Shadowville: Book One of the Shadoweaters

by Paul Taylor

  To celebrate his purchase of a staggering amount of furniture, which made more than a small dent in his rapidly diminishing savings, Ben decided that, rather than sit at home, busting his arse arranging everything and testing it all out, he'd go out and get drunk again. He did put together the bed and make it up first, though. He wasn't a complete idiot. Luckily they'd been able to get everything on a delivery truck for him that day.

  The one bad thing about being mid-winter, he thought as he finished making the bed, was that he'd had to buy blankets for the bed as well. Unless he wanted to be freezing his arse off again tonight. Not that he'd noticed last night, being too drunk to feel the cold.

  He'd had enough of Cougars for now, so tonight he decided to hang out in the bar downstairs. All the pool tables were there so he'd almost surely find someone he knew that was worth talking to. And if not, at least he could have a game of pool.

  "Hey mate, how you going?" said Dwayne, slapping him on the back.

  Slowly Ben turned from the brunette with the big tits at the pokies and looked at Dwayne.

  "Hi, Dwayne," he said.

  The club was worse than he'd feared. The mix being ninety precent old people, eight percent losers and two percent of young people, drinking, playing pokies or pool. Killing time.

  "How you doing, mate?" said Dwayne. "Hey listen, you wanna play pool? I won a table over there before and there's been no one else worth playin."

  "Nah, thanks," said Ben. "I'm only here for a beer or two."

  "Here, then," he said. "My shout."

  "That's all right," said Ben, but Dwayne was already ordering. Ben resigned himself to spending more time drinking beer with Dwayne. After all, there were worse fates, like having your teeth pulled by a bricklayer.

  Dwayne wasn't the worst guy in the world and Ben didn't mind having a bit of a yarn with him, but after the other night he'd about his fill. But he was company and Ben found himself staying for one more beer, then another, then for a game of pool.

  As the beers continued their assault Dwayne became increasingly edgy. Casting fearful glances at the door and frequently going to the toilet. After about an hour of this Ben asked him what the hell was wrong.

  "Nothing," said Dwayne. "It's nothin at all. Really."

  Ben shrugged his shoulders. "If you say so."

  "Okay, I'll tell you," said Dwayne, looking around. "But you have to promise not to tell anyone." He looked around again before grabbing Ben by the arm and pulling him close. "You can't tell anybody," he emphasised.

  "All right, I won't tell anybody," said Ben. "I swear, okay?" He revised his initial opinion of Dwayne's mood. Up close he looked absolutely terrified.

  Dwayne looked at him for a moment, gauging his reply. "Yeah, I'll tell you," he said finally. "I gotta tell somebody in case something happens to me."

  "Happens to you?" Ben raised his eyebrows at him. "Dwayne, what are you talking about?"

  "Look," said Dwayne. "You know the other night I was a bit pissy and I was going on about those out-of-towners?"

  "Yeah," he said. "What is it with those guys? What, are they aliens or something?"

  Dwayne smiled at him. A smile that resembled the death grimace of a skull. "They just might be, at that," he said. "Only I think they're somethin worse than that. Anyway, I got this phone call this mornin, right? First fuckin thing, scared the shit out of me. So I answer it and all I hear is this weird, gasping voice telling me not to talk to anyone about the Out-of-towners any more or they'll kill me!"

  "They'll kill you," repeated Ben. "Who'll kill you? Who are they? The Out-of-Towners?"

  "Of course it's them! Who else would it be?" said Dwayne and Ben saw again that he was really scared.

  Dwayne sat looking about, his bloodshot eyes trying to look in every direction at once, even favouring Ben with a distinctly untrusting look.

  "They're not human, you know," he said finally.

  "O-kay," said Ben but did not move immediately to get up. He was thinking of the two strange ducks at the motel. "What do you mean exactly that they're not human, Dwayne?" God, he sounded like a fucking psychiatrist. Tell me about your mother, Mr Martin.

  "I mean," said Dwayne. "That they are not human. They may look it. They may even act it. But I think they are beings from another world."

  "Why?" said Ben. "What could possibly ever make you think these people were aliens?"

  "Have you ever seen one?" asked Dwayne.

  "What? An alien?"

  "Yes. One of these people from out of town. You ever seen one? Up close?"

  "Yeah," said Ben. "Yeah, I think I have."

  "D'you see their eyes?" he said.

  Ben, about to lie for some reason, stopped. Thinking about Cecile and her creepy, black eyes. "I think I have," said Ben. "They got some weird fucked up shit going on with their eyes, haven't they?"

  "That's it," said Dwayne. "Some very weird fucked up shit. You know what it is? I seen this on the internet, it's a big conspiracy thing at the moment. These people are, they call them Shadoweaters. Their shadows eat people, like vampires or something, these people just dissolve other people into their shadows. And the more people they 'eat' with their shadow the more powerful they become."

  That's it, thought Ben. Enough was enough. He was fully prepared to accept that these out-of-towners were up to something dodgy, maybe selling drugs or running a brothel, but that they were aliens with vampiric shadows? Come on.

  "Uh, yeah, right. Listen, Dwayne, there's, uh, something I gotta do," he pushed his chair back, started to stand up. "I really should be going now..."

  "Sure," said Dwayne and Ben saw the edginess surface again. His eyes went wide in their sockets and he stared around the club. Suddenly he gasped and his hand latched onto Ben.

  "What?" said Ben, trying to pull his arm free. "Dwayne, what the hell's the matter with you?"

  Dwayne gasped again and pointed at his throat, his eyes going even wider.

  "Oh shit. You're choking?" cried Ben and Dwayne nodded. "Shit!" Ben leapt to his feet and started pounding him on the back.

  "Help!" he yelled. "Somebody help me!"

  Several people close by heard and ran over, wanting to know what was it, what was wrong?

  "He's choking," said Ben, trying to haul Dwayne up to his feet so he could Heimlich him. "Somebody help me get him up."

  Dwayne's arms flailed spastically like some kind of Salvador Dali windmill in a tornado. His breath rasped in and out of his mouth, catching on the obstruction in his throat. His eyes rolled back and his feet drummed on the underside of the table as they pulled him clear.

  "Quick. Grab him, help me, hold him up," Ben said. He'd never even given anyone a Heimlich before, he wasn't even sure if it was a real procedure. The only time he'd ever seen it done was on TV shows or movies. He didn't even know where to press.

  "Hurry up. Do something!" cried a girl.

  I'm trying, thought Ben. I'm trying. "Somebody call an ambulance!" he called out. The club had now stilled as others became aware of what was going on and they all crowded about, eager to witness death first hand.

  Taking a deep breath and saying a quick prayer to a God he hadn't thought about in years, Ben put his arms around Dwayne, below the ribs, and squeezed for all he was worth.

  Dwayne gave a tremendous gasp and pulled himself from Ben's grip, falling to the floor.

  The crowd packed in around them like moths to a flame, watching in breathless anticipation as he simply lay there.

  Dead? Is he dead? I think he's dead. Not breathing. He's dead, they whispered in ecstasy.

  Then Dwayne's body lurched and he sucked in a great, shuddery breath. He blew it out in a long sigh. Another followed. Then another, until he was breathing normally. The crowd seemed almost upset.

  As Ben stood by Dwayne, still shaking, watching as Dwayne got his breath back, he happened to look up and see someone. Ben's breath caught in his throat.

  Standing on the far side of the crowd, far enough away that
he wasn't of them, but close enough that he could be seen to be with them, was Ben's neighbour from the Settlers. Allan stood there watching them, and when his eyes met Ben's, he winked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE