Shadow Play

by Domino Finn

  But how? I couldn't destroy corruption.

  Somebody rolled something along the sidewalk behind us, bumping at every seam like a child's wagon. As the sound grew closer, I turned around. It was a blue recycling bin with wheels.

  Only it was moving all by itself.

  "You've gotta be kidding me," I mumbled exhaustedly.

  Milena followed my gaze and let out a muffled yelp. As the container picked up speed, I reached out and pulled the shadow up from the concrete, tripping it. The bin toppled to the floor, and the top swung open.

  Something half-garbage and half-dog leapt out.

  Another poltergeist, this time formed from a mixture of discarded bottles and cans. The mass of glass, plastic, and aluminum charged at us without missing a beat. As it closed in, I noticed its claws were formed from jagged pieces of broken glass.

  "Run!" I cried.

  Milena moved, and I tweaked the shadows. The sidewalk went muddy. The garbage beast slowed like it was pushing through sludge, but it still loped ahead at an impressive clip.

  Our parking garage was only a block away. I ran after Milena.

  She screamed as I caught up. "I thought you said ghosts couldn't take physical form like this!"

  "They can't. They shouldn't. I mean, they're very limited."

  She chanced a backward peek. "That doesn't look very limited to me, Cisco."

  The poltergeist was navigating through my shadow too easily. Its gait was too large. The dog would be on us before we got to the building.

  "Go get the car!" I yelled, skidding to a stop. "I'm right behind you."

  "No, Cisco! Stay with me!"

  When she slowed, I pointed past her. "The car!" I ordered. She went off, and I spun around to face the spirit.

  Brenda thought she could make a good first impression, but this poltergeist had her beat. Spirits that possess physical objects usually go simple. Budge a chair along the floor. A binary open/close or up/down. Some of what I'd seen lately, like the car, was much more complex.

  In this case, there was nothing complicated about bottles and cans. Tiny objects by comparison. But the sheer number of them working together was unheard of. For a spirit to tie so many masses together in unison was, in a word, impressive. Or, wait. Horrifying. That's a more apt descriptor, seeing as how said bottles formed into a pack dog that was currently running me down.

  I dropped my hand to my side and stretched my fingers, feeling out the darkness. Manipulating shadow into physical form isn't a walk in the park, no matter how easy I make it look. It's taxing, especially the denser I sculpt it. Tentacles and sludge are one thing, but forming solid objects that can bludgeon is an art in itself. In my usual flair for demolition, it was something I'd been pushing the limits of recently—only this time I needed something more precise than a wrecking ball.

  A beam of shadow lowered from my fist like a slow pour of honey, stopping short of the ground. I willed the dark mass together, folding it lengthwise over itself, packing the Intrinsics into a tighter pattern than they naturally accepted. I strained as I did so until, with a grunt, I had a baseball bat extending from my arm.

  The dog lunged for me. I sidestepped and swung my shadow bat overhead, striking the midsection where the spine would've been. Of course, garbage poltergeists don't have spines. But it was holding itself together with energy, and I had just rocked it.

  The beast slammed to the concrete. I swung around, using my body's momentum to power the bat, and rained down another blow. My strategy was to separate the component parts, make the spirit work simply to stay together so it would lose its focus on me.

  It didn't work. Whatever glue it was using didn't crack.

  The dog snapped at me. My boot held the animal to the sidewalk, but its teeth still came awfully close. I swatted it with the bat a few times, but I no longer had the space to put power behind it.

  The poltergeist shook its entire body, like a dog shedding water after a swim. The quick movement nearly brushed me to the ground. As it was, I lost my grip on the beast.

  With unnatural agility, the dog twirled and lunged at me, claws scraping through my body as I dissolved into the shadow and let it pass through. I materialized behind it, winding up for a home run.

  The crack of the bat jarred my bones. The backside of the animal tore apart. Two-liter soda bottles blasted apart. Over-sized cans of hipster beer thunked to the ground. It was a start, but it was barely a blip of the thing's overall mass.

