entity. An incorporeal presence. But a long, long time ago I, too, was made of flesh and bone. I had a family and friends, hopes and dreams to go on to greatness or, at least, leave something behind to show I’d at least existed on this rock. However, the price of immortality is that you have to watch everyone you ever knew die. I’m not bitter, it’s just how it is. For the first few hundred years, it plagued me but I learned to live with it. I mean, what choice did I have, right?
Don’t bother giving me any sympathy. I long ago stopped having such things as feelings or emotions anyway, and without the ties of a family of the other trappings of humanity, I can devote myself to what I need to do, which is good news for me and not so good for you. Even so, you can’t blame me if I sound a little bitter. Hundreds of years of waiting in the dark and watching human after human throw their lives away soon becomes frustrating. It doesn’t matter anyway because, as I said earlier, tonight is your night. You’ll be in bed soon, and this dingy little shitbox apartment, which is a far cry from the nice house that you and your soon to be widowed wife used to share, will be the last thing your waking body will ever experience. Man, I loved that house. It was big, there was room to move, room to breathe. But you went and screwed it up and flushed the one good thing you had down the toilet. Now that house is gone, and the wife is with someone else.
I still wonder why you didn’t fight, didn’t even try to win her back, especially when the kids started calling her new guy Daddy. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You waited, and waited, and now it’s too late.
You’ve finally switched off the TV and put away the phone and are up and locking the doors, the first part of the going to bed routine. I guess I’d better wrap this up.
Let me tell you all about death. The ever after. The afterlife. Whatever you choose to call it. First up, there is no out of body experience, nor any white lights or rose-filled gardens where the spirits of the departed loved ones come to meet you and take you into the next life.
Please.
Don’t tell me you ever believed that shit?
If you did, you’re in for a rude awakening when it’s my ugly ass that greets you and takes you to th
e other place. Incidentally, you’re lucky. You’ve got what we call in the trade an ‘easy’ death. You, my friend, are going in your sleep. A nice, peaceful, natural causes removal. That’s what they call it by the way over where I come from. A removal. Make no mistake, though, you’re lucky, because going in your sleep is a damn sight better than those sudden and unexpected deaths. The car crashes, and drownings, the domestic disputes gone too far. You won’t have to suffer any of that. None of the knowing it’s coming. Yours will be quick, tidy and quiet.
This is how it will go.
You will go to sleep as you do every night, expecting that tomorrow will be another day when you finally go on that diet, or call your wife and tell her you’re sorry for being such an asshole, or really apply yourself at work to try and snag that promotion, only that’s not how it will go, your time, buddy, is up. No more chances, no more tomorrows. You, my friend, have seen your last sunset.
I’ll wait until you’re sleeping.
I’m not talking about the light, toss and turn crap. I mean the deep, do not disturb type sleep. That’s when I’ll appear.
The room will grow cold, but you’ll be too far under to notice. That’s when I’ll take form.
I’ll stand over you and for a while I'll just watch until its time. We work to a very strict timetable and have to take you at exactly the right moment. When it comes, I’ll reach out my hand, and my fingers, like long tendrils of mist, will reach down to your face. I might whisper in your ear, reassuring you with my dry, dead breath that it will be okay, that I know what I’m doing. You won’t hear it of course. You’ll still be sleeping, expecting to wake up the next day. Poetic if you think about it.
I'll open your mouth then turn back into that wispy, misty form, then in I go.
You won’t feel it. That I promise.
I’ll go in and I’ll find the soul.
Troublesome things you know, souls. They never stay in one place and tend to get spread out around the body as the years go by. Some of it will be in the brain, that much is a given, and there’s always a big old chunk in the heart. The rest…ah that’s anyone’s guess. Each of us has our own system. Me, I’m methodical. I search every organ, every muscle, and every cell. I’m thorough. I always get all of it. Incidentally, you want to know something interesting about ghosts? That’s what happens when a less careful of my kind doesn't get all of the soul. The parts that are left behind roam the earth in a kind of never-ending limbo, most of the time not even aware they’re dead. It’s a horrible, horrible way to go.
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