‘And did it?’
‘When I looked up again there was this figure in the middle of the lawn, bold as you like.’
‘A figure? Like what?’ Clara was becoming more intrigued.
‘Like a man. A guy stood on our big lawn.’
‘What did he look like – what was he wearing?’ Janey’s interest was piqued as well.
‘It was dark and he was in shadow, but it looked like he was wearing black – jacket and trousers – and he had an odd-shaped hat on, like a trilby that Madness wear.’
‘What did you do?’ Katie asked.
‘I ran downstairs. I wanted to make sure he couldn’t get in anywhere. He scared me, I just knew he was the Shadow Man. It wasn’t late and still warm, so I didn’t know whether Mum and Dad would’ve closed the windows or locked the door. I went to the back door and locked it, and checked all the windows to see if they were shut. I popped my head into the lounge and the curtains were closed. I didn’t think they’d do that if the windows were still open. Then I went to the dining room – probably shouldn’t have turned the lights and he might not’ve seen me. I could see him standing on the lawn, framed by the open window. We stared at each other – I must’ve been lit up pretty clearly. I ran toward the open window. But so did he.’
‘Shit, he ran towards you?’ Janey sat back.
‘Yeah, he took two or three steps forward – speeding up, you know like you do when you’re breaking into a run – like he was trying to get there before I could close the window.’
‘Fuck. How close did he get?’
‘I couldn’t go straight there, I had to swerve round the table, and he disappeared from view. By the time I got to the window, my hands were shaking like hell and I could barely get hold of the handle. I could see him coming from the corner of my eye, getting to the edge of the lawn, jumping across the border, maybe less than ten yards away. Finally I managed to close and lock the window and I ducked to the side because he was still coming, charging at me, as if he was going to come right through the glass.’
‘What did he do?’ Katie asked.
‘I had my back flat against the wall and he slammed into the glass at full speed – I don’t know how it didn’t break. And then he slammed his hands against the glass again, either in frustration or because he was trying to scare me.’
‘You must’ve been bricking it.’ Clara put her hand on my shoulder.
‘I leaned forward, away from the wall, looking across and there he was, right by the window. Staring at me. Except he didn’t have a face.’
‘What the hell?’
‘Yeah, I don’t know either.’
‘How close was he? To the window I mean.’ Sally had been quiet but her curiosity had grown.
‘Just the other side. It was really scary to be so close to him.’
‘So what happened – you both just stared at each other?’
‘I was frozen to the spot and I couldn’t stop staring at him. He just stepped back to the lawn, stretched his arms out wide and tilted his head back, as if he were drinking in the rain. Then he slowly started to spin around, getting faster and faster, his feet stepping over each other like he was country dancing. I remember seeing water droplets flying off him where they’d collected in his clothing and on his hat. He must’ve been dizzy after doing it a few times but then he just stopped and stared me down again.’
‘But he didn’t have any eyes, right?’
‘No, Sal, but he was facing me and there wasn’t anything else for him to look at. He was staring at me alright.’
‘Then what?’
‘He just turned and ran off, out of the garden and away.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘I don’t bloody know, Sal, I didn’t go out and follow him, I was shitting myself.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Dad burst in wanting to know what the bloody racket was. I told him a bird must’ve flown into the window just as I was closing it. He could see I was shaking so he gave me a hug and didn’t ask anything more. He went back to the lounge, and I must’ve paced around the house six or seven times, checking every single window and door over and over again, always ending in the dining room, looking out the window – half expecting him to jump out at me. I just kept doing it in a loop as if I’d gone batshit crazy.’ I cleared my throat before continuing. ‘So then Mum and Dad were getting ready for bed.’
‘That sounds early?’ interjected Clara.
‘It was about ten – about right for them.’
‘When I’m an adult, I’m never going to bed before midnight.’
‘I had to get a drink, I was in such a state. When they were in bed I raided the drinks cabinet. I stayed up for ages, trying to calm myself down.
‘Why didn’t you phone?’ Katie spread her arms in an exaggerated shrug.
