The Shadow Man

by Mark Brownless

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t choose to.’

  ‘So you don’t believe in God?’

  ‘Well, yeah I do. I suppose. I’ve never really thought about it like that.’

  ‘So you believe in the soul then – going up to heaven when you die and all that?’

  ‘Yeah. Think so,’ Clara blushed. She’d never really discussed her faith with us before. Now was the weirdest time to be doing it.

  ‘So let’s just say there is a soul, then. What if there was a soul so bad, so evil, if you wanna use that, that it stays around, long after the body is dead. What if it didn’t go anywhere – Tullock’s soul. What if it’s just here?’

  ‘So you’re saying Laurendon is evil?’ asked Katie, sounding a little less confident and acerbic than she had before.

  ‘I dunno, and you could say that sounds like a load of bollocks. But if it isn’t that. Just what the hell is going on?’

  Chapter 12 – Now – Something’s Out There

  ‘SOMETHINGS OUT THERE,’ said Janey.

  ‘What?’ asked Katie.

  ‘I dunno, I’ve just got a feeling.’

  ‘Sure it’s not the menopause?’ Clara asked.

  ‘Fuck off, Clara. Don’t you ever have that feeling, though, that someone is watching you and maybe transmitting your every move back to a higher power? Everyone’s had that feeling of being watched – surely…’ Janey looked at us for some encouragement.

  ‘That’s just paranoia though,’ said Sal. Janey gave an exasperated sigh.

  ‘Or maybe it’s because we were kids– young and stupid and knowing nothing of the world and some stuff happened to us and our memories of it have just got fucked up over time,’ Katie offered another explanation.

  ‘Except our memories have only just returned – we didn’t remember anything until a week or two back and now all of a sudden we do, so it can’t be that our memories have got twisted over time,’ Janey reasoned.

  ‘By ‘something’ I take it you mean the Shadow Man?’ I joined the debate.

  ‘None other.’

  ‘So why are we here? What was the point of us coming back here?’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘You know I don’t mean that Janey Janes, it’s been brilliant to see you, all of you, it’s been so good to catch up – I wish we’d stayed in touch. But, apart from to support you, why have we come back here, now – to what end?’ I asked.

  ‘To find out what really went on back then. To work out what we did, to organise our memories into some kind of order and put together a story that explains what, right now, is a bit of a mystery,’ Janey summarised.

  ‘Oh my fucking God, you’ve grown up into Velma from Scooby Doo,’ said Clara.

  ‘And I can’t see anything without my glasses.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve just gotta ask one thing though. You know. For the record,’ said Sal, her most serious face on.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Katie.

  ‘You didn’t really kill him, did you, Flip?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Todd.’

  ‘No! Of course I didn’t. What the fuck?’

  ‘Okay, I know, I know. Just checking.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Sal, you haven’t changed, you still say the stupidest stuff.’

  ‘I bet I’m not the only one who just wanted to check,’ replied Sal, slightly offended.

  ‘Okay, so what next?’ Katie quickly changed the subject.

  ‘We go to the lake,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you said it yourself. We could’ve all got together on Skype or Facetime, but we didn’t. We’re here in person. And the difference about being here in person is that we can go and see things. The lake dominates our memories, it’s where so much happened that we can remember and probably more that we can’t. Let’s go out there.’

  ‘But why? It was thirty years ago,’ Katie held her arms out wide and shrugged.

  ‘Do you want to carry on living with these dreams and memories– half a story of something that might have happened? Going there might jog our memories some more, it might make us remember even more stuff, trigger some things – I don’t know – but it’s gotta be worth a go.’

  ‘And if it does nothing?’

  ‘Then we can start to think that maybe it’s not related to the lake, maybe we’ve developed some subconscious fixation and it’s really got nothing to do with it.’

  ‘That’s settled then, tomorrow we go to the lake.’

  ‘You coming Janey?’ Clara asked.

  ‘No, sorry, I can’t. There’s only one way I’ll ever leave this house again.’

