Stone's Shadow

by Martin McConnell

  “What did it say?”

  “I don't know,” he mumbled through the cushion. “I can't remember.”

  “Yes you do. I know it's hard, but think. Maybe it gave you another clue.”

  “It was licking my neck, just like it did with Serena.”

  Paul's hand stopped. Scott turned his head to look out from the couch toward the ornate carpet that must have decorated every room in the rectory. Paul's eyes followed toward the corner of the room.

  “I have an idea,” said Paul. “Stay here. You’ll be safe.”

  He strolled across the room and out the door, leaving Scott alone on the couch with the ghost of Father Kendall. His mind twisted, wondering what Paul could be up to. It didn’t take long to realize that whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He lay on his side, and his eyes drooped to a close. His breathing slowed, and he fell back into the slumber of a crashing insomniac.

  “Scott, wake up.”

  His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the brightness of sunlit windows. Paul stood over the couch with a paper grocery sack in each arm.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Long enough. Get up.” He walked across the room, away from the library, and through an arched opening.

  As he sat up, his feet fell asleep inside the sneakers that must have pinched off the blood flow during the nap. The pains of sleeping fully dressed weren’t foreign to him. With an odd sleep cycle, sometimes he didn’t know where or when he would suddenly crash. He stood up, balancing on the bed of needles under the soles of his feet, and followed the sounds of ripping paper and crunching plastic bags.

  The kitchen was clean and gleaming. A large island in the middle of the room was topped with stainless steel, and upon it were several items: mostly bottles of fluid or powders, several fresh plants from the produce section or flower shop, and an empty pickle jar.

  “Grab those purple flowers. Strip off the buds and put them in this jar.” Paul grabbed the empty vessel, and placed it on Scott’s side of the island.

  Scott stared at the sprigs of violet pods dotting the ends of slightly hairy and deep green stems. “What is all this stuff?”

  “Something that might help. We’re going to make a sort of talisman to get rid of the creature. It’ll either work or it won’t.”

  Scott plucked a bundle of flower spikes from the counter, and dangled the purple pods into the jar. He wrapped his other hand around and pulled gently to release the tiny beads from their stalks. A familiar scent filled the air, and he sniffed at his hand to realize that it was the same flower previously hanging in the sack over his bed.

  “Lavender?”

  “Yeah. You know that one, huh?”

  “Serena put some of these on my headboard. I don’t think that the shadow thing likes them.”

  “Good, then I might be right.” Paul chopped away at garlic cloves, which added a spicy odor to the air, masking the soothing smell of flowers.

  “About what?”

  Paul stopped chopping and sighed. “I don’t want to get into a bunch of details. You keep mentioning that thing licking and sniffing. I think it’s feeding off some hormone you’re releasing. If it can interact on our plane like that, then this stuff might be enough to repel it. Maybe poison it.”

  “A bunch of groceries in a pickle jar?”

  “Just get the rest of those flowers in the bottle.”

  He nodded, and scraped the remaining stragglers off of their stalks. He dropped the last of the flower pods in as Paul filled it halfway with olive oil.

  “Are we supposed to eat this when we're done?”

  “Olive oil is one of the ingredients with the quality I’m looking for. It'll act as a carrier for the other fragrances, too. Do the mint next. Tear the leaves off, and put them in that white bowl.”

  Scott glanced at a porcelain container holding a thick mixing stick. It reminded him of the symbol at the local pharmacy. He followed the instructions as Paul emptied contents from the other glass bottles into his vat of olive oil. Lemon, cinnamon, pumpkin, and even apple flavoring. Each bottle labeled organic or natural, or both. Perhaps enough nutrients to support a living brain, just like the Putnam reading in philosophy class. Maybe Paul would end up being the evil genius.

  Before he could finish filling the bowl with mint sprigs, Paul snatched it, and ground the plant material into a paste with the porcelain stick. It took only minutes. He held the bowl over the pickle jar, and wiped the mass of green gunk out with his fingers, dropping it one plop at a time.

  For a finishing touch, he produced a vial of clear liquid from his pocket and dumped it in. He screwed the lid on the jar and shook it.

  “Were those holy pickles?”

  “Short notice.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “Easy. I'm gonna get you out of here. We'll start at sundown, since you don't seem to have any problems during the day. It'll look like we're running. We get your monster to follow us out of town. Somewhere secluded. Taunt it until it shows up. Then when it moves to kill me you douse it with this stuff. If the pheromones of fear and suffering are it's lifeblood, maybe this will kill it. Or at least let it know to back off.”

  “You got all of this from that dusty book about some old castle?”

  “Mostly from your descriptions and my own theories, mixed with a dash of experience and expertise. You know? Exorcist stuff.”

  “It's the stupidest plan I've ever heard.”

  “I've seen a lot of bizarre creatures and odd cures. Sometimes it all comes down to using the right trinket, or the right word. Sounds dumb, I know, but it works. It's amazing what you can do with just a bottle of water and a blessing sometimes. These ingredients all cause the human brain to release pleasure pheromones.”

  “What’s a pheromone?”

  “Details.”

  “What is it going to do?”