‘I dunno it felt weird, it felt odd – it still does. I thought you wouldn’t believe me, I suppose. Besides it was late and I couldn’t really without my parents knowing something was up. It sounds crazy, doesn’t it. How is anyone gonna believe a fucked-up story like that? And there was all that stuff with Todd.’
‘Yeah, it’s been a fucked-up week alright,’ said Katie, summarising things concisely.
‘I had a phone call last night,’ said Janey quietly.
‘When?’ I asked.
‘It must’ve been after you saw him.’
‘Okay, what happened?’ I asked, already predicting in my head what she might say.
‘The phone rang – I didn’t take too much notice. Mum answered and next thing she’s calling, saying it’s for me. It was a bit odd because it was getting late – maybe ten – so the only people who might ring would be you lot and Mam would’ve said who it was. Anyway, I came to the phone.’
‘It wasn’t one of us though was it?’
‘No, Sal. I answered and there was silence. Well, just what sounded like breathing.’
‘Like a dirty phone call, breathing?’
‘No, not really – not that I’ve had any of them – but not like they are on the telly anyway. It was just like someone was breathing on the other end of the phone, as you would.’
‘So this didn’t seem odd, that somebody rang you, didn’t say anything, and obviously wasn’t any of us?’ I asked.
‘Kind of, but I thought it was someone messing around – maybe it was one of you lot or one of Luke’s gang who’d got my number. I was just waiting for them to make the first move. To be honest, I thought they’d just hang up.’
‘But they didn’t,’ said Sal, never more rhetorical.
‘No, they sighed.’
‘They did what?’ Katie pulled a face, shaking her head slightly.
‘You know, a sigh. Air escaping from your mouth.’
‘I know what a sigh is, Janes, it just sounds a bit weird.’
‘And the funny phone call on the back of my seeing him dancing in the rain wasn’t weird already?’ I shook my head.
‘Why do you remember him sighing?’ Clara was trying to ignore our bickering and keep Janey on message.
‘Because it sounded old – like air escaping from a cave or something. Like a hiss almost. It was scary, really scary, because I’ve never heard a noise like that.’
‘Okay, so you knew it wasn’t us dicking around by this point, right?’ Katie asked.
‘I s’pose so. Look, I’m not sure what I was thinking or feeling. All I really knew was that it was fucked up.’
‘So, go on, what happened next?’
‘I said Hello again, Flip. I was getting ready to put the phone down. I might’ve stayed there for ages but that sigh had kinda jolted me and made me want to get out. Then he just said ‘Janey?’ Which freaked me out even more.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it was a voice I didn’t recognise saying my name, that’s why.’
‘What did he sound like?’
‘Like it was the Earth talking, like rocks moving over each other, like something… ancient.
Old and deep and scary.’
‘It wasn’t just someone putting a voice on. Pranking.’
‘No, Sal, you’ve not got what I mean. It wasn’t a gravelly voice. It’s like saying someone can do an impression of a jet engine. Sure they can sound a bit like it, but they can’t sound like the presence, and the vibration and the echoing through the sky, and that’s what this sounded like. It felt like he could be talking to me through the earth without a phone.’ Katie and Clara looked at each other. ‘Okay, sounds nuts, but you’ve seen him, Flip, you know how he made you feel, you know what I mean, right. Right?’ Janey needed some affirmation, and as usual it was me she came to.
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. You mean his voice surrounded you rather than being like someone talking on the phone. It was huge, like an ant describing a person’s voice.’
‘Yes, something like that.’
‘Is that all he said?’
‘No. He paused for a second, waiting for me to answer but I got scared and clammed up.’
‘I wouldn’t have, I’d have told the fucker to go prank someone else.’
‘It wasn’t a prank Clara. It’s what he said next,’ Janey started to cry, big bumper tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s alright, he’s gone,’ Katie put her arm round her. ‘He ain’t gonna get you when you’re with us,’ she said, with as much bravado as she could muster. ‘Do you wanna tell us what he said?’ Janey’s head had dropped, her long straight hair forming a curtain around her face, her tears falling onto her jeans. ‘Janes?’