  ‘What? How? I don’t under–,’ Sal looked confused and then reality dawned. ‘Oh, right, duh. I get it. There’s nothing like being morbid, is there.’

  ‘We’ll come straight back here afterwards and let you know everything we find,’ I promised.

  ‘I expect you to be my eyes and ears.’

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  ‘Right. No messing about, we’re having takeaway tonight!’ I said, raising a small cheer from the others. All apart from Janey.

  ‘I was gonna make a chilli – I’ve got some mince to defrost. I don’t feel like I’ve looked after you very much since you’ve come home.’ She did look a little hurt.

  ‘You’ve been manning HQ, Janes.’ I said, supportively, ‘Besides, you’ve stuffed us full of tea, cake, biscuits, I don’t see what else you could’ve done.’

  ‘Should we really be saying ‘manning’ nearly two decades into the twenty-first century?’ asked Katie, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘Stick your HR up your arse, love.’ I turned back to Janey. ‘Anyway, this way, there’s no tidying up and no pans to wash.’

  ‘True.’ Janey nodded in agreement.

  ‘Right. Me and Sal can go. Chen – shift your arse.’ I grabbed my keys from the worktop.

  ‘Who died and left you in charge?’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Talk to HR over there later.’ Sal and I left the dilapidated bungalow and climbed into my car.

  ‘So I take it your folks don’t run the restaurant any more,’ I said as we pulled away from the kerb, ‘Or otherwise you’d be staying with them.’

  ‘Oh, God, no. No, Dad sold up about ten years ago. They moved out to Milton Keynes. He died three years ago and mum the following year. They got it right, they had a good life and a good retirement in the end.’

  ‘What on earth made them open a restaurant here anyway, I’ve always wondered.’

  ‘That was Grandad’s idea. He lived in Sheffield for a bit when he first came over. But he didn’t come from a city. In China, I mean. So I guess he wanted to live somewhere quieter. I’m not sure.’

  ‘And you never wanted to take the place on? It’s a shame, it was in your family for years.’

  ‘Not really my style,’ Sally laughed. ‘London suits me much better. And there was no way my brother wanted to run it.’

  ‘Can’t believe you didn’t want to give up the bright lights. Think of the headlines, though – Michelin-starred chef comes home to open takeaway.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not quite a Michelin-starred chef. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Okay, but you do work in a restaurant that cranks out grub that Michelin thinks is worth a star?’

  ‘Yes. I’m the Head Chef, it’s just not my restaurant.’

  ‘And you didn’t fancy running this?’ I pointed out of the window as we parked outside the restaurant.

  ‘I’m an odd one, aren’t I?’

  ‘Come on, get out the car, freak show.’

  The Golden Dragon – formerly Chen’s – sat on the main street through the village. What had been a nice restaurant, and along with the pub, the only eatery for a few miles, had now been split into a takeaway and an independent fried chicken place. Sal marched in quickly, not taking in the new façade at all, and immediately started speaking Cantonese to the girl behind the counter. Within the first few words, I could see the young girl becoming progressive
ly more terrified, and after another sentence she disappeared into the back. I looked at Sal.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘Just passed the time of day and asked if we could order off menu or whether there were any specials. Don’t think she understood a word.’ A middle-aged woman appeared who nodded at Sal and began the conversation Sally had wanted to have in the first place. There seemed to be some debate, the older woman frequently gesturing to the menu behind her, and Sal, maintaining a permanent smile, but getting more and more frustrated, finally barked out a series of words that were clearly our order. The lady wrote them down in such flowing symbols it was a joy to watch her pen strokes, then she disappeared into the back. ‘Just the same-old same-old stuff I’m afraid. Shame.’ I looked at her, trying to read behind her eyes. ‘Not the way my parents ran things.’

  ‘Hey, it’s okay, hun.’ Which was one of the lamest uses of an already poor comforter, but was all I had. I put my hand on hers on the counter.

