2013 - Short Story workshop first draft
Shadow Chase (working title)
I put down my coffee and glanced again at my phone; still nothing since they'd texted to say that they were
running a little late. I wonder if she's lost her phone again? I thought. Even still, she
should be home by now. Did she forget we saved
my number on the handset? It's probably nothing, but-
'I'm sorry, are you Adam?'
A voice from behind snapped me out of my reverie,
and I turned to face the people we'd arranged to meet that
afternoon. I tried my best to greet them properly; they'd come a long way,
after all.
'In the flesh!' I said, behind a forced grin. 'Diane and John
I presume?'
'Yes, sorry it took us so long to get here!'
I waved it away and proffered my hand, which they shook in
turn before taking their seats. 'It's great to finally meet you guys in person,
though it feels a little weird.'
'Same here. Whereabouts is Kelly hiding? I've been
really looking forward to meeting her.'
I'm afraid she's not been feeling well,' I lied. 'She
decided to go back early a little while ago, I'm really sorry you missed her. You'll just have to put up with me, haha.'
It was a pretty terrible lie. They exchanged a glance, but didn't press the issue. We made small talk
while they waited for their orders, discussing trifles like the
weather and how hard to find this place was. The conversation gradually dwindled as we circled around the reason for our meetup, grinding to a halt once the server had placed their food in front of them. Our end of the cafe was practically empty, so when the
chatter died down a heavy silence settled over our table. I was the first to break
it.
'So,' I said, with a wry smile, 'I guess I should go first?
Seeing as I'm the veteran here.' Diane gave a small nod and John reached over
to give her hand a comforting squeeze. Watching them, the anxiety I had been suppressing all day flared up. Don't
worry, I told myself. She'll be right there waiting for you when you get home. I sucked in a
deep breath, and began.
'I've always been able to see them. They scared me, at first. What child isn't afraid of things lurking in the
darkness? One of my earliest memories is peering down at them from my bedroom, head barely poking over the windowsill. They were perfectly still, dotted at intervals along the street, illuminated by the moonlight. As I watched, they raised their heads as one towards my hiding place. I dropped out of sight and stayed there on the floor until my heart stopped hammering and I could crawl back into bed.
They disappeared during the day, though as the sun went down, I'd start to see them out of the corner of my eye, lurking just within visible range. I tried bringing it up with adults, but they'd always say something about my over-active imagination. When I realised that the other kids couldn't see them either,
I made a game of it. Shadow chase, I called it. There wasn't much to it,
really; there was a blindfolded team who could 'tag' the shadows to stop them, a special team who could direct them while avoiding getting tagged by the shadows, and the shadows themselves. It usually ended up devolving into a mess of shouting, scrapes and tears.
That was how I first got to know him. I must have been around... seven? Chris was a quiet kid from one of the other classes, I'd never
really spoken to him before that day. I saw him watching us one day, and asked if
he wanted to play, on a whim. As I explained the rules his eyes grew wider, and when I was done he asked, hesitantly, '...Can
you see them too?'
We became fast friends after that. It was a secret only the
two of us knew about, and that was intoxicating. We weren't different, we were special. We'd write stories about them;
what they were, where they came from, what would happen if they caught you. We
always said that if one of us got taken by them, the other would come to rescue
them. In our minds it was as simple as that.
One day three years later, he just... disappeared. He
never made it back home after football practice that night. I got called in to
the Headmaster's office as soon as I stepped on to the grounds, got the third
degree from him while Chris's mum cried and his dad pleaded with
me. When they finally decided I didn't know anything, they let me get back to class. I could feel
everyone staring and hear them whispering. After a while it got so bad that I
started to feel physically sick, and asked to be excused - I spent the rest of
that day crying in a toilet stall until my mum was called in from work to pick
me up.'
I stopped relating my tale there momentarily, to look down
at my hands; they'd been clasped so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.
I prised them apart with exaggerated care, rested one flat against the table
and used the other to catch the attention of a barista, requesting refills.
'It's... a little harder to deal with in person, huh.' It
wasn't really a question, and neither of them said anything. Diane looked to be
trembling slightly, and her slice of cake had been left untouched since I had
started. We sat there in awkward silence while we waited for
the refills. John whispered soothing nothings to comfort his partner, while I once again doubted the efficacy of these "support
meetings". God, I wish you were here Kel. Handling horrible situations like this always was your forte.
The thought made me realise how desperate I was to get back
home, but I couldn't just up and leave. After Diane seemed to calm down, I
tried to extricate myself as best I could.
'Maybe I should finish some other day?' I offered. 'It might be a little better if Kelly's here
with us.'
'No... no, I'll be all right now. Please, it'd really like for you to continue.' She looked far from okay, with both her hands wrapped
around her mug as if for support and her eyes downcast, but when I caught John's eye he just gave me a sad smile and
a shrug.
'Well, if you're sure...' I hesitated again.
'Please,' she said, a little more confidently. She looked up
at me this time, and smiled. It was heartrendingly familiar. So similar, I thought.
'Alright,' I said.
'I couldn't sleep that night.
I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, until I eventually decided
to go down to the kitchen to make myself a hot drink. The house was quiet - my parents had spent the evening being part of Chris's manhunt and had
gone to bed early. That was probably why the drapes in our living room hadn't been
drawn that night.
I found myself drawn towards the window, the
street lights outside casting long shadows across the room. I walked right up
to the glass and stared at the ghostly figures on the other side, and they
stared right back.
There were dozens of them, all concentrated around my house.
They looked human shaped, and clothed in a hooded garment, but there was a
strange indistinct quality to them, a blurring around the edges. It seemed like
all colour had been drained from them, and their hooded faces were completely
featureless.
Usually the bravado I felt whenever I was
with Chris vanished the moment I was on my own. That night though, I was in a sort
of trance. As I looked into the crowd of blank, hooded faces, it gradually
began to part to allow a single figure through.
It was Chris. He was dressed the same as the rest of them,
but immediately recognisable and barely looking any worse for wear. I pressed
my hand up against the window, and after a brief pause he did the same. I
opened my mouth to call his name, but all that came out was a wordless croak.
But he was there! He was okay!
I ran to the door to let him in. I remember fumbling with
the lock and throwing it open, but that's all. My parents found me there the
next morning, passed out on the floor. I tried telling my parents what had
happened, but obviously they didn't believe me.
They never found a body, of course. It really messed up that
family. Eventually they moved away; too many painful memories. I remember the
look his mum gave me, as their car pulled out of the driveway for the last time
- a desperate, pleading expression on her face, begging me to tell her
something that'd bring him back to her.
I never saw her again.
It messed me up too. For a while I kept insisting that I saw him
every night, kept trying to get them to look with me, but after the initial
grace period where they all figured I was distressed, they got sick of me
saying it. When my parents suggested I see a psychiatrist, I shut up about
it. I withdrew into myself, after that. I fell out of contact with my old friends and didn't bother making new ones. The solitude suited me just fine.
Every night since then, I've kept my curtains drawn and I wait til he appears. It didn't seem to matter where I was, Chris always
found me. Over time, the palm on the other side of the glass shrank as I grew
and he stayed the same. It's become something of a nightly ritual, I guess. Even though I couldn't save him, I want him to know that I haven't forgotten.
