by Vera Strange
“My grandmother’s necklace,” Jamal said, reaching for it. His fingers clasped the skull. He could feel heat emanating from it. “The shadows. The tarot cards. You did that to me!”
He backed away in fear, but the shadow man only tilted his head back and chuckled. “Well, now, I can’t take all the credit. I had a little help from my friends on the other side.”
“Your friends did that?”
“They’re special friends,” Dr. Facilier said. “They help me get what I want. And right now I want that necklace from your grandmother.”
“But I can’t give it to you,” Jamal protested. “My grandmother left it to me. I already told you. She wouldn’t like it.”
What he didn’t say was that he was afraid of why the shadow man wanted the necklace so badly—and what he’d do with it. It clearly had special powers and could protect him.
“If you give me the necklace,” Dr. Facilier said, “then all these terrible things will stop—and you’ll no longer be in your brother’s shadow.”
With that, he produced the third tarot card again. It was the one that represented Jamal’s potential future, where he stood in the spotlight and his brother was the one in the shadows. Jamal stared at the card, feeling how much he wanted it.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Dr. Facilier said, seeing the expression on his face. “To be out of the shadows for a change? I can do that for you.”
Jamal licked his lips. He was so tempted. But then the skull necklace flared again.
It was a warning.
But what if there was another way? To keep the necklace—and get the future depicted in the card?
“What if I could offer you another form of payment?” Jamal said, his voice wavering.
Dr. Facilier raised his eyebrows and tipped his hat. “A bargaining man, huh? What else could you possibly have that I’d want?”
“Right, wait here…” Jamal said. He dashed back into his house, trampling over the tarot cards littering the hallway floor. The shadow monsters stared up at him.
Guilt pooled in his gut, but he ignored it. I have to do this, he thought, running into his bedroom. He crept to his brother’s bed, slipping and sliding on tarot cards. Malik was still sound asleep with the pillow over his head. His muffled snores drifted out.
Jamal knelt down and reached under his brother’s bed. His hands landed on the trumpet case. He slid it out, flipped the clasps, and cracked open the lid, revealing the trumpet.
“I’m really sorry,” Jamal whispered, slipping the trumpet out of the case. “But I need this…. You don’t understand what it’s like….”
He shut the case and slid it back under the bed. Then he ran outside, where he found Dr. Facilier waiting for him—not very patiently.
“Little man, this had better be worth it. My time is highly valuable.”
Jamal held up the trumpet. Its brassy surface glinted in the pale moonlight. “Right, I can trade you this,” he said, ignoring the terrible feeling in his gut.
Dr. Facilier frowned. “A trumpet? Now what would I want with that?”
“My grandmother left it to my brother,” Jamal said. “We each got a gift from her estate. It must be valuable. It’s old and has been in my family for many generations.”
“Valuable, you say?” Dr. Facilier’s lips twisted into a predatory grin.
“You said it had to be something of great importance and value to the dreamer.” Jamal looked down in shame. “Well, this trumpet counts. It’s my brother’s most prized possession. And he’s very important to me.”
The shadow man’s eyes shifted to Jamal’s neck—where the skull necklace still glowed under his shirt. He seemed to be thinking it over.
Jamal’s heart raced. Was the shadow man going to refuse the deal? But then a sly look passed over the man’s angular face.
“Fine, you have yourself a deal,” Dr. Facilier said with a tip of his top hat. “The trumpet, in exchange for this.” He held up the tarot card with the promised future.
Jamal nodded and handed over the trumpet. When he did it, the skull necklace flared, but it was too late. Dr. Facilier grinned in the moonlight and raised his hand, clutching the trumpet. Then he produced more purple dust from his pocket and blew it into the air.
Wisps of purple smoke swirled, enveloping Jamal. The dolls materialized from the smoke, dancing around the shadow man. Were those his friends from the other side? They boogied in the moonlight to an exotic drumbeat and chanted strange incantations in a language Jamal had never heard before. Their button eyes locked on to him, sending a chill straight down his spine.