  ‘Yeah, it is,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘It doesn’t really bother me. Here. This place isn’t me any more – the same as it isn’t you. I’m just glad my folks aren’t around – they’d have hated it. Always wanting to push people – challenge them. To innovate, I s’pose.’

  ‘Is that where you get it from?’

  ‘I dunno, he was a hard old taskmaster and we didn’t get on at all in the kitchen.’

  ‘He’d be proud of you now, though.’

  ‘I guess. Never came to eat at a place where I worked, though, despite being invited enough times. Mum would always make excuses for him, that he was busy and stuff. He could’ve if he’d wanted to.’

  ‘Was he pissed off that you weren’t gonna take this place over?’

  Sal, blew out her cheeks and sighed, sagging against the window. ‘I don’t know. We never really talked. Like, never. He was an old-fashioned Chinese guy I guess – kept his counsel, bossed his women folk and didn’t ask anyone else their opinion because it didn’t matter.’

  ‘No wonder he fitted in so well round here.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hey let’s pop to the shop and get some booze before the food comes.’ We marched a few doors down to the shop and bought some bottles of fizz. By the time we returned, the younger girl brought out two large white carrier bags containing a number of foil containers and some paper bags, twisted at the top.

  ‘You didn’t?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘What didn’t I?’

  ‘Order chips?’

  ‘Yeah, girl, course! Chinese chips – gotta love ’em.’

  ‘Can’t wait to come to your restaurant.’

  We jumped in the car which slowly filled with the aromas of Chinese food during the short drive back. There’s that moment whenever you have takeaway food in a large group at someone’s house, when suddenly there’s a mad production-line of people doing things; passing plates around someone else’s back, a bowl of chips lifted over someone’s arms as they serve up noodles, drinks being poured, full plates being moved somewhere else while more empty ones were pulled from their warming place in the oven. And all the while people calling out their orders to make sure everyone got what they wanted.

  And then silence. We sat in the front room on the giving-up-the-ghost sofas, and crunched on prawn crackers while stuffing noodles and rice as if we hadn’t eaten for weeks. And as our hunger was gradually satisfied, we returned to conversation, and the matter in hand.

  ‘So the lake tomorrow then,’ Clara said with a mouthful of rice that dropped out in clumps onto her plate.

  ‘You are one classy babe. Didn’t you say you weren’t middle-aged…?’ I smiled sweetly at her.

  ‘You know what to do, Flip. No, I was just saying that, you know, tomorrow, we have to be prepared that the lake might not meet our expectations.’

  ‘What d’you mean.’

  ‘It’s just that we’ve got all these great memories of our time there, and the place might not be as we remember it.’

  ‘Those memories are turning out to be pretty unreliable at the moment anyway.’

  ‘She means that we should be prepared for the lake to be a shit-tip of a puddle and how the hell did we ever go there more than once,’ explained Katie.

  ‘Yep. That’s what she means,’ smiled Clara.

  ‘You should go to the community centre and see if there are any other records around, too,’ said Janey, savouring every morsel of her food.

  ‘That might take a while – we probably won’t get time tomorrow. Tuesday? Can everyone hang around that long?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m on shore leave,’ mumbled Clara, her hand mercifully in front of her mouth this time.

  ‘I can probably fudge another night off – I never take any leave so they owe me loads,’ nodded Sal.

  ‘I can work on my phone Tuesday, so I can manage,’ Katie’s availability just left me, and all eyes turned for my decision.

  ‘Not got a lot of choice, have I?’ I smiled back at them. ‘But if I have more than a hundred missed calls tomorrow, I might have to go.’

  ‘Sounds fair to me.’

