The Shadows Call Page 3

  ‘Maybe.’ Sarah wasn’t convinced. She eyed me expectantly. ‘Is that why you did a runner from the house: because you saw your own shadow?’

  ‘I didn’t do a runner. I finished what I was doing. Needed a coffee. Thought you might appreciate one too.’

  ‘I do. My head’s still banging after last night.’

  I held open my palms. ‘Never again, eh?’

  ‘Never again,’ she agreed.

  ‘Until next weekend,’ we both quipped in unison. Then we laughed without any real vigour. It was a clichéd joke between drinkers, done to death.

  ‘You should come with me next time,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I’d cramp your style,’ I said.

  ‘You could watch my handbag while I go outside for a ciggie,’ she said.

  ‘That’s about my lot. You know I don’t drink any more.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Sarah hung her head, sorry for suggesting a night on the town. But I was secretly thrilled. It was the first time she’d mentioned personally socialising with me; it gave me hope that the attraction I felt towards her might actually be reciprocated.

  ‘I didn’t think that you “management types” liked fraternizing with the plebs off the front line.’ I grinned to make sure she knew I was teasing. ‘Aren’t we below you?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Jack.’ She leaned forward jabbing her cigarette to emphasize her point. ‘I’m store operations manager, but just because I earn a higher wage, it doesn’t make me any better than you. Any way, you should aim higher. You used to be an English teacher, right?’

  ‘I used to teach English as a second language,’ I corrected. ‘Not quite the same thing, is it?’

  ‘You’re just being finicky now. My point is you’re an intelligent guy. You could do much better than sales if you applied yourself.’

  I wondered if that was some kind of code; that she was offering me an opening to make a move on her. I overthought my response, and never got the opportunity to reply.

  ‘You probably wouldn’t enjoy yourself any way,’ she said. ‘It tends to be all us young ones from work. You’d feel out of place.’

  Maybe she didn’t mean to, but she’d just metaphorically dashed cold water on my rising ardor.

  ‘Are you calling me old?’ I mock scolded.

  ‘Older. What are you? Forty-four, forty-five?’

  ‘I’m only thirty-four,’ I said, as if the disparity was massive.

  ‘Oh, I thought…’

  I knew what she thought. I’d been married for nine years, had two kids and an estranged wife behind me, and that was only one of my two long-term relationships she knew about.

  ‘I was young when I first met Naomi,’ I said. ‘My first serious girlfriend and I was only sixteen. I met Catriona when I was twenty-three, and got married a couple years later. We did that kind of stuff back in the old days.’ I meant my last as a joke, but it sounded more like criticism.

  ‘You speak and act like someone much older,’ Sarah pointed out. ‘Probably comes from teaching all those immigrants how to speak proper.’

  ‘I’m mature for my age,’ I said.

  She mimed patting a hand over a yawn.

  ‘So that makes me boring does it?’

  She only looked at me steadily, and then without comment she looked off across the street, watching shoppers hurrying between stores. Around us, pigeons with deformed feet pecked for crumbs between the cracks in the pavement. I took a long gulp of coffee. It was bitter, going cold. Much like our conversation. I cleared my throat, brought Sarah’s attention back.

  ‘This shadow,’ she said, ‘tell me about it.’

  ‘What’s to tell? It was my shadow.’

  She took a drag on her cigarette, watching me over its glowing tip. She pouted her bottom lip and blue curls wafted around her darker curls. She waited.

  ‘It was shaped like a person,’ I said.

  ‘Like a man?’

  ‘Well it would be, seeing as it was my shadow.’

  She rocked her head, noncommittal. ‘Debatable.’

  ‘What, that it was my shadow or that I’m a man?’

  She continued watching me over her cigarette. Now it was her eyes that were smoky. I caught myself looking too long and quickly averted my gaze.

  ‘It was black,’ I said, trying to get back on track.

  ‘As opposed to what?’

  ‘To grey. Most shadows are light grey when there isn’t a bright source of light to cast them.’

