Stone's Shadow

by Martin McConnell

  He sat like a zombie through classes. His professors lectured about their self-created artificial realities, while their thoughts bounced off him like raindrops. Words on the page blurred in the stagnant air of looming death. Walking from class to class, he moved in slow motion compared to the rest of the world. A scattering of clouds returned to the sky, tarnishing the soft blue coloring.

  His skin tingled with numbness. He wasn’t afraid of dying. Death was liberation. Nothing could possibly affect him after that thought entered his mind. Not stupid customers, not the chilly air, and certainly not another couple of pills. He shook the bottle as he pulled it from his pocket, popped the cap off, dumped the remaining few capsules, and tossed it. The college hired people to clean the quad, it was only right to ensure that they stayed employed. There, feeling the hand of death around every corner, he accepted his fate. The monster would take him, no matter what he did. He still planned on doing something about it, but it was no longer worth the worry. In the end, the monster would win, no matter what he did to try and stop it.

  The world split into two parts: Scott’s reality, and the rest of the universe. As an introvert, it wasn't a new feeling. He often lived in his own world, trying to ignore other people, and hoping they would leave him alone. This new feeling was only a natural consequence of that precursor. His internal organs hollowed. Like being hungry, but not wanting to eat. The world he could see and touch wasn’t real. Nothing was real.

  And this was where he found himself, walking tormented beneath a darkening sky toward the final class of the day, surrounded by the soothing staccato of raindrops and woodwind breezes that rustled leaves to accent the percussion section of thunderous bass drums rumbling in the distance. He wondered if the rain would ever stop, or whether the sky would make up its mind for rain or shine.

  The lecture went the same as the others, the professor throwing words at his shield of apathy. He paged through the textbook, reading to himself instead of listening.

  All of the answers are in the book anyway, not on this guy’s whiteboard.

  When his time in the stiff plastic chair expired, the professor told them the weekend assignment. The pages he'd already read were included. He stacked his books and tucked them under his arm. At the entrance of the liberal arts building, he saw more rain through the window. Tiny droplets fell in assault waves with breaks between each front. He waited while flicking a rain-soiled business card between his fingers, and after a while, took an open chair in the entrance area of the building, watching as other students opened umbrellas before venturing into the storm.

  He stacked his schoolbooks on the chair beside him and pulled the cell phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his contact list, looking for Serena, when a number he didn't recognize called him.

  “Hello?”

  “Scott. This is Paul. We met in the rectory the other night.”

  Maybe this was a sign from God. Maybe it wasn’t Paul the exorcist, but Paul the harbinger of death.

  “I've done some research, do you have time to meet?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. I compiled all the records I could find on something like you are talking about. All the symptoms of a shadow creature, but attacking people. Has the thing actually grabbed you or tried to get at your chest?”

  “No. If I keep my eyes closed, it leaves me alone.”

  “That's odd by itself. Has it physically harmed you in any way?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think it got someone else last night.”

  “Someone else?”

  “Another guy I was talking to about it. When I left his house last night, I heard a scream. I think he’s dead.”

  He scanned for eavesdroppers.

  “I'm at the rectory now. If you drop by, we can talk some more.”

  He glanced outside. The rain faded to a drizzle. He suspected that Paul might call the police, but he really had nowhere else to go. I didn’t do anything. They can’t blame me for it. And even if they do, who cares?

  “I can meet you there in about ten minutes.”

  “Okay. I'll be waiting.”

  18

  Scott’s hunger overcame him. He grabbed a couple of quick tacos, and ate on the way. It was the first time he’d eaten since sneaking a couple of the hot-rolled taquitos from the junk food rollers at the gas station. He approached the rectory and rapped on the door. When it opened, Paul invited him inside. He half expected to see uniformed officers waiting to arrest him for the death he ran from. Paranoia is an unwanted side effect of guilt.

  “Father Kendall said he's been hearing a lot of strange reports from his flock. Crazy things. You aren't the only one seeing ghosts this week.”

  “That's good to know.”

  “That's good?” Paul's eyebrows twisted. “Most of the sightings have happened over the industrial part of town. People are claiming everything from dark angels to UFOs. Whatever descended on this town, it’s not here to make friends.”

  “What did your research turn up?”

  Scott glanced around. The place appeared empty. Paul didn’t answer. Instead, he turned toward the library, and Scott followed.

  The fire must have run day and night. Fake gas logs were good for that. He warmed his hands near the flickering heat source.

  “Sit down. This isn't going to be easy to digest,” said Paul. He took a seat by the fire and waited for Scott to follow his lead. “You ever heard of the Black Bird of Chernobyl?”

  “Never.”

  “Figures. Nineteen eighty-six. There was a meltdown at a nuclear power plant in the Ukraine, causing the worst nuclear energy disaster on record. For almost a month prior to the incident, people reported seeing a dark, headless, winged figure with red eyes. Same thing at Silver Bridge in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, nineteen sixty-eight. They called that one Mothman. There's been some other reports, but most of them are sketchy. They still might be connected. The church was investigating several hauntings about a year ago in South America. A month later, the town with the offending spiritual entities was buried under a lava flow. You probably heard of that one.”