  “I don’t want to get into all the science of it. To be honest, I’m not a doctor, like I told you before. I can’t prescribe medicine and my working knowledge mostly comes from a scattering of journal articles and Internet reading. But. The way you talk about it, it seems that it craves fear. Not just in an emotional sense, but that it’s interacting with actual chemicals that are spawned by fear. The chemicals these scents create are the polar opposite. Like I said, it’ll either work or it won’t.”

  “So this goes down tonight?”

  “Right at sundown. You going to be up for it?”

  “Sure.” Last night he put his faith in a new age girl with a ghost fetish. He could give Paul one last chance. The backup plan was already formulated. All he needed to do was get Paul to leave him alone for a couple of hours. It was Saturday. He could tell everyone goodbye before he left to face his fate. Luckily, Paul was so focused on his magic pickle jar that he wouldn’t be able to put the pieces together.

  “I have to go take care of some things at home.”

  “Cleaning the mess in your apartment?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Okay, whatever. Meet me back here before sundown.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Paul nodded and pulled a tiny notebook from his back pocket. He scanned it as Scott left without another comment.

  24

  Scott strolled toward his apartment, carefully considering every detail of the grand plan. Today would be his last day on earth, and he had to tie up all the loose ends, and quickly. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He had a task to accomplish, and nothing else mattered. After the monster killed Paul, he wouldn’t give it another chance. The conflict had to end tonight. Living with the creature was too unbearable. Any hope of Paul’s holy salad dressing working against it was nonexistent. There was about three seconds back at the rectory where he thought it might have a chance, but the overall outlook remained bleak.

  It’s okay. I’ll be at peace after tonight. It doesn’t matter.

  He stopped in front of the apartment, and looked up at the sky. No clouds. No threat of
rain or lighting. Just a perfect, peaceful day. He took in a long breath. His eyes closed gently as his chest filled with clean air mixed with a hint of dark roast.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  He charged up the stairs into the apartment, where he went straight to his desk. He fished through the rest of his pills, and put together a mixture he was certain would do the trick. He loaded the deadly cocktail into a single bottle, and dropped it in his jacket pocket. Buying a gun might have been more prudent, but whatever worked. He'd never purchased a firearm, and didn't know the procedure. The pills would be fine. They would be quick. They would be quiet. At least, he hoped so.

  His phone rang, and he snatched it from his pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “You come to work today?”

  “I'm sorry. I woke up late, and I'm pretty sick. I know I should have called, but I forgot.” He faked a couple coughs, and sniffled loudly. It didn't matter. He'd be dead by tonight, and if the monster had its way, so would the rest of them. Dead men don’t pay bills.

  “All right, you get better. Call me when you can come work. I reschedule.”

  His fingers rubbed against the rough, oily scar. The scab material had solidified into a coarse brown rock, and it had been a while since his last shower.

  He dropped the phone on the ground, and peeled off his shirt. The glasses came with it, but he hardly needed them to find the hot water valve. With the shower running, he stripped, and climbed in. He scrubbed over most of the scrapes and bruises without caution. Compared to the threat of dying, the aches of raw flesh were nothing. He embraced the pain. He padded around the cut with a washcloth, not because of any stinging triggers, but to keep the scab from scraping off and the wound from bleeding out.

  Once out of the shower, he stomped naked through the apartment to his chest of drawers. “Last day on Earth, Scotty. What do you want to wear?”

  Jeans, t-shirt, and a blue striped button up he'd been saving in case he ever got a date. Perfect. It was past noon; time for coffee. Down the stairs and into the shop, he greeted Maria with a smile. Giving up on life renewed his spirit. For the first time since he was a kid, he didn't have a single worry. He accepted his fate and that of the world around him. He was a master of patience and self control. He had the courage to be outgoing, and the internal voices that normally prevented human interaction were silenced.

  “Scott! Hi. Tall cap?”

  “You know it, babe.”

  “Babe?” asked a man at the other end of the counter.

  He didn’t miss a beat. He looked the overgrown hulk directly in the eye, and cheerfully commented, “Just being polite.”

  Mike shook his head, and returned his attention to the menu.

  “You sticking around for a while today? I thought you worked Saturdays.”

  “I took the day off. Told the boss I was sick.”

  “Are you?”

  “Sort of. Who knows? We could die any minute, so it really doesn’t matter. Sometimes you have to take a day for yourself. I’m leaving anyway.”

  “Leaving?”

  “Can I get one of those sandwiches, too?”

  “You’re acting weird.” Her expression turned to worry. She pushed his drink across the bar. He snatched it and sipped at the plastic top, as if he was actually trying to grow blisters on the roof of his mouth.

  He winked at Maria. “Delicious. It's a little hot.”

  “What’s going on with you? You never texted me back.”

  “I’m taking a trip tonight. And I’m happy. Can I get that sandwich please?”

  “Okay? You’ve been coming here several times a day for over a year, and you have never, ever, asked for a sandwich.”

  Scott shrugged and took another sip of the coffee. Maria paced to a glass case filled with appetizing, overpriced food. Scott followed past Mike, and pointed to one he’d been eyeballing for a while.

