Stone's Shadow Read online

  The darkness rises from within. It stalks me. The sum of my sins, that will eventually consume everything else in my life. Perhaps I asked for this. Perhaps I called the evil. Perhaps I'll someday become the evil that torments me, if I survive long enough.

  Dark and twisted, much like the professor. He worried for a moment that she might see the assignment as a suicide note and call the police. Then he remembered it for what it was: a creative writing class. People wrote messed up things all the time, and the darker the stories were, the more the instructor seemed to love them. He was getting an A on this piece.

  “How you feeling today?” asked Maria.

  As he looked up from his notebook, she recoiled in shock. “Oh my God, what happened to your face?”

  He smirked, and exhaled a short huff. “I saw it again, and I ran. You’re buddies at the coffee shop didn’t fill you in? From what I understand, it was the talk of the town this morning.”

  “How does running make a cut on your forehead.”

  “Running at full speed in the dark, and forgetting there was a door in the way.”

  Maria sat beside him on the planter, overlooking the crumbs from his sandwich that spilled all over the legal pad in his lap. She was more comfortable about spacing, and sat closer than he would have. Her knee bumped against his, prompting him to scoot left. Her presence, even as just friends, excited him a bit too much, and he didn’t want to invade territory where he didn’t belong.

  “I probably dreamed up the stupid thing anyway. I thought my blanket was trying to wrap around and crush me like a giant python. I’m just going nuts. Same old Scary Scott. College is turning into a repeat of junior high.” He tapped the point of the pencil against the pad a couple times, and bit his lip while wondering if his theory on the monster was legitimate. He knew inside that he was wide awake. There was no mistaking the sounds, or the voice. Could keeping his eyes closed and staying calm be the solution?

  Maria shook her head slowly, while her eyes stayed fixed on his. “You need to see a priest.”

  “A priest?”

  “Yeah. That's what you do when you have a demon in your house. Right?”

  “I don't know. I don't even go to church. They’ll probably pray for me and send me on my way. Big help.”

  “You need to talk to someone. Twice this happened now. You need help. You can't keep working at this problem alone or something bad is going to happen to you. Worse than the cut.”

  The only reason Maria paid attention was because she was so outgoing, and managed to break his spell in the coffee shop. She talked to him and asked questions, and she pried for answers, forcing a friendship from her incessant badgering. At first, he figured she made a game of turning silent nerds into semi-socialites. Now she was forcing him toward an interaction that didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t a church goer. He believed in science, even if he sucked at the math. What could they do anyway?

  “If I go to a church, and nobody there knows me, and I start spouting off about ghosts—that's a stupid idea. They're going to think I'm playing a prank.”

  Her eyes sharpened. He didn't even notice the floral pattern on her black dress until he dropped his eyes to avoid her stare. “You don’t go to church either. Why would you recommend a priest?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what they do on TV. Church people seem to know about this kind of stuff. Maybe that’s why we keep them around, until science figures it all out. Or you could talk to your doctor again.”

  “He thinks my prescriptions are messed up. He doesn’t believe me.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Church. The place that old ladies go to sit around and listen to the fading mythology of Christianity. Landers was a believer, but he was also a bit of a nut. They sing their songs, they read an old counterfeit book, they blame the Devil for everything bad, and blame God for everything good. What a delightful delusion.

  “Would you feel better if I went with you?”

  “I—I don't know. It—it's not gonna work. No—no—nobody at some church is going to be able to help. They'll probably just want to pray with me. They're goofy like that. Church people, I mean.” Stop it. Stop stuttering.

  “You never know. They might be able to help you. I mean, every ghost movie that I’ve seen, the priest is the person people go to. And they’re always nice.”

  “It's a stupid idea.”

  “Humor me. At least I’m not luring you to a bar full of drunks tonight, this will double as your social interaction for the week. Or I can send you to the tavern with Mike.”

  “Or I could just go home.”

  “To play with your monster? No. You are getting out of there for a while tonight. Even if I have to drag you.”

  He buried his face in open hands, tossing the idea of letting another person in on his insanity. The loony bin was only a few rumors away. But she had him trapped, just like the first time she forced him to be social in the coffee shop. She carried the ability to crack the introverted safe where he hid from the world. She could read him like a text message, and open him up to new experiences, even silly ones.

  “How do you do that?” he asked.

  “Do what?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Fine, I'll go. But you have to go too, and promise not to ever tell anyone. Ever.”

  Maria giggled. “Okay then. After creative writing?”

  “Sure.”

  9

  On the doorsteps of the church, Scott filled with emotions, but ease wasn't one of them. His whole body ached from the painful bruise striping across his back and the stiffness in his calf muscles. For a change, the only thing that wasn’t hurting was his head. The cold night air turned bruises into frozen hunks of meat that resisted any attempted movement.

  He wrapped himself in the warmth of the supple leather jacket to guard against the gusting wind. Clouds had covered the sky at sunset, and they now glowed in eerie yellow. Another storm was on the way. Maria's black hair blew about, forcing her to repeatedly pull threads away from her face.

  “This is the place,” he said. “What now?”

  “We knock?”