‘He said. ‘I am the Shadow Man, and you will die!’’ Janey took a deep breath to calm herself, but let out a large sob instead, her chest heaving. ‘And when he said…’ she sobbed again, ‘When he said… you know the last word, it was like a screech, like the sound of brakes screeching on a train or something, like someone drawing their finger nails down a thousand blackboards.’ Katie had wrapped both her arms around Janey now.
‘Fuck right off,’ added Clara supportively.
‘What did you do?’ whispered Katie.
‘Put the fucking phone down on him.’
Chapter 14 – Now – A Sort of Homecoming
IT HAD BEEN a particularly uncomfortable night. We’d let ourselves into The Wheatsheaf after our encounter outside and I was in no mood for a restful night’s sleep. The bar was closed and only the night manager was downstairs, but thankfully our rooms were modern enough to contain mini-bars. We re-convened in my room and piled the combined beverage options from our rooms in the middle of the bed. I think I must’ve downed most of the vodka straight away, before slowing down somewhat. There wasn’t a lot of conversation. We stared at each other, held hands, tried to control our breathing, and didn’t talk at all for a while.
‘So he, it, whatever the fuck we’re supposed to call him is still here,’ I said.
‘Whatever it is, it’s definitely after us,’ said Sal.
‘You know, when he started to spin, some things came back to me – that was what was most upsetting – memories from before –’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, King. Images. Flashes. Stuff I don’t understand. Like that blank face close up as if it’s on top of me. Of fire – people burning.’
‘Are they are old memories coming back, or are they just…’
‘What?’
‘I don’t fucking know – what am I, a psychologist all of a sudden? A construct. A bunch of things you’ve seen now that you’re putting together as if it’s a memory from before.’
‘Bloody hell, this is how you talk after you’ve been drinking?’ Clara asked.
‘No. Memories are coming back big time. I’ve gotta work out where they belong and what they mean. Anyone else getting that?’
‘I’m getting things coming back to me, but not as clearly as that,’ said Clara and the others shook their heads.
By the time that most of the spirits had gone, it was two o’clock and we were all pretty drunk. The others drifted back to their rooms, with Sal sharing Katie’s twin, and I fell asleep in my clothes on the bed. Thankfully, during the night, the Drunk Fairy appeared and undressed me, although I had no recollection of it.
∞ ∞ ∞
Abject terror combined with drinking spirits in miniature form, no matter how much you mixed them, seemed to be the perfect formula to avoid a hangover. I wouldn’t say I was fresh when I awoke but I was a lot more okay than I had any right to be. After breakfast I walked over to Janey’s to pick up my Discovery. I was tempted to call in but didn’t feel like going over the events of last night again, so I just quietly drove away. Back at the pub, Katie was still getting ready, why are you putting make-up on to go to the lake? We finally climbed into the car and set off. We drove by the pond and at first glance it was unchanged from thirty years ago, but then, looking more closely it seemed… unkempt, uncared for, like nobody could be bothered any more.
It made me think, what is thirty years in the overall history of a place? I grew up here, spent my formative years here, strutted around as a teenager here because I really did feel like I owned the place, and vied for territory with a gang of boys who were doing the same.
Vied for territory with a gang of boys.
Why did that suddenly spring to mind, and why did it trigger something? My spider sense was tingling just thinking of it. What did it mean? Whatever, it was beyond the reach of my sub-conscious, and a new layer for another day perhaps.
This is my home village. The place I’d called home – and still did sometimes. But is it? I wondered if I could actually call it that? I’d lived there for eighteen years, sure, but in the lifespan of a village that had been around for hundreds of years, it was nothing. And that was nearly thirty years ago. After leaving home for good, I only returned periodically, for weekend visits – hardly anyone who lived here now would remember me. There’d be even fewer in another ten years. So now I’m a stranger here, as any of the residents of the new houses that had sprung up around the pond would attest if they were twitching their curtains as I stood outside a house I used to know, eyeing me warily until I moved on or drove away.