  The poltergeist rounded into a defensive posture. A tinny growl scraped through its throat. We both stepped to the side, each trying to outflank the other. It was crystal clear this was no normal poltergeist. It was getting smarter. Learning from its mistakes. It was waiting for me to swing so it could strike past my defenses.

  I risked a glance at the four-story parking structure. Milena must've been safe inside already.

  The beast feinted and I hopped to the side, staying away from its heavy paws. It was buying time. For what, I didn't know.

  Then, perhaps growing impatient, it leaped for me.

  I phased into the shadow but was rudely jerked back into the material world. I stood directly under a streetlight now, neutered by my loss of shadow. So that's what the ghost had been waiting on.

  I couldn't dodge.

  The large canine slammed into me as I forced my left forearm into its mouth. Strong jaws clamped down on my Nordic shield tattoo, but it only protected the skin on one side. Glass and metal bit into my tender flesh.

  The beast pressed me to my back. Its full weight crashed down on my chest. Air rushed from my lungs, and I barely held the shadow together. But it was no good now. The animal was standing over me. Biting me. Raking claws into my chest.

  My weapon was no good anymore. I pulled the shadow bat in on itself, collapsing it tighter, making it denser still. Its length receded until it was nothing but a quivering ball in my palm. Barely containing itself. I'd shoved so much shadow into such a small space that it was unstable.

  The dog did its best to chew through my armor. I winced in pain and pressed my right fist to its chest. Energy drinks and cracked bottles of beer scratched my arm.

  The dog swiped at me. I shot my head to the side to avoid the blow. Then I pushed deeper into its bowels, my arm buried to my elbow.

  "Chew on this," I said, and released the mass of shadow as it went critical.

  The Intrinsics exploded like an atom bomb. Pent-up energy fled the focal point with blinding speed, sparking an unimaginable amount of force. Metal and glass scattered like a firework, spreading in a fifty-foot radius.

  The blast even hurt me. My own shadow. My skin burned against the force and I shielded my eyes, but it was over in an instant.

  I blinked at the sky as cans and bottles rained all around.

  Chew on this? I could only shake my head. That would've made more sense if I'd shoved the shadow into its mouth. In the heat of the moment, sometimes those one-liners jump out before your brain can stop them. At least no one was around to hear it.

  A car driving down the strip honked. I jumped up, wondering how much they'd seen. The partiers in the car hooted as they passed. I simply shrugged in return. Maybe they thought I was vandalizing garbage cans. I was north of the popular strip and it was late enough that the area was dead. Hopefully exposure was minimized.

  I surveyed the scene. The asphalt and concrete bore new cracks, but had held up okay. I couldn't say the same for the hedges. They were completely vaporized. I patted the dust off my jeans and wiped my arm against my white shirt. Streaks of red painted the cotton.

  Eh, I've had worse.

  As I started toward the parking structure, a single can dragged along the street.

  I froze. Slowly, the others joined in. Bits and pieces slid along the ground, reforming like the T-1000. Only now it wasn't just bottles and cans. A stone planter on the side of the road wiggled. A valet parking stand tucked into the alley slid of its own volition. Two parking meters broke free from the si
dewalk. Some unlucky local even lost their bicycle.

  I backed away and watched as the garbage poltergeist grew to twice its original size. It now resembled a bear. Slow and lumbering, but still something you'd prefer to see behind ten inches of safety glass.

  The beast growled as it finalized its form. It was a low, gravelly sound that shook the floor. When it was through, it keyed on me. A single flighty beep answered back.

  Wait. That was weird.

  A little red Fiat screeched to a stop on the street. "Come with me if you want to live," screamed Milena in a heavy Schwarzenegger accent.

  I held my hands up. "Really?"

  "Sorry. I get nervous around ghosts."

  I squeezed in as the bear stomped toward us. "Fair enough."

  The tiny Italian automobile zipped away, tailed by an angry poltergeist three times its size.

  Chapter 23

  Fun fact: Possessed hunks of garbage Voltronned into oversized animals move way faster than they should.