  ‘You said there was a break in the clouds.’

  ‘It was only a theory.’

  ‘How black?’

  ‘What do you mean “how black”? Black’s black, isn’t it?’

  She shook her head, used the cigarette as a pointer. ‘Your jacket looks black at first glance, but it isn’t really. It has a blue sheen to it. Nearer navy.’

  She had a point. But what was the point? ‘It was black-black,’ I emphasised.

  ‘Which,’ she pointed out with a note of glee, ‘proves that it wasn’t an ordinary shadow. You said it yourself, the shadow should’ve been light grey.’

  ‘Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe it was just dark grey or something. I only saw it for a second at most. Then it was gone.’ I clicked my fingers, shoving my argument home. ‘There was traffic passing on the street. Maybe the sunlight reflected off a truck or something and cast a pedestrian’s shadow inside the room. The truck sped on, and the shadow was gone. It’s simple when you think about it.’

  It was a fair explanation. But I knew I was lying to myself, let alone Sarah. There had been no pedestrians outside. The shadow was in my room, free standing, and full black. Not part of an insignificant shadow cast from many yards away by the momentary play of reflection, but a solid-looking figure I could have reached out and touched. In that briefest glimpse before it lunged at me I knew it was staring at me, planning on tearing off my face.

  I shuddered.

  Sarah caught my unease. But she was on a roll now.

  ‘Describe it to me.’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘No, I mean in detail. Was it like a mist, were the edges blurry or defined?’

  ‘How would I know? It was just my shadow, Sarah. It was nothing.’

  ‘For being nothing it’s sure got you spooked.’

  ‘I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits or anything else like that. It’s all bullshit. People die, they’re gone.’ My last word came out hard, and louder than I expected. The nearest customer sat twenty feet away near the entrance to the coffee shop, but the man looked up from his damp newspaper to give me a sharp glance. He was annoyed at the intrusion into his day. I studiously ignored him, as if our gazes hadn’t crossed. I folded my hands around my lukewarm cup. ‘Sorry, Sarah, I didn’t mean to sound so sharp.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m not easily frightened.’

  ‘Neither am I. It was nothing. Probably my body telling me I needed caffeine.’

  ‘Hallelujah to that,’ she said picking up her latte and downing half the contents.

  ‘Want another?’ I offered. ‘Extra espresso?’

  ‘I could be tempted.’ She gulped the remainder and then pushed her cup towards me. I stood, scattering the pigeons. They didn’t fly far before alighting and continuing their search for a meagre meal.

  I went inside and joined the queue, wondering when this old working class town had become the domain of university students and immigrants. I didn’t recognise a single face, or even pick out a word spoken in English. Two locals did join the queue behind me, and the only reason I knew that was because the bloke was wearing the blue, white and red Carlisle United home shirt – though it was out of date by about a decade. His girlfriend was overweight, wore too much make up, and her black leggings stretched so tightly I could see the colour of her underwear through them. They looked anachronistic, a throw back to those earlier days, when compared to the clean-cut students with their designer clothing and coiffed hairstyles. They swore unashamedly at each other like reject
s from the Jeremy Kyle Show and it was horrible to listen too – hell, when I was a ESL teacher, I met foreigners with a better grasp of English than those two. Maybe the influx of more cultured people to the city weren’t a bad thing after all. I made my order to the bright young thing at the counter, paid then joined the second queue where the baristas doled out the finished product. I was waiting for a fresh Americano and skinny latte both with an extra shot when my mobile phone bleeped in my pocket.

  Taking out the phone I saw the “message” icon was starred. I pressed the screen, bringing up the message.

  I WANT YOU

  I’m not sure why, but my gaze immediately zoned in on Sarah sitting outside at the table. She was just visible through the window, at the far right, and she was looking back at me. Discretely she fed something into her handbag. Her phone? Then she nodded once to herself and looked down, searching for a fresh cigarette.

