Shadow People

by James Swain

  “No one,” Munns said.

  “That’s a bunch of bull. I had a look. Someone’s been living in there.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No? Have a look, see for yourself.”

  Jucko had not lowered the bolt cutters, and Munns stepped around him while keeping his distance. He brought his face to the open door of his unit, and gazed into the darkened interior. Inside were six stainless-steel footlockers stored on the rack of a metal shelving unit. Inside each footlocker was the body of one of his victims. One of the footlockers had fallen from its spot, and lay broken on the concrete floor. Light streamed down from the gaping hole in the ceiling. Jucko had been correct in his assumption that the hole had been created from within. But by who? Or what? Munns couldn’t be sure. He started to slide the door shut and felt a hand on his arm.

  “What the hell are you keeping in those footlockers?” Jucko demanded.

  “That’s none of your business,” Munns said.

  “Everything’s my business.”

  Jucko pushed him to the side before Munns could reply. Sliding back the door, he entered the unit, and flipped over the broken footlocker lying on the floor. A corpse wrapped in plastic tumbled out, and Jucko used the bolt cutters to cut away the plastic shroud. A skeletal face stared up at him. It was Edie, Munns’s last victim. She had cursed Munns as he strangled her to death, and the invective was slow to leave her face.

  “It’s a dead woman,” Jucko said in horror. “What kind of monster are you?”

  Munns’s gun was tucked in his belt behind his back. As he reached for it, Jucko swung the bolt cutters up from the floor and their blades brushed his face. Warm blood ran down Munns’s cheek and his vision blurred. His hands covered the bleeding wound.

  Jucko reached behind Munns’s back, and relieved him of his gun. Dropping it in his pocket, he triumphantly rested the bolt cutters on his shoulder. “I should kill you. Save the state the trouble of locking you up. Now get on your knees, or I’ll bust your head open.”

  “I thought we had a deal,” Munns blurted out.

  “I ain’t making no deals with the Devil. On your knees.”

  Munns’s neck began to burn. The sensation started at the shimmering tattoo, and spread straight up his neck and into his brain like so much bad poison sent from below.

  “No,” Munns said.

  “What did you say?” Jucko declared.

  “I’m not kneeling to you, or anyone else.”

  For reasons Munns could not explain, he no longer felt afraid of Jucko. In his mind, he saw himself taking Jucko outside the shed and dismembering him in the parking lot, the old man’s blood staining the pavement and spoiling an otherwise perfect day.

  Munns’s hands were burning as well. He brought them up to his face to have a look. The skin was turning a sickening black, and his fingernails had grown into talons. A sound escaped his lips that was not human.

  “Jesus H. Christ. What in God’s name are you?” Jucko whispered.

  The bolt cutters hit the floor. Jucko looked like he might cry. The presence of the Devil did that to some people. Munns backed Jucko into the corner, put his hands around Jucko’s throat, and lifted him clean off the floor. Then he carried him outside into the parking lot.

  Jucko begged for mercy, and Munns squeezed the words as they came out of his throat. Munns had been tortured as a child, and every person in town knew it, including Clyde Jucko. Mercy was the last thing on his mind.

  Munns drew the Swiss Army knife from his pocket, and flicked open the blade. Before his eyes, it grew into a gleaming sword. He released his grasp on Jucko, and let him stand on his own. In one swift motion, he cut off the old man’s head. One quick slice was all it took, and the disembodied corpse hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

  Jucko’s head rolled for several yards before coming to a stop. The old man’s eyes were blinking wildly, like he didn’t know he was dead yet. A screech of brakes shattered the stillness. Ray’s black van pulled into the parking lot, and the tattoo artist jumped out. Ray started to approach, saw Munns, and started backing up, as if he didn’t know who Munns was.

  “Doc, is that you?” he asked.

  “Who do you think it is?” Munns barked.

  Ray opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked terrified. In all their time together, Ray had never shown fear. It was not a quality he seemed to possess, until now.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Munns demanded.

  “You don’t know?” Ray asked.

  “No. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Ray went to the van and bent the side mirror so Munns could see his own reflection. The image staring back did not look real. Munns’s clothes were shreds, and he’d been transformed into a hulking demon with horns coming out of his skull, rapierlike fangs, and a ridge of spikes running the length of his spine. The most recent tattoo Ray had inked on his skin had come to life, and now stood ready to do battle with whichever enemies stood in his way.

  A coarse laugh escaped Munns’s lips. Surtr had risen.

  24

  Peter got out of the cab in front of Holly’s apartment wondering what a gargoyle on steroids looked like. Not the kind of date to spend Friday night with, that was for sure. At least he’d have Garrison backing him up when he confronted the thing.

  He entered the lobby, and searched for Holly’s name on the intercom. He had always envied Holly for making it into Columbia. It was New York’s best school, and one of the finest in the country. His own college experience had consisted of a single semester at CCNY, where he’d majored in not falling asleep in class before being thrown out.