  We sped along the streets of Miami Beach. Crowds of people panicked as we crossed the heavily trafficked strips on Collins and Washington, garbage monster in tow. So much for minimizing exposure. I couldn't imagine what the news would report tomorrow. Hopefully all the inebriated witnesses were too busy cowering to record any video.

  We soon made it to the west side of the island. Heading north on Alton Road, the street was empty again. The Fiat was free to pick up speed, but the bear of metal and glass closed in.

  "Your compass is broken, Cisco," complained Milena.

  "What?"

  She tapped the darkfinder against the dashboard and checked it again. "This compass isn't warning me of shit."

  "Let me see that." I snatched it from her, wiggled the hands around, and let them settle. They spun lazily.

  Milena was right. Unless the garbage beast behind us only wanted directions to Rageaholics Anonymous, the darkfinder wasn't working.

  I upturned the compass and used my knife to slide the back cover off. Underneath the interior face, where the magnet should be (or in this case, the mercury apparatus), I saw nothing.

  "The mercury's gone," I said.

  Milena glanced at me between frantic mirror checks. "Meaning?"

  I shrugged. "Like you said. Useless."

  I rolled down the window to toss the husk of metal, but saw the bear stomping after us, its paws sparking as they hit the asphalt. I dropped the broken compass in my pouch instead. Better not to add garbage to the heap.

  Something was very wrong. Poltergeists are not free roaming spirits. Coming after me opportunistically was one thing, but animating hundreds of items was rewriting the text books. Or Necronomicons, for that matter. And the thing was gaining on us.

  "You need to do something, Cisco."

  I shuddered at the beast bearing down on us and reached into my bag of tricks.

  "I know."

  I fingered a small vial of orange powder. It was a voodoo concoction. A combustible that magically burned away stubborn material. I'd used it to destroy all evidence of Tunji Malu, but it wasn't perfect—his teeth hadn't disintegrated. Still, we were only talking about a collection of trash.

  The powder was one thing, but I needed a delivery mechanism. I reached under the seat, into my shadow box, and slipped my shotgun out. I cracked the barrel and examined the old shell with a sigh. I was a man with one bullet, and it was a dud.

  "The glove compartment," suggested Milena.

  I scrunched my brow at her. "I don't think a stun gun's suitable for scratching that thing's ass." Some security blanket.

  "No, dummy. The ammo."

  I popped the compartment open and there was a brand-new box of shotgun shells.

  "Your shopping list," she said with a smile.

  "This is birdshot," I said, exasperated.

  "What's that mean?"

  I shook my head. "It means these rounds are pretty effective. Against quail."

  "Well, how was I supposed to—"

  "Never mind," I said.

  The shot gauge wasn't really important in this case. I dropped my dud on the floor and picked out a shiny new cartridge from the ammo box. I used my knife to pry out the wad at the tip.

  "What are you doing?" asked Milena.

  "Improvising."

  I poured some of the birdshot out and filled the casing with my orange spark powder. It was rushed, sloppy work. It would have to do. I stuffed the wad back in and slid the shell into the chamber.

  Gripping the sawed off, I stuck my body through the open window. The meager passenger space made maneuvering difficult.

  "You couldn't have gotten a midsize?" I asked, scraping my back.

  She ignored me and sped on. The occasional car sped past us in the opposing lane, but otherwise we were thankfully alone. Good. I didn't need to worry about collateral damage.

  It took longer than it should've, but eventually I twisted around and sat on the closed door, legs inside the car. I was surprised to see the ursine face of the beast only a few yards away.

  I raised the shotgun. The last shell had misfired. There was a better than average chance the new one would do the same. The bear swiped at my weapon. I pulled away, then settled my aim on it.

  I said, "Just say no to forest fires, Smokey," and pulled the trigger.

  A flash erupted from the sawed off, a cone of birdshot and fire. Miniature holes punctured the various metal items that made up the bear's head and shoulders. Even better, the flame engulfed the trash like lighter fluid on coals. The poltergeist tripped over itself and tumbled to a stop.