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Once again, Janey started to flag as we finished the meal and we all gently made fun of her, dancing round her in the kitchen filling food waste and recycling bags, suggesting that she wasn’t doing anything to help clear up. Our ten-minute tidy-up done, we quickly hugged and decided on a steady stroll back to the pub. It had rained during the evening and there was the smell of wet grass in the air, leaving a freshness I would never expect in the summer. The sky was clearing now, the moon and streetlights competing to make the spookiest shadows. We linked arms, mainly to stop Katie from swaying too much and sauntered down Stow Lane. We really did try to be quiet, but were a little too giggly and some lights in bungalow windows went on as we made our way home.

  We turned right at the bottom of Stow Lane, taking a quick glance into the darkness of Lake Road where the streetlights abruptly ended to signal the village limits. It was like someone had drawn a curtain of black across the edge of civilisation. Across the road, the executive housing development that used to be Sowerby Farm was almost too well lit, with old-fashioned looking streetlights on every corner. We rounded the pond, an unbroken mirror reflecting the moon above, and headed up Cooper’s Lane. The most direct route back was by cutting along the cycle track behind the old houses, but we definitely didn’t want to do that in the dark. Back then we used to call it dogshit alley, and who knows what it was like now. Besides, personally, I was starting to feel a little scared of the dark. We turned for home at the end of the lane, opposite The Golden Dragon, and went by the hairdressers and the mini-market that Katie’s parents had run all those years ago. Rounding the bend I could see The Wheatsheaf ahead on the left, surrounded by tall oak trees, cloaking it in shadow, with moonlight all around.

  As I watched, one of the shadows moved. From the front wall of the pub, something skittered out into the middle of the road. My first thought was that it was a fox, it was low to the ground and the limbs looked slim, like an animal. And then, halfway across the road, it stood and appeared to face us. I could clearly see some sort of hat with a brim, and a jacket hanging below the waist. Paranoia gave me its opinion, but I thought it was probably just a guy who was a bit pissed and had maybe been bent over, throwing up after a heavy night. And then he spread his arms wide and started to spin around, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, throwing his head back like a figure skater, and I could swear I heard him laughing. And I was screaming, a memory from before starting to come back, of the hat, the jacket, the monster in front of us. More than a memory, a whole slew of them ram-raided my brain, crashing over dolls and cuddly toys and days at the lake with images of faceless demons and fear and death. The others held on to me, either for their own comfort or mine as the Shadow Man taunted us fifty yards away. And then he stopped. Like a dancer at the end of a routine, suddenly halting all movement, his jack
et flowing round him like a cape. It seemed like he was looking directly at us for a second or two, before he ran off to the side, sprinting away along the opposite side of the pub. I started in pursuit – with no idea what I was doing or what I’d do if I caught up with him – but by the time I reached the lane beside the ‘Sheaf he was gone.

  Chapter 13 – Then – Something’s Out There

  ‘SOMETHING’S OUT THERE,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Katie asked.

  ‘I saw him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Shadow Man.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ said Clara.

  ‘Last night.’ I said, ‘in the rain.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ said Katie.

  ‘No it’s true.’ I paused. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but I didn’t imagine it honestly.’

  ‘Okay so what happened?’

  ‘I was bored out of my head with it raining all day. I ended up camped in my room so my parents wouldn’t give me any jobs to do.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ said Sally.

  ‘After tea, Ray went out with Lisa, and Mum and Dad were watching telly. It got dark really early because it was so grey and horrible. The streetlights even came on at eight o’clock – but I love it when it rains so hard it looks like rain in a film, you know, that’s obviously being sprayed from a fire engine, so I’d kept my curtains open. I kept looking up to watch it. Then I saw something on the lawn. It was weird, like a spot-the-difference quiz thing. I couldn’t work it out. But then I realised there was a shadow at the edge of the trees. The streetlights are really bright and throw a lot of shadows across the garden. But then there was a new one.’

  ‘How can you be sure? It’s a big old garden,’ Katie asked.

  ‘Because it’s my garden, K, and I know what it looks like. It’s the view from my bedroom – I’ve seen it a million times. This was different.’

  ‘What did you think it was?’

  ‘I can’t remember, but I do remember looking down at my comic again to see if it would just go away.’