by Shade, S. M.
The Dark of You
S.M. Shade
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Where To Find S.M. Shade
Acknowledgments
More By S.M. Shade
Copyright © 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Jena Brignola of Bibliophile Productions.
Cover Model: Lucas Loyola
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Chapter One
A world of red.
It’s what makes me smile every morning when I wake up. My red canopy and red sheets. Red curtains and rug. It’s my favorite color ever. My smile grows even bigger when I remember what today is. My birthday. I get to have waffles and choccy milk for breakfast, then go to the zoo!
Just me and Mama are going because Daddy has to work, and Louie has school. But tonight, Daddy and Louie will sing Happy Birthday to me. I’ll blow out candles, eat cake, and get lots of presents.
Scrambling out of bed, I pull off my pajamas and throw them on the bed. Mama laid my favorite red dress on my chair last night, and I put it on. If I hurry, I might see Daddy before he goes to work. My bare feet slap against the wooden stairs but Mama doesn’t shout for me to slow down like she usually does. I only fell down the stairs once, but that was when I was four and I’m not a baby anymore.
“Daddy?” I call, racing for the kitchen. If he hasn’t left for work, he’ll be at the table with his yucky coffee, reading the newspaper. Sometimes, he reads the Garfield comic to me, but I have to help with some of the words so I can learn to read.
Daddy isn’t in the kitchen. Neither is Mama or Louie. It doesn’t smell like coffee or bacon either. Maybe it’s super early and I’m not supposed to be awake yet. Mama and Daddy’s bedroom is at the end of the hall. If it’s too early to get up, I’ll crawl into bed with them.
The house is too quiet when everyone is asleep. I like it better when the TV is on and everything is noisy. Before I can get down the hall, the door to my parents’ bedroom opens, and I stop when I see Joey step out.
What’s he doing here? Why’s he covered in paint?
Joey’s not a grown up yet but he can drive. He babysits me and Louie sometimes.
He shuts the door behind him and looks at me. For a minute, he looks weird. Like he can’t talk or something. Then he smiles like he does when I beat him at Go Fish and walks toward me.
“Are you here because it’s my birthday?” I ask. “Are you going to the zoo with us?”
Joey squats down in front of me. “Happy birthday, Darcy. Do you want me to go with you?”
“Yes!” I cry, doing a little dance. Joey’s lots of fun. I might marry him when I get old enough. “We can feed the giraffes!”
He laughs and nods at me. “That sounds like fun.”
“I’m going to tell Mama you’re going too.” One step toward the bedroom is all I get before he grabs my arm.
“You can’t go in there right now. Your mom isn’t here, but she put your presents and birthday surprises in there. You wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise and disappoint her, would you?”
“No, I won’t go in. Where is she? Is Louie with her?”
“She had to drop Louie off at school and pick up one of your presents so I’m babysitting until she gets back. Do you want to watch some cartoons?”
Paint is splashed across his shirt and there are spots of it on his face too but I don’t think he knows. “You have paint all over you.”
Standing back up, he looks down at his clothes. “I sure do. I was helping your mom with some of the decorations and I got pretty messy.”
“It kind of smells.” He chuckles as I take a few steps back from him.
With one hand, he reaches behind him, grabs the back of his shirt, and pulls it off. He uses it to wipe at his face.
“Mama was supposed to make me waffles and choccy milk.”
Joey grins down at me. “She won’t be gone long. How about some cereal and chocolate milk? Then you can watch cartoons until she gets back.”
“Okay.”
I follow him back to the kitchen and watch as he washes the paint off of his hands, then pours me a bowl of cereal and a cup of milk. He carries them to the living room and sits them on the coffee table while I run to the TV. Bugs Bunny is on. It’s my favorite. I love when Daffy’s bill spins all the way around.
“Darcy,” Joey says, and I look up at him through a mouthful of cereal. “If I go home for just a minute to change my clothes, will you promise to stay right there? And not open your parents’ bedroom door?”
“Sure, I promise.”
With his shirt in his hand, he pauses in the doorway. “Remember, don’t go in the bedroom. Your mom will be very disappointed and it’ll ruin your birthday.”
“I won’t go in there. Cross my heart.”
He smiles at me. “You’re a good girl.”
It’s a little weird that he goes out through the back kitchen door, but my attention is drawn to Daffy. By the time I’ve eaten my cereal and finished my milk, my cartoon is over, but Joey hasn’t come back. Neither has Mama.
It sure is taking a long time. I don’t like being alone. Trying to be brave, I grab my stuffed rabbit, Nibbles, from my room and return to the couch. The only thing on TV is a loud game show and those show poppers Mama watches where people argue and kiss. Boring. Rain starts to tap on the windows while I find my coloring book and crayons. With Nibbles beside me and the game show playing, I color two pages. One for Mama and one for Daddy.