  He sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if he’d stayed in school, and gotten a degree. Perhaps he would have become a doctor or a lawyer. He would have made a hell of an attorney, especially during a cross-examination. No one was going to keep any secrets from him! But that was just an idle daydream. He’d wanted to be a magician for as long he could remember. It was his calling, as strange as that sounded.

  Right as he found Holly’s listing, he got a call from Liza. How strange that she’d call just as he entered Holly’s building.

  “When are you coming home?” she asked.

  “Soon. I’ve been running some errands,” he replied.

  “You could have called, you know.”

  “I thought you wanted to have a quiet afternoon by yourself.”

  “You leave in the company of an FBI agent. Then I don’t hear from you for three whole hours. You could be a little more considerate.”

  “Sorry.”

  “How did it go with Garrison?”

  “It was a strange morning. It appears there’s more than one shadow person in the city. The FBI has tapes of them inside Grand Central Terminal. It’s like an invasion.”

  “Eeek! What do the shadow people want?”

  “Me.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re scaring me.”

  “All right. They want you.”

  “You’re not funny. So, where are you now? Can you talk for a minute?”

  It did not seem the right time to be telling his girlfriend that he was about to enter another woman’s apartment to give her a piece of jewelry. He stepped out of the lobby onto the sidewalk, and cupped his hand over his ear to block out the street noise. “I can talk.”

  “I called Dr. Sierra,” Liza said. “He’s very disturbed by what you told him this morning. He’s afraid you could hurt yourself when you go into one of your states. He wants to help you.”

  “Hurt myself how?”

  “By doing something awful, and then later being held accountable for it.”

  “Like nearly burning down the restaurant this morning.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did you tell him what happened?”

  “No. I was going to let you do that.”

  Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. The moment of truth had finally arrived. “You
think I should tell him what happened at the restaurant?” he asked.

  “Yes, I do. Dr. Sierra said he could fit us in tomorrow morning.”

  “That soon, huh?”

  “He wants us to meet a colleague of his named Hunsinger. Dr. Sierra said that Hunsinger has dealt with people who have problems just like yours. Dr. Sierra put in a call to Hunsinger, and he’s agreed to meet with us.”

  “He spoke with Hunsinger before you called?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  Something inside of him snapped. It must have shown in his face, for a man walking toward him on the sidewalk stepped into the gutter and immediately crossed the street.

  “Dr. Sierra promised not to talk to anyone about us. Remember?”

  “You’re losing your temper. Calm down,” Liza said.

  The demon lurking inside of him never truly went to sleep. It was always simmering just below the surface, ready to attack like a vicious watchdog. “He betrayed me.”

  “Dr. Sierra consulted Hunsinger for advice,” she said. “He’s trying to help, and you’re putting handcuffs on him.”

  “He deserves a lot worse than handcuffs.”

  “That’s not funny. Stop talking like that.”

  Betrayals were the Devil’s playthings. They started wars, ruined marriages, and brought out the worst in mankind. A betrayal had taken his parents’ lives, and forever altered his own. He would make Sierra pay for this indiscretion, even with Liza in the room. Looking up into the sky, he let the warm sunlight bathe his face, and felt his anger recede, if only a little.

  “I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.

  “Will you go see him tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I’ll go see him.”

  “Thank you for doing this. Are you mad?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You sound mad. Please don’t be. It’s for the best.”

  He loved Liza more than anything in the world. Yet there were times when she made him so angry, he wanted to scream. Saying good-bye, he ended the call.

  * * *

  Holly was in her apartment. She sounded happy to hear his voice, and buzzed him in.

  He took a creaky elevator to the ninth floor. Once upon a time, he’d loved Mondays. It was the day he used to escape his problems. Now it seemed like all he was doing was confronting them. The elevator rumbled to a stop. He got out, and walked down a narrow hallway to a door painted a muted black.

  Holly lived by herself. Most psychics did. He was one of the lucky ones, although he wasn’t sure how long that was going to last. He and Liza seemed to be growing further apart with every conversation. It was like slipping down a cliff.

  He tapped lightly. No answer. He tapped a little harder. To his surprise, the door opened by itself. People didn’t leave their doors unlocked in New York, not even in the best apartment buildings. He stuck his head in. “Holly?”

  Nothing. He entered and shut the door behind him. Holly lived in a large studio with a sweeping westerly view of the Hudson River. The walls and ceilings were painted black, while thick white candles decorated the bookshelf and coffee table. A haunting violin solo played over the music system. He looked around the room, not seeing her.

  “It’s Peter. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Growing up, Holly had loved to play hide-and-seek. She’d make herself disappear in her aunt’s vast apartment, and Peter would have to search for her. She’d always squealed when he’d discovered her hiding in the closet, or under a bed. That had been the best part of the game.

  A voice shattered the stillness. “Who’s that?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Here.”

  He walked around the couch. Holly lay on the cushions, her eyes half open, as if in a daze. She wore jeans and a tight T-shirt that exposed her midriff and accentuated her breasts. Her dark hair lay seductively on a pillow, and her lips were painted a hot pink. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her dressed like that before. She did not look like the woman he knew.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her eyelids fluttered. “I think so.”