As the shadow man cast his spell, images whirled around them. Jamal winning at basketball. Reading his stories in front of an audience. Answering questions in science class. Riding the school bus home surrounded by adoring friends. The scenes were mesmerizing. He couldn’t wait for it all to happen. Then the shadow man cackled.
“Enjoy your dream made real,” he said, vanishing into a swirl of purple smoke with his troop of creepy dolls. Jamal was left alone, standing on the front stoop. His heart hammered. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. It was morning.
He reached for the skull necklace. It was no longer glowing with reddish light now that the shadow man was gone. It felt cool. That was a relief. Maybe all his problems were solved after all. He hurried back into the house—and the hallway was clear.
No tarot cards. No shadow monsters. No sign of the shadow man’s curse.
A smile crept over Jamal’s face. He returned to his bedroom and slid into bed, elated. The images from his new future danced through his head to the beat of the shadow man and his friends. But they were immediately chased by guilt.
His eyes darted to the case under his brother’s bed. He felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t believe that he had stolen his brother’s trumpet. Malik was going to be so upset when he woke up and discovered that it was gone.
Worse yet, Jamal had made a deal with the shadow man. He felt acid burn his throat and swallowed hard. “I had to do it,” he whispered to himself. “I didn’t have a choice.”
The guilt lingered, eating at him and making him toss and turn.
What had he just done?
But he couldn’t help feeling excited about the future the shadow man had promised him. The images from Dr. Facilier’s spell swirled through his head. Didn’t his brother love him? Wouldn’t Malik want him to be happy for once? His brother would have to understand, Jamal thought.
Though he tried to sleep, it was hard when he was this excited. It was almost like Christmas Eve. He couldn’t wait to wake up and see how different things were.
Everything in his life was about to change.
Everything.
Jamal was back in his grandmother’s house. He could tell by the smell of it. Sweet and musty. The smell of decay. The shadows contorted as he wandered through the dark hallways. The ancient wooden floorboards creaked under his feet. He reached the end of the hall and pushed a door open.
Creak.
It swung heavily on its hinges. The room inside was lit only by pale moonlight shining through the cracks between the thick curtains covering the windows. A shadowy figure sat in a rocking chair. Her face was shrouded by black veils.
She hunched forward in her chair. The veils blew back from her head, revealing her wrinkled, skeletal face. Her once warm, brown skin looked almost gray. She stared at him with milky eyes.
“Beware of the shadows,” she moaned. “Don’t mess with the shadow man—or you’ll regret it.”
Jamal backed away, terrified. “No, Grandma! I’m sorry!”
“Don’t you know he’s trouble, boy?” she moaned, rocking back and forth in her chair. “How dare you give my trumpet to that horrible man? You can’t trust him!”
Jamal awoke with a start. He was in his bedroom. It was only a bad dream. Sunlight, bright and crisp, streamed through his window. No musty smell. No thick curtains. No moaning voice. He inhaled and exhaled, fee
ling his heart rate slow.
He glanced at the clock and jumped up. It was time to get ready for school. Jamal bounded to the closet and cracked open the door, and in a flash he remembered the tarot cards.
He felt a stab of fear, but as his eyes grazed the interior, he saw it was perfectly normal.
Nothing was amiss.
No tarot cards.
He remembered the shadow man standing on his front stoop. And he remembered stealing his brother’s trumpet and making the deal with the man. But now that all seemed like a bad dream, too.
Whistling to himself, Jamal pulled on a jersey and some jeans. “Hey, Malik, you getting up for school?” he called to his brother’s bed across the room.
But his brother didn’t answer.
Jamal poked his head out of the closet. His eyes fell on his brother’s bed. It was empty. No sign of Malik. Also, the bed was made, like nobody had slept in it the night before.
That’s strange, Jamal thought. His brother never made his bed except when their mother threatened them during one of her manic cleaning binges after too much coffee.
