Ghost of a Shadow

by Andrea Engel

  “Of course, Mr. Finn.”

  Finn sat back and scowled. He watched Basset work, the younger man’s timid hands carefully removing their leftover lunch. Runt of the litter, can’t even grow facial hair properly. And I expected more height from you after all these years. You’ve disappointed me in every way possible, and you did it on purpose. Look at you with your perfect hair. Don’t you know it’s out of style? Finn made disapproving clucks and growls under his breath, but he couldn’t be sure whether they were inside his head or coming from his mouth.

  As Finn unconsciously changed positions, his back rounded as he rested his fists under his chin. Why doesn’t Beagle ever visit? He never used to leave my side, not since I told him to keep close. Finn didn’t look up again until he heard the door close softly.

  Finally! Some peace. I can hear myself think again. It’ll be well after dark until that imbecile returns. Basset indeed. Basset hounds are loyal and faithful dogs, but look how he’s turned out. It makes me want to wring his scrawny neck.

  Finn looked to the ceiling, his eyes narrowing. “Why did you send him to me? First you took my Beagle, and then you had the audacity to remain quiet for twenty years. Twenty! Don’t think I can’t count, Mr. Helpful. Why won’t you answer me, you big chicken? I know you said you would leave, but how could you? You were supposed to help me, thus the name!”

  As with the thousand other requests of his one-time mentor, the same reply came: silence. Finn could no longer remember the last conversation he’d had with the Voice.

  He paced. It was his nightly routine. This time he didn’t wait for dark but moved around the room quickly. He could sense there was a reason he needed this time alone. It was important. But why?

  A tone sounded inside his head like a tinkling bell: Hello, Finn.

  “What? Who’s that? You’re not Mr. Helpful!”

  You might not remember me yet, Finn, but you will in time. I’m not sure who your “Mr. Helpful” is, but I can help you.

  “I should trust you when you don’t even say who you are?”

  In time you’ll remember on your own. It wouldn’t serve any purpose for me to try to explain it. Just know that I’m here for you. I have to go; they’re coming. Good-bye for now, Finn.

  Perhaps because he was surprised by the entry of a new voice, a hatchet-like pain pierced his right temple. It was the last thing he needed, another migraine. He retrieved the aspirin from the bathroom. Back in the kitchen, he poured water from the gallon jug into his mug, which had a big F for Finn on it. He glugged it down quickly then sputtered, choked, and found that he couldn’t catch his breath. Affected, he held on to the counter for support. Lights flickered in his vision, and he couldn’t stop coughing. Water gurgled in his throat as though he were a drowning man. The flickers of light grew into a blinding flash.

  He was back in his nightmare…underwater and fighting for his life. The flashes moved to the outside. His cough eased. He was coming back to himself.

  That’s when he saw her.

  She was right outside the living-room window. Finn knelt on the couch to get a better look.

  Her braids bounced as she ran in bare feet. The girl didn’t seem to be aware of him. She looked down and plucked something from the ground. She held it up, as if for him to see. He inched closer. She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes. Hers flashed a color so bright he shielded his own. When he looked again, she was gone.

  “Wait! Come back!”

  He waited, but neither the light nor the girl returned. There was something so familiar about her. He couldn’t quite place it. “I said, ‘Wait!’

  How dare she disappear like that? Either show me what you have for me, or don’t come at all!” Who does she think she is? She has no idea who I am, clearly.

  What Finn recalled most, later, was the light that shone from her form, as if she existed in a season overlapping his own.

  What are these? From each eye, a trickle of water flowed. This experience was so far back in time that it frightened him. But Finn didn’t get scared. Not this Finn. Fear turned to anger. He grabbed the large F mug and hurled it across the room. It crashed into the corner and shattered into a half dozen pieces.

  Thump.

  Finn’s curiosity shook him from his anger. What was that?

  He moved to the corner, toward the source of the noise. Among the shards of ceramic lay a book he recognized, large and red. The closer he came, the more it was in focus. The front cover had gold letters that spelled, “RECIPES.”