  “What’s up, Mike? You guys getting shit-faced tonight?”

  Mike’s eyes stayed fixed on the menu. “I dunno. Probably. Why, you coming out finally?”

  “I got something I have to do tonight.”

  “Of course.”

  “And this time, that’s not just an excuse for my social anxiety. Sorry for ducking you guys all the time. Crowds just make me nervous.”

  Mike’s eyebrow lifted as his attention turned to Scott. “Hey man, whatever makes you happy.”

  As soon as it finished warming in the toaster oven, Maria delivered the sandwich to the counter. Scott grabbed the plate and turned to Mike.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to go.”

  Mike leaned against one of the display cases to let him past as browsing customers came from the other direction. He passed the crowd, and out the door he went. The girl of his dreams sat at a table outside, behind a stack of books and a laptop, wearing a short dress. She looked up and connected eyes with him. He smiled, and she smiled back. One last chance, Scary Scott. Stop being a chicken shit.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Her smile opened and bright white teeth appeared behind her lips. “Hi.”

  His heart pumped heavily. His mind flooded with all the normal inhibiting thoughts. Internally, he told his dialogue to stuff it, and pushed himself forward. His movements didn’t feel like his own, but rather as if he were watching himself in a movie. He slid a chair back and sat down without asking permission.

  “What's that you’re working on?”

  “Just homework. Nothing important.”

  “Cool stuff. I see you here all the time.”

  “Yeah,” she laughed. “I’m a study bug.”

  “I'm here all the time too,” he said. “We should hang out.”

  “I'd love to. It's nice to see—never mind. What are you doing right now?”

  He glanced up. The sun hung high in the sky. There was plenty of time. He nodded and placed his sandwich on the table. “I'm Scott.”

  “I'm Anna. Usually you look away when I see you. I thought you were ignoring me.”

  “No. Just scared of my own shadow most of the time.” He winked.

  “What happened to your head? Did you fall down or something?”

  She hasn’t heard the rumors yet. “Yep. Fell down the steps.”

  She giggled, and his grin grew. He proceeded to talk about anything that was not demon or drug related for over an hour, until Anna realized that she needed to be at work, wherever that was.

  “It was very nice meeting you, Scott. I don't know what you're doing tomorrow, but I'll be here all day if you want to chat or whatever.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He had to know what she would say. “I'd love to. If you want to give me your number, I can call or text you and see what you’re up to.”

  “Okay. Text, if you don’t mind.”

  Like a jock in a story, he unlocked his phone and handed it to her. If it worked, awesome, and if it didn’t, there wouldn’t be enough time to worry about it. Tonight was the night. The smile on her face told him she was interested.

  See, dummy? That’s all you had to do.

  Maybe it was a sign that Paul's plan would work, one of those moments that Richard talked about, where God intervened. Or maybe it was simply the outcome when you stop being a pussy, and say “hi” when you like someone.

  He went over the plan again in his head. There was someone else he needed to talk to. It wouldn’t be right to drag her into the whole demon mess, but he wouldn’t get another chance to say something nice before departing the world.

  He walked inside the shop.

  “I thought you had places to be,” said Maria.

  “Something came up. I'm about to go, but I need a refill first.”

  Maria made him another cappuccino and handed it across the counter. “How did it go with Anna?”

  He smiled. “I'm supposed to meet her here tomorrow.”

  “Nice. She's a sweet girl, and she's always polite. You think the two of you will hit it off?”

  “I don
't know. I guess that's up to God.”

  Maria laughed. “You go to church one time, and now you're talking about God. What did they do to you?”

  “Things just, seem to be happening. Things I can't explain.”

  “So is the thing gone?”

  “Should be after tonight.” He winked. “And if it is, I might even start reading the Bible.”

  Maria smiled uneasily while shaking her head, “Just don't start thumping me over the head with your Bible.”

  “No worries on that.”

  Another coffee in hand, he walked out of the café and down the road, almost floating toward his mom's house.

  Everything looked brighter. The sky was clear blue, the flowers planted along the sidewalks in their copper pots were in full bloom, under attack from a swarm of honeybees trying to store up provisions for the winter. The air was cool and refreshing. He considered that if he had slept more, the world might always be this bright, or at least a little less gray.

  Whatever it was, the presence of God, the too brief meeting with Anna, or the sense of freedom from embracing death, possibly a hope of cheating it, nothing could shake his mood or outlook. The long walk turned into a self reflection. There was something liberating about knowing he would die, about giving up. Having just one day left made every other problem in the world seem insignificant. There was nothing to be afraid of, not embarrassment or deadly monster. He could be the person he wanted to be. Outgoing. Friendly. Happy. For one day.

  At the steps of his mom's house, his mind played back several of his earliest memories. The old neighborhood invited them in, and the daydream came naturally. Getting in trouble. Growing up. Playing in the yard by himself. The adventures of carrying a stick around like a wand, fighting imaginary dragons, talking to snails and lizards. Distant memories that colored his childhood. Even the sad one, the last time he saw his father before a deployment. He saw himself on the steps, receiving the black leather jacket, and his dad insisting that it was only a loan, and he’d be taking it back soon.