His mind whirred through possibilities. Maybe Malik got up early for school, excited about his first day as their new class president. Perhaps that was also why he had made his bed. Just showing off for their parents for the millionth time, Jamal decided with a roll of his eyes.
“As if he’s not already perfect enough,” he snorted, traipsing into the kitchen, which smelled of coffee and burnt toast. That meant his mother instead of his father had attempted to make breakfast.
“Kiara, step away from the toaster,” his father said, unplugging it and handling it with oven mitts. A puff of smoke emerged from the vents, filling the kitchen with a bitter aroma.
“Uh, smells extra toasty,” Jamal said with a smirk.
“Sorry, baby,” Mom said, looking chastised. “I was just trying to help.”
Jamal sat down at the island. He eyed the burnt eggs in the skillet, then poured himself a bowl of cereal instead. It was never a good idea for his mom to cook. He couldn’t bring himself to stomach it, but sometimes Malik would eat it, just to make her feel better.
“Where’s Malik?” he asked, digging into his cereal.
His father busied himself scraping the burnt eggs from the skillet into the sink. He fired up the disposal, which almost drowned out his answer. “Uh, Malik who?”
“Is that one of your new friends?” Mom said, giving him a knowing look over her steaming cup of coffee. “I mean, you have so many. It’s hard to keep track. Isn’t that right?”
“Sure is,” Dad said, chuckling. “You’re the most popular kid at school.”
“Me…popular?” Jamal snorted, and almost spit out his cereal. He was sure he’d heard them wrong over the disposal. “You’re mixing me up with my brother.”
“Brother?” Mom said with a laugh. “What brother?”
“Son, you’re an only child,” Dad added, sounding concerned.
Mom got her “something’s up” look. She walked over and felt his forehead. “Jamal, are you feeling okay?”
He swiped her hand away. “Ha, very funny. Is it April Fools’ Day?”
His parents both stared at him, looking worried. “Uh, you know…my brother,” Jamal went on. “He was born five minutes before me. Never lets me forget it. He’s my twin. Malik.”
Now they looked even more worried. Jamal felt a strange sensation creep through his body. He sprang up and ran into the living room, to the bookshelf with all the family photos on it.
“Come look, over here…” he started, but the words dried up in his throat.
His eyes passed over the pictures. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
Every single photo was of him. Jamal was now playing trumpet at the recital and shooting a layup to win the basketball game. He was holding a first-place trophy at the school science fair. The family portraits showed only the three of them—Mom, Dad, and Jamal. Even the baby pictures, which had always depicted two fat, cuddly baby boys, now showed only baby Jamal.
There were no pictures of Malik.
It was like his brother had been erased.
Like he had never existed at all.
Jamal darted into his bedroom. His parents followed him, looking really afraid now. Jamal started yanking the clothes out of Malik’s dresser.
“Look, these are my brother’s clothes,” he said, pointing to them, then to the twin bed across the room. “And that’s his bed over there. We share a bedroom.”
“Son, those are your clothes,” Dad said, shaking his head. “And that bed is for when your friends sleep over. This is your room.”
“Uh, my friends?” Jamal said. “But I don’t have any friends really. I’ve never even had someone sleep over.”
“What do you mean?” Dad said. “You’ve got a ton of friends. You just got voted class president.”
“And we’re so proud of you,” Mom added. “You won in a landslide.”
“No, Malik is the popular one,” Jamal protested, backing away from them in fear. “My twin brother. He has all the friends. It’s like he has a fan club or something.”
He rifled through the items on the bookshelf and yanked out his yearbook. “Come look, over here…” He flipped to the superlatives. But instead of Malik’s face everywhere, it was Jamal’s.
“W-what happened to my brother?” he stammered, staring in shock at his picture and name over Most Popular. How was that possible?
“Jamal, you have to stop. You don’t have a brother,” Mom said. “I mean, I was there when you were born. I think I’d remember something like having another kid.”