  "Yes!" I returned to my seat. "Who says there's no such thing as a magic bullet?"

  The Fiat's tires screeched as Milena skidded to a stop in the middle of the street. We twisted around and silently watched the heap of garbage burn. A quarter of the beast blazed with red fire. Molten drops of metal and glass fell away and disintegrated, forever lost.

  After a moment, Milena threw me a sideways glance. "You know that forest-fire joke made no sense, right?"

  "I was hoping you didn't hear that."

  Her smile faded as she checked the mirror. I saw it through the rear window. The bear's head lifted off the asphalt and attempted to shake away the flames. The poltergeist hollered.

  "Can it feel pain?" Milena asked, jaw open.

  "Sure looks like it."

  The bear regained its feet. It shook and stumbled drunkenly into a storefront. The flames spread over its body. Some of the building started to catch, too.

  But my ghost problem wasn't over quite yet.

  The chunks of bottles and garbage, the ones that were alight, dropped to the street. They didn't melt off so much as fall away. I realized what the poltergeist was doing. Rather than be consumed entirely, the ghost was shedding its excess parts. It discarded any pieces tainted by the spark powder. The rest of the beast, mostly its midsection and back, retreated from the burnt remains.

  I had succeeded in weakening it. The garbage mass was undoubtedly smaller. Yet judging by the amount of energy this spirit still expended, it was as dangerous as ever.

  And it wasn't done spending that energy.

  Anything that wasn't on fire in the immediate vicinity was dragged toward it. The spirit was transforming yet again.

  Damn. This was one persistent ghost.

  Chapter 24

  Slowly, the poltergeist reformed. Its component parts, the detritus of society. Its glue, utter contempt for me. Two metal sign poles culminating in jagged points rose from the new head, forming oversized horns.

  "What is that thing?" asked Milena.

  "I don't know, but it's smart. And really pissed."

  "What did you do to it?"

  I considered the question but only answered with a shrug. I'd encountered two poltergeists already. Defeated them both, in a sense, yet both had ultimately escaped. This garbage beast was yet another person I'd wronged, and much more powerful than the other two. I was starting to think I was in for a world of hurt.


  I pointed to an open lot that was under construction. Inside the wraparound chain-link fence was a parked sanitation vehicle.

  "Milena," I wondered aloud, "you said you know how to steal cars, right?"

  "Piece of cake."

  "What about that one?"

  She followed my finger to the rear-loader garbage truck. "I get it," she said. "Time to take out the trash."

  "Man, I was totally gonna use that one."

  "Too slow," she teased.

  "Okay. Get out, get that thing onto the street, and open the back. I'll drive around the block."

  "You sure about this?"

  "No, but I've been indecisive lately. Now get outta here."

  Behind us, the ghost finished its transformation. A bull made of glass and steel turned to the Fiat. I stepped on the gas and the animal lowered its head and followed.

  I barreled down Alton Road, Biscayne Bay calm on my left-hand side. I had to admit, the little hatchback had some zip. The bull had trouble catching up to me. When it slowly gained ground, I veered sharply to a side street on the right. The bull's makeshift hooves sent sparks in the air. It couldn't complete the tight maneuver and skidded into the corner building.

  Like a boy playing keep away from an older brother, I found I could elude the larger beast by using the environment. On the open road I was a dead loser, but a quick turn here and there bought me more time. But just like that boy running from his older brother, I knew I was in for a beatdown when I was eventually caught. Nobody can run forever.

  On my second pass around the block, Milena had already started the truck. I gunned the car down the road, trying to outpace the poltergeist at my bumper. It got angry and sloppy and clipped an oncoming vehicle. The bull tumbled to the sidewalk. The other car careened over the grass and into the Bay.

  I winced at the collision. At least it had gotten me the space I needed. Before the bull recovered, I put two solid blocks between us. Headlights in the distance warned me of more oncoming vehicles. I couldn't have that, and now was as good a time as any.