  Scott nodded, remembering seeing something about a volcanic disaster on social media.

  “As far as I can tell,” he continued. “Whatever happened in those places. It’s happening again, here. I mean, disaster doesn’t occur in every case of these dark shadow sightings, but for whatever reason, they seem to be attracted to disaster areas.”

  “So we’re going to have a volcano?”

  “Cute. No. But, there have been other incidents around the world. Each of them featuring these harbingers of impending disaster, almost one for every disaster you've heard of, but all of the reports differ slightly.” His hands moved as he talked, emphasizing each point in the same fashion Landers used. “Sometimes lights. Sometimes animals. Screaming sounds at night. And the ones that were investigated more deeply always contained a mixture of different supernatural events. I think that's why there's no obvious connection between them. Each person sees something different, but when a lot of sightings start in one place, the general rule of thumb is be somewhere else.”

  “So this thing is trying to tell us there's a disaster coming?”

  “I think it’s possible, yes. And with all the reports, I'm betting it's going to be quite a show.”

  “People normally see these things, but they don’t attack?” His patience wavered. This guy was busy chasing ghosts and he had a real threat looming. “What the hell do they have to do with me then?”

  “During the events leading to the Point Pleasant disaster, bodies were found frozen in the woods.”

  A chill shook Scott’s spine as he recalled his night freezing on the sidewalk.

  “Deaths and sightings go hand in hand. Heart attacks, brain aneurysms, odd looks on the faces of the dead, eyes always open. There have been a number of theories about the deaths. Suicide, dumb luck, coincidence, even that some of the r
eports were faked to drum up attention to the quiet little town after the fact, and never really happened. Ever since the movie came out, that town turned into a tourist trap for ghost chasers, and new ‘never before released reports’ have come to light. People get silly over stuff like this. The facts get distorted. But we can’t ignore the connection. You may be the only person seeing an attacking shadow, but I think that entity is part of something bigger. And those red eyes you mentioned. There’s at least one similar report in every single event.”

  “So, we leave town as soon as possible and it should be over, right?”

  “Not that simple. I need to keep sending reports off to my colleagues, so I can document as much as possible, and that includes events surrounding you. Besides, this could all be a coincidence. Obviously, disaster-related sightings are going to get more weight than others. They get investigated more. For all I know, that creature of yours has nothing to do with the other sightings, but it’s hard to discount the connection. We stay.”

  “No. If I can get out of here and lose that thing—”

  “Then it’ll follow you. What happened to your friend? You said he was dead.”

  “I never said he was my friend.”

  “What happened?”

  “He’s just this former drug-addict turned asshole. For all I know, the guy was trying to pull something on me.” As he spoke, the truth became clear in his mind. Richard was up to something, and he probably didn’t have Scott’s safety in mind. He probably faked the whole thing. “He threatened me the other day, and asked why I wasn't dead yet, after overhearing my description of the monster in a coffee shop. He said when he saw it last, the drugs he was on kept him safe, but everyone around him started dying. While I was leaving his house last night, I heard him scream.”

  “You didn't see the creature take him?”

  “No. Just a scream. I freaked, and ran. He probably planned the whole thing that way.”

  “Where does he live? Maybe we should go see him, just to be sure.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “If he was attacked—What's his name?”

  Scott’s mind feuded with itself. Each passing thought that Richard was playing a trick on him added credibility to the idea. There would be no police, because there was nothing to investigate. Just a jackass trying to scare poor little Scott Stone.

  “His name’s Richard. Look, this is a great history lesson and all, but how does this help me get rid of the thing?”

  “I’m working on it.” His face was as unrelenting as ever, and he obviously hadn’t shaved since their last meeting. “I know that isn’t what you want to hear, but I think you should probably crash over here tonight. In all the records I can find, nobody has ever been successful at getting rid of one of these creatures. You’re in a lot of danger.”

  “Richard said it quit hunting him after he was hit by a car.”

  “If you stay here, I’ll do what I can to protect you. But I don’t think there’s any charm or incantation that’s going to run it off. You’re an anomaly. I think the lethality of this thing is such that it doesn’t leave much of a paper trail. I don’t think they like us knowing about them, that’s why it’s tormenting you. It couldn’t take you at first, for whatever reason, and now it’s determined to drown you in your own fear. It’s haunting you to keep itself out of the newspapers.”

  “Or it’s toying with me.”

  “Either way. I don’t—” One of his eyebrows dropped, as if some kind of human pain finally infiltrated his cold skin. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

  “Or maybe it doesn’t give a crap either way, and it’s just antagonizing me for amusement. Everyone else does. Thanks, but if that’s all the help you can give me—there’s somewhere I need to be.”

  “The door’s open, just so you know. You don’t have to go back to that apartment, and most of these creatures don’t like being surrounded by crosses and holy water. This place is a sanctuary if you need it.”