  Hmm, why is this all the way over here? He had noticed Basset before with that book. Always that book. Why? Finn picked up the recipe book and walked over to his chair.

  It was a disorganized mess, filled with torn papers slipped between the book’s pages. Sloppy! This is unacceptable.

  Finn picked up one of the sheets of paper, fully expecting to find proof that one of the latest atrocities Basset called dinner was actually a recipe for wallpaper paste. But the words on the paper surprised him. There were no measurements or ingredients. Instead, Basset’s childlike handwriting was scrawled across the page.

  I been gone a long time. I don’t know how long. I know it not summer. It is colder. I miss Mr. Frank and Miss Marj. I have to be careful he does not find my notes. Miss Marj told me I need to write about me and always show her so she knows how I am doing. I like to write. It makes me not alone.

  “Those idiots. Do I really need to read about them? I think not, Basset. Let’s see what else you have to say for yourself.”

  Mr. Finn keeps calling me “Beagle.” I don’t know why, but he gets really mad at me. He punishes me. He hurts me with that hickory switch. I am sorry I did something to make him so mad. I don’t want to. I try to do everything he asks and be a good boy, but he still gets so mad at me. I think he hates me.

  Finn knitted his brow as he moved on to the next slip of paper in the book.

  Mr. Finn said he is going to teach me how to earn an honest living. He said people need to get rid of their things, and we are helping them. I told him it is stealing, and he smacked me hard across the face. I will do what Mr. Finn wants me to. I don’t want him to hit me again. He is very strong.

  “That’s right, Basset. I am strong, and you will do everything I tell you to do, like the obedient puppy you are.”

  I am small enough to fit into the bathroom windows that people leave open. I can also get through the basement windows. This pleases Mr. Finn very much. He said I make a good assistant, and he will let me stay.

  A slight smile hit Finn’s face but quickly vanished as soon as it appeared.

  “Okay, I’ve had enough of these strewn-about pages. Do I have to read every piece of nonsense you spit out?” Finn went over to the garbage can under the sink. He opened the book all the way and shook it over the bag. Roughly three dozen slips of paper freed themselves and fell into the trash. “That’s better. Organization, Beagle. B…Ba…Basset. Organization, Basset. We must be orderly at all times,” and his voice broke off.

  Finn, unnerved by his mention of that name, returned to his seat and shakily opened the now-tidy book.

  November 13: We’ve settled into a cabin in the Ozark Mountains. Mr. Finn says we have enough money now after fourteen years of helping people get rid of their things. Mr. Finn told me today was my twenty-first birthday. I know it’s not my birthday for real, but whatever Mr. Finn tells me is correct. I like this date much better anyway. It suits me just fine. It was hard for me to keep track of the days since he never let me out of his sight. Mr. Finn told me that since I am so loyal, he will teach me how to drive and let me go to the store alone. That is how I got this recipe book. It feels good to write in a real book and not on whatever pieces of paper I can find. He says I am his most trusted servant ever, and I am. I would never leave Mr. Finn. I do my best not to anger him, but sometimes I can’t help it. He still calls me “Beagle” every now and then, and that’s when he hurts me. I know he doesn’t mean to. I know he doesn’
t want to hurt me. I know it’s all my fault. I will never leave Mr. Finn.

  “I’m getting bored.” Finn flipped through the next few pages.

  August 16: Mr. Finn hasn’t left the cabin since we got here. I am worried for him. I hear him talking to himself. Asking questions to no one. I am afraid for him. I try my best to stay out of his way. I try to cook him new things to cheer him up, but that only makes him madder. I only want to please him. I don’t like when he isn’t happy.

  “What drivel. You do as I say, and everything will be in perfect order. All this thinking will only get you into trouble.”

  Finn flipped to the last written page.