“Yeah, I was there, too,” Dad added. “That’s not exactly something you forget.”
“And the day we had you was the happiest day of our lives,” Mom added with a smile. “We’re so proud of you, kiddo. We couldn’t ask for a better kid.”
“Maybe you should stay home from school today,” Dad said. “I’m worried you might be running a fever. Maybe even hallucinating.”
“No, I’m fine…really,” Jamal said. “It was just a bad dream.”
He pinched himself—hard. But this time, he didn’t wake up. His parents were just as worried as before, and his brother was still gone. Jamal glanced down at the yearbook clutched in his hands. Instead of Malik, he saw himself on page after page, playing trumpet in the jazz band, smiling out of his basketball team picture, winning the top prize at the school science fair.
That was when he remembered the deal he’d made with the shadow man the night before. That wasn’t just a dream—it was real, he realized with shock. He had stolen his brother’s trumpet and given it to Dr. Facilier in exchange for the future he had been promised.
But this wasn’t what I meant, he thought frantically.
He had wanted to step out of his brother’s shadow and get a taste of what it was like to be popular. But he didn’t mean for his brother to be erased entirely.
That wasn’t the deal. He remembered Dr. Facilier’s sly smile when he accepted the trumpet. Jamal reached for the skull necklace he wore. He remembered his grandmother’s warning to stay away from the shadow man.
Jamal’s stomach flipped. He felt sick, like he might vomit. One thought circled through his head.
What did I do last night?
Jamal entered the school with terrible guilt clawing at his insides. What did I do last night? The question ran through his head on repeat, like a bad song you couldn’t get out. Each time he thought it, his stomach twisted. He remembered his parents saying, “Who’s Malik?”
They didn’t even know his brother’s name. That memory made him feel worse. He had to find a way to reverse the curse. This wasn’t what he’d meant when he took Malik’s trumpet and made the deal.
The skull necklace hung heavily around Jamal’s neck. He reached for it and felt the outline of the skull. I should have listened to you, he thought glumly. You tried to warn me.
Suddenly, a jovial voice reverberated
down the hall.
“Hey, look, it’s Jamal,” Colton called out when he saw him. He jogged down the hall to catch up to Jamal. He clapped him on the shoulders. “Hey, buddy, how’s it going?”
Colton and the other bullies crowded around Jamal, who flinched in response. This had to be a trick.
“Uh, I’m sorry about the game,” Jamal said. “I promise I’ll do better next time and score more points.”
Colton gave him a strange look, then snorted. “More points? Dude, you crushed the other team. You scored the most points ever. I swear, it must be like a school record.”
“W-wait, I did?” Jamal stammered, looking around at the other kids.
“Yeah, and there was that sick layup to finish the game,” Colton added, wrapping his arm around Jamal’s shoulder and steering him down the hall through the crowd of students heading to class. He mimed swishing a shot. “Just an overachiever. You’ll do better next time. Ha! Good one.”
“Right, you know me,” Jamal said, feeling like he was losing his mind. Colton and his friends liked him now? And he had scored the most points in the basketball game?
It was like they were confusing him with Malik. Except in this world, there was no Malik. It was really like he had taken his brother’s place. He was living in some alternate reality.
How is this possible?
As they strolled down the hall, more kids ran up to him.
“Jamal, sign my yearbook?”
“No, sign mine!”
“Hey! I was first.”
A pen was thrust into his hand, and yearbooks cracked open in front of him for his signature. The kids looked at him expectantly. He scrawled his name again and again, and then something strange started to happen. His guilt dissolved, replaced by a new feeling—elation.
Was that how his brother felt all the time? Like a social media star? Being noticed and standing in the spotlight was so much better than lurking in the shadows. He looked up from signing, and his eyes fell on Riley. She was standing by her locker, loading books into her backpack. She gave him a disapproving look. Her dark brows twisted into a frown under her purple mohawk, and her nose crinkled up. His hand froze mid-signature. It was almost like she knew what he had done. But how was that possible?