It’s like I’d never existed.
No legacy here, no history, no nothing.
I was a blip in the timeline, a minor biological load and then gone. Could anyone truly regard a place as their home? Or were we all just passing through? I suppose that if generations of your family had lived somewhere, and had become entrenched within the folklore – the story of the place and the family becoming completely entwined – then maybe that could be regarded as your home.
And how long would that last when you and your kin were gone? A generation? Two?
But what if your attachment to a place was so strong, through a story, an act or an injustice, that you couldn’t leave. If the bond was so indefatigable that you found a way to exist beyond your bag of watery cells, to transcend the human condition and sidestep death itself – your memory and your spirit intertwining to keep you here forever. What if that was what we were up against?
Christ, I think of some weird fucking shit when I’m driving.
The car bounced along the road, which was little more than loose chippings compressed into the surface, so typical of round here. We headed out onto the lake road.
I’d never driven out to the lake, not in all the times I’d come home to see my parents –it’d never occurred to me to go there. So I’d only ever travelled along Lake Road by bike. We sped past the bungalows on the outskirts of the village, looking slightly less immaculate, slightly more lived in, their gardens definitely more mature. The road twisted and wound, snaking its way between the fields, with the hedgerows guarding the produce held within. The once ostentatious house on the left was empty and abandoned, with broken windows and a front door hanging off the hinges. One of the two lions from the gatepost had been knocked from its perch and sat in the gateway, a sad guardian for the story of what lay inside – another short-lived act
within the history of the village, and I wondered who might remember the people who’d lived there in years to come. The road to Newlands Farm, which had once been too impossibly rutted to cycle along, was now tarmac, and joined untidily with Lake Road itself. The road went straight for half a mile or so and was still framed with trees – I was pleased that an overzealous developer with a chainsaw hadn’t decided to clear them away. Clothed now in their summer plumage they formed a proper avenue, so much so that it could almost lead to Hobbiton. I drove along, surprised by how much countryside remained; you’d think the developers would’ve been all over this place, making a massive estate of houses or something. It was all the same as before. Maybe it was a condition of getting planning permission. We reached the end of the trees and didn’t find any locals with hairy feet. The road curved up and to the left, but where there had once been the farm and its outbuildings, there were crisp, precise, identical houses lined up in a row. Five of them, all painted white with black slate roofs. The right-hand fork in the road was still there but was closed off by a heavy wooden gate, with a sign hanging from it that read ‘No admittance without valid fishing permit.’ I suspected that those entering with a permit were few and far between because the gate was chained shut, with a heavy padlock.
‘Oh shit, looks like I forgot my permit,’ I said, as I reversed the car up to the gate and got out. We climbed over, Katie struggling to do so having decided to wear a short skirt today, and headed up the lane so as not to attract any further attention from the new residents. Walking along the lane was like going back in time – it was almost as we’d left it – wheel ruts, nettles and tall bushes that had become even wilder over the years, reaching out to catch us. The track wasn’t completely overgrown, though, so I suspected that some type of vehicle used it, just not very often. The track mirrored the road, rising upwards, and we would’ve been visible to the new houses for a short while before we came to the small copse of trees and disappeared behind it. The skeleton of the rusted barn had long since collapsed to become a fossil, but the patch of nettles and brambles remained surrounding an old piece of farm machinery – was that there before? I couldn’t remember. The track climbed again as we walked up the last fifty yards to the lake. My pulse started to race and my skin contracted to form goose pimples. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and I felt like we were being watched – not from the houses, but from the trees. We exchanged glances – I’m certain the others felt it too but I didn’t want to seem pathetic by mentioning anything. We walked the last few steps to our lake. Yes, fuck it, no matter how short a time we’d spent here, in the history of the village and the lake, it was ours. It meant so much to us back then, it could surely never mean so much to anyone again.
The Shadow Man Page 11