Hopping off the couch with the book in hand, I pause when I remember they aren’t here. Joey never came back. How long am I supposed to stay alone? Mama wouldn’t want me to be alone. I’m always supposed to have an adult around. Or at least Louie, even though he’s only in fourth grade.
I’m not sure what to do. I’m not allowed to go outside alone, ever. Someone could steal me. Stranger Danger. Mama always tells me that. The thought of the white telephone on the wall draws me into the kitchen. Who could I call? I don’t know what numbers to push. The only one I know is nine-one-one if I need help. That’s only if you’re hurt or need a policeman, right? I’m not hurt. I just want my mama.
Tears start running down my face. It’s my birthday. Where is everybody? Have they forgotten about me? I return to the living room and lie on the couch, holding Nibbles close until I fall asleep.
My tummy growls when I wake up. The news that Mama usually watches while I eat lunch plays on the TV. She must be home! Racing into the kitchen, I find it empty. I run to check every room in the house except for Mama and Daddy’s room.
I’m still alone. And hungry. That means I need help. Maybe the police can find Mama and tell her she forgot about me and to make me some waffles.
The phone’s too high for me to reach. The kitchen chair makes an awful squeaky noise when I scoot it over where I can stand on it to reach the buttons. “Nine, one, one,” I mumble to myself, pressing them.
A lady’s voice answers. She’s loud. It scares me, and I pull the phone away from my ear for a minute. Is she mad at me for calling? Am I going to be in trouble? “Hello,” she says again. “What is your emergency?”
What’s an emergency?
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
My voice comes out really small. “I’m hungry.”
It’s quiet for a moment before the lady says. “You’re hungry?”
“Uh-huh. Mama didn’t make me waffles. And Joey left and now no one’s here.”
“What’s your name?”
Hearing someone’s voice on the phone makes me feel better. Like I’m not by myself. Curling the cord around my fingers, I play with it as I talk. “I’m Darcy.”
“How old are you, Darcy?”
“Five. Today’s my birthday. But everybody left and I think they forgot about me.”
The lady’s nice and asks me easy questions like my address. Daddy taught me that. I’m glad I can answer her questions. She tells me that a policeman is coming to help me find my mama and to stay on the phone with her.
A pack of different colored balloons sits on the table, and when I see them, it makes me think of a TV show I watched. They had a surprise party. Everybody hid, then jumped out and yelled surprise, happy birthday! That must be what’s going on! That’s why I’m not supposed to go into the bedroom. They weren’t ready yet. But it’s been a long time. I bet everybody’s hiding in there, waiting on me.
“They might be having a party in the bedroom!” I tell the lady on the phone and then drop it, scrambling to get off the chair.
Giggling, I run down the hall. Joey said not to go in and disappoint Mama, but they must be tired of waiting by now.
The sound of the front door opening makes me pause for just a second when a man’s voice calls out that he’s a policeman. I don’t need a policeman now. Excitement makes me giggle when I grab the door handle, throw open the door and run inside.
A world of red.
I hate red.
Chapter Two
PRESENT
I can feel him watching me again.
Like a physical force against my skin, his stare prickles my spine and makes my heart race. With fear? Excitement? I’m not sure. The fact I have no idea whose scrutiny I’m sensing but find myself more curious than alarmed probably says a lot about me.
A glance around my isolated property reveals no one, as usual. The leaves of the poplar trees that line my driveway sway in the early summer breeze. They aren’t large enough for anyone to hide behind, but the two expansive black oaks that shade a good part of my yard could certainly conceal someone.
It’s tempting to go and look. To face whoever’s eyes I’ve felt on me the past few weeks, but it’s probably not the smartest choice. Instead, I get into my car, lock my doors and start down my curved driveway.
A slight tremble in my hands when I pull out onto the road makes me frown. Anxiety has been my companion for many years, but driving has only become a trigger in the last few months. Maybe because I don’t have to drive far or often since I’ve moved out to the edge of a small town. Most of my time is spent surrounded by nature.
My friend Thea didn’t like coming to my house after sunset when she visited, but I don’t understand being afraid of the forest. I love it. It wraps around the property, separating it from the rest of the world. All I feel is safety when I look around at the trees, standing like sentinels at the ready. Protecting me. Hiding me.
Though clearly not from someone.
It doesn’t escape my attention that it’s more than ridiculous to be anxious about driving, but not freak out at the thought of being followed and watched. I’ve long ago given up finding any reason in it. The things that bother most people don’t seem to affect me. Fear isn’t a common emotion for me. A bit ironic, since I write horror and true crime books, and I’m very aware of the horrible things that go on in the world.