  “I don't know, that's a big door.”

  “Go knock.” She shoved from behind, forcing his footsteps to comply with her will. The door must have been ten feet tall, constructed of heavy dark-stained wood. The huge, polished brass fittings fixed the ornamental gateway to weathered stones as a sparkling jewel in the side of the castle. It towered over him like the gate to a forbidden city.

  He reassured himself that these people should be welcoming of walk-ins. They couldn't attract members by turning people away. Still, judging by the size of the structure, they weren’t hurting in the collection basket.

  He knocked three times, gently. The mild rasp of his fist landed on the hardwood like an ant trying to win the attention of an outdoor picnic.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Guess they're closed. Let's go.”

  Maria caught him by the elbow as he tried to skate past her. “Quit being such a wimp. Would you rather go back to your apartment?”

  He sighed, and stared at the concrete ground. The jagged microscopic vista taunted him. “Slip again,” it called. It invited him to scrape his knees and palms by taking a nasty spill. He wondered if broken glass was a common ingredient in mixed concrete.

  Maria pulled harder at his elbow, dragging him to the top step in reverse. “Quit stalling.”

  He spun about under her guidance, once again facing the threshold of his internal fears. She was right about one thing. It was definitely less intimidating than the monster.

  “It's a church. There's gotta be someone in there. Just look at this place.” She hammered at the door with a closed fist, each thump echoed from inside.

  “Stop it,” he said. “We're going to get in trouble.”

  “What? That's what you're worried about? It's a church. It isn't like we're busting into a bank after hours.”

  “I don't think anyone's in there
.”

  “Humor me.”

  He took a single step back and scanned over the majesty of the white stone walls, dark doorways, and the yellow lighting that flooded down from every hanging lamp post. White lighting shined on the doors from fixtures inside the covered archways. There were exactly zero stained glass windows, but the architectural design was almost magical. Every block was placed a hairline crack from those surrounding it, and fitted such that the smooth planes resembled wallpaper. It obviously cost a lot of money and required skilled labor to build, all of it taken from collection plates and volunteers, no doubt. Every tiny accent, like the concrete faces along the roof line and the swirly ionic corner accents, added to the glory of the structure. He was sure that during the day, the cathedral looked inviting and intricate, but at night, it reminded him of a haunted castle from a vampire movie. He scanned the edges of the building, checking for stone gargoyles, but didn't see any.

  Maria pounded at the door a few more times and called out, “Hello?”

  “What are you kids doing?”

  Both of them jumped, and spun to see a figure in a trench coat standing on the steps below. Leather shoes, visible wrinkles, clean-shaven. He was an imposing figure, but wore soft eyes under his black felt hat. Even the trench coat, which would make a normal person look like some kind of secret agent, accented his style in a way that made him appear professional. His eyebrows shifted, one of them raising and the other lowering in harmony with a muscle tick in the eye underneath. Maria thrust an elbow into Scott's side.

  “Ouch. I—um. We're looking for a priest.”

  “They don't do Vegas-style weddings here, kid.” The man smiled.

  Maria blushed, “We aren't getting married.”

  “I need to talk to them about something,” said Scott. “I've never been here before. I guess they've all gone home for the night?”

  “You might find someone in the rectory. It's that building over there. The church always has caretakers, just not behind that door. That one opens for services.”

  Scott turned as the man pointed down the walk toward a two story building behind the castle. It was a much simpler structure with a single door and several windows. The lighting was the same as that around the church: squatty lamp posts emitting a strong but cool yellow that reflected off the concrete paths into the sky, coloring the clouds above. Thunder rolled in the distance.

  “Thanks,” said Scott.

  “No problem. You two be safe.”

  The man walked away, and the two of them paced toward the building. Maria smiled, but said nothing. Her hair whipped about unmanageably in the heavy wind.

  The front door of the rectory was plain. Planks of wood stuck together in a rectangular shape. The only adornment was a small peep-hole. Maria stared blankly about as he inched his knuckles toward the door. Her presence encouraged him to beat on it with force. The sound echoed off of the gigantic stone cathedral behind them, far louder than he intended.

  A moving shadow cast itself on the yellow curtains behind one of the windows, and heavy footsteps came toward them. Great, knock louder, and piss off whoever lives here. His hands shot into his pockets. An uncomfortable thought occurred to him as the bolt unlatched. He had no idea what what he was going to say.

  The door swung open, and a very tall, thin gentleman stood across the threshold wearing black slacks and a black button-down shirt. His sparse short hair rustled in the wake of a sharp burst of air from the door.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  Maria elbowed Scott in the side again.

  “I, uh. I saw something. I don't know if you do this kind of thing, but I'd like to talk to a priest about it.”

  “Are you a member of the church?”

  “No, sir. I'm not.”

  The man's eyes drifted between the two of them, stopping on Scott. “Okay, come in. I just wrapped up my studies for the night.”

  “Studying the Bible?” He sealed his lips tightly, before another stupid comment could escape.

  The man behind the door smiled. “Something like that. What seems to be the problem? I was about to wind down and go to bed. Is it serious?”