  “You didn’t get visited by a shadow person, did you?”

  “I think I would have known that. I’m just a little light-headed. Get me some water, would you? I’m dying of thirst.”

  The kitchen was the size of a phone booth. He ran the tap until the water was chilled, then filled a glass and brought it to her. She was sitting up and smiling.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and sipped the water. He sat down on the edge of the couch so they were a few feet apart. He noticed a large vase of water sitting on the coffee table. Beside it, a pouch of magic herbs. “You’ve been scrying on me again, haven’t you?” he said bluntly.

  “Yes, I have,” she admitted without a hint of shame. “I got scared on Friday night during the séance. You were lying there on the floor in my aunt’s apartment, twitching your legs, and I realized that I might never see you again. It nearly broke my heart. So I started to watch you.”

  “What did scrying on me accomplish?”

  “I wanted to help you. I was scared for you.”

  He looked away and stared into space. “How much have you seen?”

  “Everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. I saw you at the doctor’s office this morning, and at the Indian restaurant which you nearly burned down, and later at Grand Central Station with the FBI agent, where you watched the videotapes of the shadow people running across the terminal floor.”

  “Did you see me talking to Max?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you hear what Max said about you?”

  “Yes. Max is angry with me. I already knew that.”

  “Did you see me talking to Nemo?”

  “Was that the face in the clouds? I didn’t recognize him. You shouldn’t be talking out in public like that to Nemo. People will become suspicious. Next time, stick a Bluetooth in your ear, and they’ll think you’re on a cell phone.”

  “That’s not fair, Holly.”

  “Do you think I’m abusing my powers?”

  “Yes—don’t you?”

  She moved closer to him on the couch. “I only planned to watch you after you left my aunt’s apartment Friday night to make sure you were safe. But once I started watching you, I couldn’t stop. I guess you could say it’s become an addiction.”

  This was bad. Holly could make his life far more complicated than it already was and there wasn’t an earthly thing he could do to stop her except get on his knees and plead with her. Only that would probably be taken the wrong way. Damn it, what was he supposed to do?

  “Please stop this,” he begged her. “Please.”

  “I’ll try.” She paused. “But I won’t make any promises.”

  “Not even to me?”

  She put her hand on his knee and left it there. “Not even to you. Want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know who you are, and what you are. That’s why. You’re not normal, and neither am I. But we pretend to be. That’s the lie we have to live in order to fit in. But it doesn’t work all the time. Like you’re learning now.”

  “You mean with Liza.”

  “Especially with Liza. She can’t change you, no matter how hard she tries.”

  Holly was making it sound like his relationship with Liza was doomed, and would end like every other relationship he’d ever had. He shook his head in disagreement.

  “It’s not like that between us,” he said. “Liza’s trying to help me.”

  “Peter.”

  “What?”

  “Look at me.”

  Holly pulled herself close, and moved her hand to his stomach, where she rested her palm. Her eyes danced across his face. Every inch of her skin looked radiant. Before his eyes she had changed from a girl into a ravishing young woman. Or had she been that way for a while, and he just hadn’t noticed? He did not resist as she climbed into his lap.
>
  Witches were strange creatures. Their powers were linked to their imaginations much differently than other psychics. If they imagined something vividly enough, it would become their reality, as well as the reality of those in their presence. They were dangerous that way.

  The candles sparked to life. As they did, the walls expanded like a movie set, and the apartment was transformed into a high-ceilinged boudoir with a four-poster bed in its center. Over the sound system, the violin solo turned into a romantic ballad.

  Holly climbed off his lap. She motioned for him to rise, and he did. She offered him her hand, and he took it. They started across the room together toward the bed. He tried to pull away, but it was too late. She had cast a spell on him, and there was nothing he could do.

  They stopped in front of the bed. She put her hands on his shoulders, and gazed longingly into his eyes. This couldn’t be happening, but it was. He had to escape.

  “No,” he said, the word taking all his strength to utter.

  “No?” She acted amused. “Don’t tell me you never considered it.”

  Of course he’d considered it. Holly was beautiful, and the thought of having sex with her had entered his mind more than once. Each time it had, his conscience had shouted it down.

  “It’s not right,” he whispered.

  “What’s not right? Our falling in love?”

  He nodded stiffly.

  “I beg to differ. You’ve had plenty of girlfriends, and they’ve all left you, and broken your heart. We were meant for each other, Peter. You have to know that.”

  “Let me out of this spell.”

  “Not on your life.”

  She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her fingertips across his hairless chest. He could not deny the powerful effect it had on him. He was becoming aroused, and would soon be lying in bed with Holly. But if he let that happen, his life would never be the same. He’d lose Liza, and start down a road with Holly whose ending was totally unclear. He was not ready for either of those things to happen. Somehow, someway, he had to make her stop.

  Holly leaned in close, and kissed him on the mouth. A painful spark jumped between their lips. The boudoir disappeared, and Holly’s student furnishings returned. Around the room, the candles spouted flames that caused the textbooks and magazines on the coffee table to catch fire. Peter stamped them out on the floor.