  November 6: Today makes six years since we came to live in the mountains. I don’t mind not having anyone but Mr. Finn. In fact he tells me I prefer it, so I do. I worry about Mr. Finn all the time. He still won’t go outside. He still is very angry at me, but I love him very much, so I must try harder to please him. I heard Mr. Finn talking in his sleep last night. Someone was chasing him. He kept telling her to leave him alone. I can’t remember her name, but he sounded afraid.

  It was after dark, but Finn hadn’t bothered to turn on any of the lights. He sat in one of the worn armchairs in the corner of the living room, the recipe book in hand, and waited.

  The cabin door creaked open, and he almost smiled when Basset flipped on the switch and jumped, dropping the car keys.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Finn?” Basset whispered as he took a step backward.

  “Come in. Close the door, Basset. You look as if you’re about to leave again.”

  “No, I was just taken by surprise, and then I saw you had my book.”

  “You mean our book?” Finn asked, as he fanned the pages from front to back before closing it sharply. “Yes, it makes for a highly unusual read. One thing, though, my loyal ward, you will never keep anything secret from me again. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Finn. I will never do it again.”

  “Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement. I see no need to punish you…this time.” Finn smacked the switch on the floor. “You will make my dinner now. I have to head out for a few hours. They’re calling to me, Beagle.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Stuck on You

  I can’t move. What’s going on? Trying not to panic, Sadie looked around as best she could, only able to use her peripheral vision.

  I’m stuck. I’m stuck in this doorway. Where am I? I can hardly think. Wait, I’m on the wall. No, no, I’m…I’m the door. How can I be the door? I’m dreaming. This must be a dream.

  Wake up, Sadie. Come on! Wake up!

  I must…pull…out of this.

  With all the power she could muster, Sadie willed herself and pushed. One shoulder emerged from the flat plane, but it didn’t feel like her shoulder. It felt like a thick piece of plastic coming off in a section. She remained connected to the door, but at least she had one shoulder free.

  Keep going, she urged herself. Push harder.

  She grunted and pushed as hard as she could. She couldn’t remember ever having to exert so much energy for anything in her life. She felt like a fly trapped on sticky paper.

  Her head broke free, followed by her arms and the rest of her upper body. As each limb escaped the archway, a sound like a plucked rubber band echoed in the room.

  Okay. Right leg out. She was still connected but in sections, like origami unfolding. She had one more leg to free. Okay, puuhhh…lll. Pull!

  Free, I’m finally free!

  Her relief quickly evaporated.

  Something’s still not right. I can’t stand up…I can’t catch my balance…I’m falling.

  Sadie swung her body around and slammed into the wall.

  Holy crap, I’m flat!

  She lifted a hand from the wall and examined her two-dimensional fingers.

  Panic set her heart racing. She tried to lift her head, but every muscle in her body screamed with fatigue. I’m so tired. I need to rest.

  No, Sadie, Gramma Rose’s voice whispered in her ear. There’s no time to rest.

  But I’m so tired.

  Sadie, I know you can do this.

  Okay, Gramma. I’ll try. Just tell me what to do.

  Push slowly. Slowly off the wall.

  But I’ll fall!

  No, you won’t, honey. Trust me.

  Sadie nodded then slowly pushed off, and as she came away, she started to come back into her whole body. The flatness of her arms and legs began to expand like a slowly filling balloon.

  Clapping. She heard slow, exaggerated clapping. And then his voice.

  “Very strong, girl. Very strong indeed. No one’s ever escaped before.”

  Sadie turned toward the voice but didn’t have to see to know who it was. A set of scarlet eyes stared out of the darkness.

  She shivered. “Gramma, help me.”

  Then she was back in her bed.

  Sadie closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Her pulse galloped, but she was home; she was safe. “Thank you, thank you, Gramma. Do you know that man with the strange eyes? Please tell me!”

  No one answered.

  “Gramma?”

  She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was just after two in the morning.

  With another sigh, she flipped on the light. “There’s no way I’m going back to sleep tonight. I might as well read.”