  A thrill went through me. But I couldn’t be sure that my playful workmate had just sent me the text. I checked, but there was no number registered from the sender. I had Sarah’s saved in my contact list. But, hell, a lot of people carried more than one phone. Maybe she had sent the message from a different phone knowing full well I couldn’t be sure whom it was from.

  ‘You little tease,’ I said under my breath, experiencing a shiver of titillation.

  Yet at the same time I felt a strange qualm of unease worm through my bowels and it placed a dampener on the moment.

  Sarah was forever checking her phone. Maybe she’d taken my trip inside the shop as a good opportunity to check in with the rest of the world, and she hadn’t sent the text at all. It was wishful thinking that the text had come from her.

  When I returned to her, I made no mention of the text message.

  For that matter, neither did she.

  By the time we got up to return to the house, I’d pushed it to the back of my mind. But the memory of the shadow figure still troubled me.

  4

  Sarah’s Phone

  Sarah appeared in the doorway of my kitchen, wearing a frown and a layer of dust on her forehead. She’d been brushing the floor in the sitting room next to the parlour while I tried to scrub some of the rust stains out of the kitchen sink. I was coated in soapsuds up to the elbows.

  ‘Have you seen my iPhone?’ she asked.

  ‘Eh?’ I replied in my most eloquent way.

  ‘My iPhone? I was going to put some music on while we worked.’

  ‘The TV’s wired up now,’ I said. ‘You’ll get one of the radio channels on it. Put it on if you want.’

  She nodded at my wisdom, but remained troubled. ‘Still doesn’t explain where my phone is. I’m sure it was in my handbag.’

  ‘You’ve checked?’

  She showed me her palms, went “D’uh!”. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, Jack. Of course I checked, how else would I know my phone was missing?’

  ‘I meant taken a second look. If you’re like me I sometimes can’t see what I’m looking for and it’s right under my nose.’

  ‘That’s a man thing,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve checked. Double-checked and it’s not there.’

  I found a dry cloth and rubbed the suds from my hands. My question was loaded. ‘When did you last use it?’

  ‘When we were at Starbucks earlier.’

  I watched her expectantly, waiting for her to elucidate.

  ‘I updated my Facebook status. Told the world I was “having coffee with the ugliest man on earth”.’ She gave me a quirky shrug of one shoulder. I tried not to look offended.

  ‘And you remember putting it back in your bag?’ I didn’t need to ask, I’d watched her put away her phone.

  ‘Yes, Mother, I put it away safely. Now it isn’t there.’

  For some reason I felt guilty. Earlier I’d seen her handbag sitting on the floor in the parlour where she’d set it down out of harm’s way. I’d seen her iPhone sitting in the bag, on top of the rest of the stuff women seem to cart around with them everywhere. I’d briefly considered taking a sneaky glance through her sent messages to check if she had been behind the teasing text earlier. Simply the thought of invading her personal space had been enough to make me flush and I’d hurried into the kitchen and got jiggy with the Mr Muscle. I didn’t confirm that I’d seen her phone, for fear my guilty streak might show and be misconstrued.

  ‘I’ll ring it,’ I offered and went to fetch my mobile from my jacket pocket. ‘You’re still using the same phone, right?’

  Again she didn’t pick up on my loaded question. I took her silence as confirmation that she was using the original number I’d saved in my contact list.

  I found her number and hit the call button.

  From somewhere in the house jangled the strains of her ringtone: It was the Darth Vader theme from Star Wars.

  ‘Do you use that ringtone for every call, or just those from me?’ I asked.

  Sarah smiled mischievously, but she chose to ignore my question, heading out into the hall, listening hard. ‘Where’s it coming from?’

  I joined her in the vestibule, staring towards the back door into the yard. Neither of us had been outside today. I pointed up the stairs. ‘Have you been to the bathroom since we got here?’

  ‘Yeah, I needed to go after all that coffee.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s where your phone is.’

  ‘How’d it get up there?’

  ‘You must have taken your bag with you. Maybe you updated your Facebook status while you were on the loo.’