  He wanted to answer, but his brain gave his mouth the silent treatment. He followed the man inside through a small foyer that led to a library. The walls were lined with books. The reddish tint of the wooden shelves and furniture created a calm ambiance, and amber light radiated from the old lampshades, making the room glow softly. Warmth from a fireplace drew Scott closer. Leather chairs stood on either side of the fire, bordered by a couple of small tables, one of them holding a tiny black book and half a glass of wine. Flames danced around the fake logs from below.

  “Sit. Please. Tell me what's on your mind.”

  Scott turned as the man settled into the seat beside the book. He offered his hand toward the other chairs. Something seemed out of place. This whole building was here with one guy sitting in a fancy library reading a book. Scott didn’t know if he was some kind of butler, or why he hadn’t alerted any of the priests to meet with him.

  Maria stared at him, prompting with here eyes to sit down and tell his story.

  “There’s just,” Scott started. “Who are you?” He dropped into the open chair and waited for a response, while Maria pulled another close.

  “Apologies. I'm Father Kendall.”

  “You’re a priest?”

  “I am.”

  “Where's your thing?” asked Scott.

  “What thing?”

  “I thought priests wore those collar things.”

  Father Kendall smiled and tugged at his shirt collar. “Not always.”

  “Oh. You have to take it off to drink?”

  “Scott!” Her voice was sharp, but quiet. The kind used to scold a child in public.

  Father Kendall chuckled. “It’s quite all right, my dear. No, I don’t have to take it off to have wine. At least not in this parish. The exact rules depend a bit on which church you belong to.”

  A faint ticking came from a tiny birdhouse on one wall. The rumble of gas burners filled the space with white noise. Scott stared at the red and gold threads woven into the rug beneath their feet, as he tried desperately to watch what he said. He wasn’t good around new people, and the sweat on his brow indicated that he was about two steps short of a panic attack.

  “Did you come over here to ask questions about my collar?”

  “No.”

  The priest waited, and then glanced at his watch. “That’s good. Because to be honest, you would probably get a more complete answer from the Internet. That’s what you kids use nowadays, right? I would only be able to tell you about the rules in this church.”

  Several threads in the carpet were out of place. It was probably old, but other than a few dangling strands of gold, it looked brand new.

  Father Kendall broke the silence again, “You said you saw something?”

  Scott’s head lifted. He suddenly remembered that he was here for a reason, and he better get on with it before he sat staring into lampshades and book covers all night. “Yes, sir. I'm not really comfortable talking about it, but we didn't know where else to go for this kind of thing.”

  “Well, this is a safe place, and you have my attention. Just start at the beginning.”

  “It happened two days ago. Nights ago. Whatever. It was almost midnight, and I caught something moving in the corner of my eye. When I looked, there was nothing there. It happened again last night.”

  The priest's head nodded as he listened. Through the bobbing, his eyes stayed fixed on Scott.

  “I went to get coffee, and came back, and I saw it. Some kind of shadow, hovering over my bed, putting thoughts in my head. It was telling me to keep looking. I got out of there. I don't sleep a lot, so the doctor told me to take my meds and get some rest. Last night, I woke up paralyzed and the thing was there again, trying to get me.”

  “A shadow?”

  “Yeah, that's the only way I can describe it, except n
ot stuck to the wall. Some dark thing with bright red eyes. It was shaped with these arms or tentacles coming out of it, trying to grab me. The second time it did grab me, and it squeezed. At least I think it did. I've been hearing scratching noises too, whenever it shows up. I tried to get out of my apartment with my eyes closed and bashed my skull on the door.”

  “That explains the wound.”

  “It only happens in my apartment. Crap. I sound crazy, don’t I?”

  Father Kendall smiled again. “Don’t worry. I’m listening. You would be surprised the things that some people confess. This is hardly the first time I’ve heard a ghost story.”

  “So you deal with this stuff? Like really? Do you guys do some kind of blessing or something to get rid of things like this? Or you can give me some kind of amulet to ward it off?”

  The priest’s head rolled back, as if to let out a chuckle, but without sound. His eyes shifted to the corner of the ceiling, and he froze in place for a moment before answering. “Priests do blessings, yes.” His head dropped back to eye level. “But it's a little more complicated than that. We need to know what we're dealing with. Have you been having trouble sleeping?”

  “It wasn't a hallucination.”

  “Don't worry. I'm not going to mock you, I just need to get as many details as possible before I call my friend. You said something about medication?”

  “I—yeah. I have some pills for anxiety and stuff. Does that matter? I mean, I’m being honest. I have a weird sleeping schedule, so sometimes I do see things that aren’t there when I’m ragged out, but this is different. I know the thing was real.”

  “I’m not asking so that I can call you a liar, or crazy, or anything of the like. It’s important to get all of the information. When you go to a mechanic and something is wrong with your car, you don't want him changing your whole suspension if the problem is with your tires. Right?”

  “Right. I guess. I don’t have a car.”

  “Do you dabble in the occult?”

  “What? No.”

  “Just asking.” Father Kendall's hands came up in defense. “What about your mood? Your daily life. Depression or, you mentioned anxiety?”