  She fetched Matilda from the shelf and crawled back under the covers. Eventually her body relaxed, and somewhere between pages forty and forty-one, she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  It Was the Weirdest of Times

  “Good morning, Sadie,” said Mom’s sideways head. “You up?”

  Sadie sat up with her signature yawn-and-stretch combo. “Mom, you’re freaking me out. I had the weirdest dream, and you kind of look like it. Will you come in already?” She put the book she’d been reading the night before on the nightstand and checked the clock. “Geez, Mom,” she groaned, and fell back onto the pillows. “It’s Saturday…and not even seven a.m.”

  Mom stepped into the room. “Well, your school dance is in a few weeks, so I thought we’d go shopping for your dress today. Paper says they’re having a sale at the mall.”

  “Yeah, about the dance…I’m not sure I should go.”

  “What? I thought you were excited about it, and besides, I think it’s a fantastic idea for you to get out there again. You can’t stay holed up in your room all the time. It isn’t healthy.”

  “But there’s too many things that can go wrong, Mom.”

  “There’s a lot that can and will go right. Don’t be so negative.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. Don’t be negative? That’s rich coming from her. She has no idea what’s going on at school. I would have told her, but that would actually mean having a conversation with her about something important. And she might not take me seriously anyway.

  “Look, Mom, I don’t even know how to slow dance. What if somebody asks me? I’ll make more of a fool of myself than I already do.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll teach you.”

  “You? That’s funny. You’re going to teach me? I don’t think I can handle that.”

  “Oh, come on, Sadie. It’ll be fun. We hardly spend any time together anymore.”

  Sadie thought about: a) spending so much time with Mom; b) slow dancing with Mom; c) having to talk to Mom; d) having Mom try to teach me something; and e) ugh. Do I really have a choice? Sigh. If I’m going, I really do need to learn how to dance.

  “Fine. I guess I don’t have a choice. You can teach me.”

  Mom crossed her arms. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you don’t want me to teach you, then just say so. There are a thousand other things I can do with my time.”

  “Oh, come on, Mom. I’m sorry.” Sadie sat up and tried to look contrite. “Will you help me…please?”

  Mom hesitated for half a second before offering a genuine smile. “Yes! I’d be
delighted to help. Now get up and get dressed. The stores open at ten, and I want to be there as soon as they do.”

  The ride to the mall was uneventful and thankfully absent of any conversation. At the first store, Teen Blitz, they made a beeline for the sales rack. Within minutes Sadie knew the sale was a bust, but Mom wouldn’t be deterred.

  Half an hour later, they were back in the car with the best of the worst wrapped in plastic and draped over the backseat.

  “You could say, ‘Thank you,’ you know, Sadie. I was only trying to be helpful in a budget-conscious way.”

  “I had no idea my choices would be limited to peach lace or gray stick-to-my-body microfiber!”

  “I said we could go to the next store on my list if you weren’t happy.”

  “Let’s forget it, okay? I’m happy with the gray, Mom. Honestly.”

  “When we get home, we’ll get started on the dance lessons.”

  “Great,” Sadie replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

  “You can’t put a time limit on these things, Sadie. Let’s just get started, okay?”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Once they were home, with the dismal, hip-hugging gray dress hung safely in her closet, Sadie dragged herself to the living room. Mom had pushed the couch and coffee table to the back wall to clear a space for them to dance.

  “So first, you and your partner are going to face each other. Well, you’ll face me for now. Then there’s a certain etiquette that you observe…just a way of behaving on the dance floor. Always introduce yourself and thank your partner.”

  “Um, Mom, most of us have been going to school together for how many years now? I think I would already know my partner, and he would know me, so I think we can skip that part.”

  “Okay, then forget about that. Now you’re ready for the four hand placements—one: palm to palm; two: palm to shoulder blade; three: elbow to elbow; and four: palm to neck. In addition to that, there are five foot positions, six dance positions, seven essential dance steps, and eight directional possibilities…and don’t get me started on leading!”