  Scott wandered back toward his apartment, determined to do something about the problem. Tired of being scared and helpless, he gave Serena another try.

  Her magic shop was open, and he walked in as another customer left. She looked normal enough, a young girl clutching a paper bag filled with who knows what. He held the door for her, and then stepped into a vacant shop. Serena was behind the counter, scribbling something in a notebook.

  “Scott,” she said. “How did you sleep last night?” She folded the book, and placed it under the counter.

  “I didn't. It happened again.”

  “Okay. We should definitely do a ritual at your place then. I can come over tonight if you like.”

  “You should know, I might have an immunity to the monster, but you don't. If it attacks you—”

  “Pish. Nothing's going to happen to me. Can I meet you at the coffee shop later? I’ll close this place up in about an hour and head that way.”

  “Okay.”

  “I'll see you there.”

  He walked back to the apartment, holding his books against his stomach. He began to acclimate to the pains running through his body, and tried to ignore the shadows dancing on the street and the glitches in his peripheral vision.

  He searched for happier things to think about, and daydreamed about the blond-haired girl at the coffee shop. He told himself that this would all be a distant memory very soon. Serena would figure out a way to kill the monster, or it would kill them both. He cared less about life, and more about putting a stop to his own madness. He didn’t have time for Paul’s investigation.

  Serena had to know what she was doing. If she had a doubt, she would have mentioned it. She had probably done this before, a billion times. It was time to pony up and let her do what she did best. He promised himself that if she got rid of the monster, he would frequent her shop and spend every extra penny he had, buying all of her junk. For the first time he could remember, he actually wanted to trust another human being. He wanted to put faith in someone, or something. This job was beyond anything he could do on his own. He hoped that she was the expert he needed. If nothing else, she was confident.

  As the apartment and coffee shop appeared in the distance, a bright light drifted across the skyline. The blazing green ball crept from east to west, leading a bright tail, and lighting up the sky around it. It was far too bright to be a plane. Maybe one of the UFOs that people keep talking about? Whatever it was, it disappeared over the buildings in less than a minute. Maybe it was a sign. Then again, maybe it was just a stupid meteor. Are meteors green?

  The coffee shop grew larger, and something scurried across the road in the dark. Animal? Monster? It didn't matter. He entered the building, his heart rate increased with every step up the stairs. He started talking to himself.

  “What if it knows we’re trying to kill it?”

  “What if it gets mad?”

  “What if it’s been following me all day, and I’m playing right into its trap?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said to his closed door. “This ends now.”

  He pushed his door open with conviction, tossed his books onto the bed, and fell into his computer chair, spinning toward the laptop. He flicked it open and scrolled through the recent social media list, reading all the posts he would never be tagged in. Everyone in town was seeing aliens and men in black, while he was nearly on a first name basis with the demon. His email box contained a couple homework assignments. His instructors insisted on sending them every weekend as a reminder. He couldn’t remember anything being assigned. Maybe they decided to add homework after class was out, or his lack of attention made him disregard them earlier.

  It was just past nine o'clock. The night was still young. He popped two anxiety pills and dry-swallowed them. He stormed out without stopping to check for monsters.

  His focus shifted to the coffee shop patrons, and his heartbeat returned to normal. Through the glass, there was no sign of Richard. He instead spotted a colorful scarf of yellow an
d pink under a mass of curly blond hair. He entered, and went straight for it. He must have spent more time surfing the Internet than he thought.

  He passed the table, sliding his fingers along the edge until he spun into the open chair across from Serena. He leaned forward, propping his arms on the orange slab of a table, unsteadying it. Serena grabbed her cup before it could spill or slide off, almost as if she saw the wobble coming.

  “Sorry about that.” He leaned below, holding the tabletop steady with one hand while unscrewing the leveling foot under one leg.

  When he sat up, he leaned close and whispered, “You should know. I'm pretty sure that whatever it is we are about to get rid of already killed someone.”

  “Killed?” It was the first time he spotted worry in Serena’s eyes.

  He couldn’t make up his mind on the issue, but it would have been wrong not to warn her. “I'm pretty sure. I met someone who claimed to know about the monster, and after I left his house, I heard a scream. Haven't seen him since, and he's usually in here. He usually sits right over there, almost every night.” He nodded toward Richard’s normal spot: an empty table.

  Another presence appeared beside him. It slid a tall cappuccino beside his elbow. His eyes darted toward the cup, then up.

  “Nice to see you talking to someone. You're wound is healing up, too.” Her attention turned to his guest. “Hi. I'm Maria.”

  “Serena.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  The two of them shook hands, and Maria continued. “Any friend of Scott's is a friend of mine.”

  Maria turned to Scott and winked as she strolled back to the counter.

  “That’s one of my friends. My only real friend. She's a very nice person, but she can be extra chatty sometimes.” He noticed the conversation pulling itself away from the matter at hand, and redirected. “You aren't worried about this thing killing someone? That doesn't bother you?”