  From the look on her face, she was positive she hadn’t. But the act of checking phones had grown to be second nature these days, almost a ritual performed by rote, often unconsciously.

  ‘I left it in my bag,’ she said. But a flicker of uncertainty darted across her face. ‘I’m positive I did.’

  ‘Who else would have taken it?’ I said, and had to try hard to keep my face deadpan. ‘Mr Nobody?’

  The ringtone still sounded. It was tinny from behind the closed bathroom door. I left my phone on call while we walked up the short flight of stairs to the split-level landing. The theme tune was ideal for our slow trudge upwards. I wished I hadn’t posed the question. Giving the shadow man a name, even a jokey one, was almost akin to inviting him in. ‘You must’ve taken it with you. You just don’t remember that’s all. I do stuff like that all the time. Can’t find a bloody thing if I don’t make a mental note of where I left it last.’

  I was blathering, and Sarah knew it. I’d seeded her with the idea that something weird was going on in my new home, and I wasn’t helping to dispel the notion.

  We reached the landing. Above us the stained glass window glowed in the late afternoon sun. While we’d been cleaning, the earlier rain clouds had apparently pushed further inland, heralding in a calm and pleasant evening. We stood there for a second or two, absorbing the unexpected warmth of the winter sun. It didn’t feel as uncomfortable listening to the ominous music when the sun kissed our upturned faces.

  Seconds passed before it hit us why we were hanging there like a couple of plums. The door was shut, and looked insurmountable.

  ‘You go in first,’ Sarah whispered.

  ‘It’s only the bathroom,’ I said. But I didn’t step forward. Part of me feared the door would resist my entry; the way the other door had earlier prevented me leaving the parlour. I ended my call and the Darth Vader theme tune cut off mid-chime. Suddenly the silence was all consuming.

  ‘Go in then,’ Sarah commanded, breaking the wall of quietude.

  I mentally hitched up my trousers. Took a step forward and pressed open the door. Without entering the bathroom I could immediately see Sarah’s iPhone sitting on the edge of the old cast iron tub. ‘There you are,’ I said.

  ‘Fetch it for me.’ Sarah’s voice was hushed.

  Being the big brave hero, I gave an unconcerned shrug and stepped into the bathroom. I reached for the phone.

  It jumped off the lip and clattered into the tub.

  Sarah em
itted a short yelp. Maybe I did too, but have purposefully elected to wipe it from my memory. The way I hoped Sarah had when she’d fetched her phone to the loo with her. Though why she’d have placed it precariously on the edge of the tub I couldn’t work out.

  I leaned over the tub. Thankfully there was no water in it. I picked up the phone and presented it to Sarah who was now in the doorway. The iPhone was ice cold, but undamaged. ‘It looks OK,’ I announced.

  ‘What made it jump like that?’ Sarah still hadn’t taken possession of her phone; too busy glancing around searching for the otherworldly.

  I experimented. Found that the floorboard underfoot was loose. I pressed it up and down. ‘When I stepped on the loose floorboard, it made the bath vibrate and the phone slipped in.’

  ‘It didn’t slip…it jumped.’

  ‘I’m heavy footed. This damn knee of mine.’

  Sarah wasn’t buying my explanation. If I was honest, neither was I: the loose board didn’t as much as cause the bath to shake, let alone launch an object from its lip several inches through space.

  Sarah took the phone from me, holding it between both palms. ‘It’s freezing,’ she said, and her eyes glittered with barely subdued excitement.

  5

  Antigonish

  “Yesterday upon the stair

  I met a man who wasn’t there

  He wasn’t there again today

  Oh, how I wish he’d go away.”

  I couldn’t shake the words of that damn poem from my head. I wasn’t even sure where I’d heard them, or how they’d become ingrained in my psyche. But they spun around and around, repeating over and over, and finally lulled me into a fitful sleep.

  Twice I awoke in the night, blinking furiously around the room, expecting to see a man who wasn’t there peering back at me from the darkness. But he wasn’t there.