“Daddy?”
“Yeah, honey?” Jason glanced up briefly at his four-year-old daughter, Sarah, while he scrolled through his news feed.
“The Shadow Man is back.”
***
“It’s just me she’s seeing,” his wife said as she got ready that afternoon. “I always check on her when I get home from work.”
“I still think a nightlight is a good idea. She’ll at least know it’s you.”
“If I remember, I’ll buy one on my break.” Becca gave him a quick kiss before grabbing her car keys. “Tonight’s the night I’m staying to help with inventory. I won’t be home until after two. Love you.”
“Love you too. Drive safe. The storm is supposed to be bad.”
He had just finished feeding Sarah dinner when the storm broke, its arrival heralded by a sudden drop in temperature and a deep rumble of thunder that rattled the windows. They stood in the doorway and watched the rain cascade down in torrents. Gusts of wind made the trees shiver and sway, and lightning tore the night sky apart. Each strike illuminated the world with a brief, eerie glow. It was like a glimpse of a war raging in Heaven. At each growl of thunder, Sarah moved closer to him. When the lights flickered briefly, she clung to his leg.
“OK, time for bed,” he said.
“Read me a book first . . . please.”
“Yeah, but just one. Go get your pajamas on and pick a book out.” The lights flickered again. After she went upstairs, he entered the garage and searched the cabinets. There were two electric lanterns in one of them. He toggled their on/off switches to make sure they worked. When he carried them into the house, the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out. His daughter began calling for him.
“It’s just a power outage, Sarah,” he called up the stairs. “Stay in your room. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Brief flashes of brilliance lit up the windows and spilled partway in. After each lightning strike faded, the darkness pressed against him, thick and smothering. The house was quiet and still. The only sounds were the drumming of rain on the roof and the intermittent thunder. He set one of the lanterns on the dining room table and turned the other on. Cocooned in its soft glow, he made a slow downstairs circuit. Only darkness and shadows fled from him. Nothing else. When his daughter called for him again, he went up the stairs.
“So, what book did you pick out?” Jason set one of the lanterns on her dresser and the other on top of her toy chest.
“The Wild Things.” She held the book up.
Sarah climbed onto his lap after he pulled the rocking chair closer to one of the lanterns. Quickly and perfunctorily, he read Where the Wild Things Are to her, pausing briefly at each page so she could look at the pictures. The sound of the rain had lessened, but gusts of wind made the tree branches tap and scratch at her window like something wanting to be let in.
“OK, time for bed.” Jason slid her off his lap after he finished the book.
“You didn’t howl.”
“What?”
“At the wild rumpus part. You always howl at that part.” Sarah stared up at him, her brow furrowing.
“Guess I forgot,” he said, walking towards the bookshelf. “I’ll leave the lanterns here, so you don’t have to worry about the Shadow Man tonight.”
“I’m not worried. I like him. He’s nice.”
“Mommy said you told her that. Has he talked to you?” He paused as he put the book back on its shelf. His voice was neutral, but his knuckles were white from how tightly he held the book.
“He tries, but I can’t understand him. His voice is too soft.”
“Maybe I’ll wait here and meet him.” He turned toward her with a smile that had been quickly slipped into place.
He sat and slowly rocked while Sarah lay in bed, cuddling her green dinosaur. When he could tell from her breathing that she had fallen asleep, he pulled the rocking chair around until it faced the hallway. His smile was stored away like the costume it was.
The lanterns had gotten noticeably dimmer, but there was still enough light for his needs. He sat motionless and stared into the darkened hallway. After a long wait, he began to perceive motion at the end of the hall. A shadow, vaguely the shape of a man and darker than the surrounding darkness, walked toward him. There wasn’t a word to describe its color because it wasn’t a color. It was the absence of color. The figure stopped outside the doorway, just beyond the pale semi-circle of light cast by the lanterns.
“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” Jason stood and leaned against the door frame. “The child must be pulling you back.”
“My life,” the figure said, its voice like the faint rustling of dried leaves.
“Yes, it was your life, but I’m trying it on for a while.”
“What are you?”
“A little of this and a little of that. The question should be, what do we do? We visit in the dead of night and feed on your fear, pain, and despair. We hold each of you closer than lovers as we drink our fill. And sometimes, when the despair is so great, we can find a small crack to wiggle into. A toe hold, so to speak, but there are rules. For me to be here, someone has to be there. Hence, your predicament. By the way, your wife appreciates the change. She mentioned the other day how long it’s been since my last bout of depression.”
The figure lunged forward. As his arms entered the light, they dissolved, quickly dissipating into a dark mist. He yanked them back.
“Stings, doesn’t it? Now, what to do about you?”
“Daddy?” Sarah was standing at Jason’s side.
“Get back to bed,” Jason shouted.
The shadow dropped to his knees, tapped his chest two times, and extended his arm like he was throwing her something. It was a game her father played with her. It meant he was giving her his heart. She reached into the darkness and took the shadow’s hand. As the changeling grabbed for her, he began to dissolve. The shadow turned back into a man, and Jason hugged his daughter close while the last remnants of the changeling drifted away like smoke.
***
Afterward, there were still times when a deep, dark sadness rose from within him. On the worst days, when he felt a distant scrabbling at the edges of his mind, Jason would stand in his daughter’s doorway and watch her sleep. As he did so, his love for her would weave into an unbreakable cord that kept him tethered to her, Becca, and the world.
Author’s Note: For my daughter, Lauren, who came up to me when she was three and said: “The Shadow Man is back.” Five words that made me shiver on a bright and sunny summer’s day.
This story previously appeared in Pink Hydra.
Edited by Erik Homberger
Writing in the third person always makes the author feel like he's writing his obituary, but here goes: a lover of alt-rock, Akira Kurosawa movies, and craft beer, the author lives in Northern California with his wife and two kids. His beautiful wife definitely could do better, but, luckily for him, she hasn't caught on to that fact yet. Rage Against the Machine, the Black Keys, and the Warlocks are in heavy rotation on Spotify for writing inspiration.