No, thoughts of ax murderers hiding in the dark or serial killers targeting my house never get into my head the way simple things do. Like trying to put my change back into my purse when the cashier hands it to me. The feeling that the people behind me in line are just staring and waiting on me to get the hell out of the way. Using a debit card should make that unnecessary but then I’m just sweating, waiting for it to decline. As if I don’t have more money in the bank than anyone could spend in a lifetime.
Ridiculous, but it’s how it is.
It’s also why I made the decision to move out of the city and find a quiet place. Weeks can go by without a day that I have to drive anywhere. Today, there are things I need and it can’t be helped.
Tapping the button on my steering wheel, I switch to one of my favorite playlists and try to relax. Music helps. It’s the middle of a weekday and the traffic on the highway is light. The drive into the city only takes about forty-five minutes, and I’m feeling pretty good when I pull into the large shopping center.
This is where I like to come because so many stores sit side by side with each other. It’s easy to dip in and out, grabbing what I need.
First is a sporting goods store. Most of my time when it’s decent outside is spent walking or hiking. My running shoes have seen better days, and my water bottle needs to be replaced as well.
A man glances up from where he’s stocking camping gear to give me a nod. “Let me know if I can help you find something.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” After choosing a new water bottle, I try on a few pairs of shoes until I find two pairs that I like. As I’m leaving the store, it occurs to me that I’m actually enjoying this little shopping trip, even though I was dreading it when I woke up today. The drive isn’t my only issue. Being around people generally isn’t enjoyable for me, but it feels good to be out and about for a change.
My next stop is the huge, bulk item grocery store just across the parking lot. My fresh groceries come from the small store in town, but this is a great place to stock up on shelf stable foods and essentials. That’s what today is, really. A stock up trip that will allow me plenty of time before I have to do it again.
It’s busy but not overly crowded and it isn’t long before the trunk of my car is loaded down with purchases. They didn’t have the wine that I prefer so I make another stop at the nearby liquor store, making sure I have my driver’s license handy. It’s not likely I’ll get carded anymore, but even at thirty-five, it happens occasionally. The bored clerk barely spares me a glance this time.
The sky starts to darken and it looks like it might pour rain any minute while I’m depositing the wine in my back seat. It’s as good a time as any to stop for dinner, then I only have one more place to go before I have to be at the senior center.
Restaurants surround me, and I deliberate for a few minutes on whether I want to go inside to eat at a casual dining place or grab a burger and eat in my car. A text message from Thea makes the decision for me.
Thea: Call me.
It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I’ll grab some food and call her. Fast food isn’t something I indulge in much, but today it sounds good. Fat raindrops splash the windshield as the drive-thru worker hands me the bag and drink through the window. By the time I’ve parked and gotten comfortable, it’s pouring down.
I tap my dashboard screen to call Thea, and she answers on the first ring. “Hey,” she says. “Were you writing?”
“No. But you’re going to have to listen to me feed my face. What’s up?”
“I haven’t heard from you. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen into a well or gotten stuck in a tree or something.”
A snort of laughter almost m
akes me spit out my chocolate shake. “There are no wells on my property and what the hell would I be doing up a tree?”
“Girl, you’re the one who moved out to the boonies like some kind of Walden level hermit. Who knows?”
“I’m right outside of town, not living in the wilderness.”
“Still, it’s not good for you to be there alone all the time. When’s the last time you left the house?”
“Hang on.” Holding my phone up, I roll down my wet window, take a quick picture, and send it to her. “There. See. I’m not even home. I’m at the shopping center in Marion. Pigging out on a bacon cheeseburger before book club at the senior center. It’s group reading night.”
She pauses for a moment. “You really like it there, then? You plan to stay?”
“Thea, I bought a house because I plan to stay. Now, tell me what you’re up to.”
Her next words don’t come as a surprise. “I met a guy.”
Thea views being single as some sort of personal failure. It’s hard for me to understand. Her relationships never last long but she just keeps trying. No matter how often she gets screwed over. Regardless of how many times they cheat or lie or leave, she comes back for more. It’s the very definition of insanity. Yet she thinks I’m the crazy one for staying single.
I scroll through a couple of responses in my head, holding back the initial ones that sound judgmental or bitchy. “Yeah? What’s he like?”
“Oh, he’s so sexy! He’s a musician. I met him at Green’s Pub. You know the bar on sixteenth street?”
“Sure, I remember.” Green’s Pub isn’t exactly a dive bar, but maybe one step above. “Is he a singer?”