Red Shadows

by Mitchel Scanlon

  Tired, so tired. As sleep approached him and his consciousness slowly receded, William felt the throbbing of the wound in his hand as a dull and distant ache. He had stopped at a pharmacy on his way home to his lair to fill the prescription the doctor in the clinic had given him. The instructions were printed on the bottle: two tablets, to be taken twice a day with a glass of water. For a moment, when it came time to take the first tablets, William had wavered uncertainly. The years he had spent in the institution had left him with an instinctive mistrust of doctors and their pills. Finally, he had realised these pills were there to help him; not to help him in the way his doctors in the institution had talked about, with all their stupid and well-meaning lies. No. These pills would not make his brain sluggish and compliant. They would not stop him from seeing auras. They would simply prevent his hand from becoming infected, and he needed his hand to be in good working order. It would be hard to be a monster if he only had one hand to kill with.

  Tired, tired. His breathing becoming slow and regular, he drifted off to sleep. As so often when the cares of the world left him, William's dreams turned to memories of his past. He dreamed of his father, his childhood, the years in the institution. He dreamed of the days and nights before he had become a monster. He dreamed of all of these things, safe and secure in the knowledge that in his dreams they could no longer harm him. He dreamed.

  William dreamed, and he remembered...

  Memories...

  Daytime, the apartment in Ciudad Barranquilla, the hot summer sun streaming in through the apartment windows, William is two years old. He is sitting on the rug in the middle of the living room floor, playing with his toys: Plasteen building blocks. He arranges them methodically by size and colour. Nearby, his father sits in an armchair, watching and waiting.

  "William." His father calls out to him. "William, look over there." He croons softly as he speaks. "There, over by the wall. You can see it, can't you?"

  Spying movement in the corner, William looks up, his eyes following his father's pointing finger. A spider, there is a spider in the apartment. To William's eyes it seems huge, menacing. The spider's body is as big as one of his father's hands. Its legs are black and swift. The spider glares at him, its eyes glittering like malevolent jewels as they catch the light. Staring back at it, William feels terror growing inside him. With an unexpected motion, the spider darts towards him. William screams.

  As he screams, the spider disappears, fading away like a shadow before the sun. Soon, it is as though it was never there.

  Sitting back in his chair, his father smiles.

  Night. The years have passed. He is five years old. The spiders come to him every night. Lying in his bed, curled under the covers, William hears them scuttling across the floor. Pulling the covers tighter around his head, he tries to block out the sound. Scuttling, so loud there must be dozens of them, hundreds, thousands. In his mind he imagines the spiders as a writhing black tide spreading out to engulf every inch of the floor. Terrified, he puts his head under the pillow. He tries not to make any noise. Perhaps if the spiders do not hear him they will simply leave him alone. Suddenly aware of the sound of his own breathing, he fears it will give him away. He holds his breath. In the darkness, he hears the spiders creeping closer...

  Closer.

  His terror growing, William feels a tiny vibration across the surface of his bed clothes. One of the spiders is climbing the bed. Feeling the vibration move nearer, he realises it is under the covers with him. The spider's body brushes against his leg. It is too much. He can keep silent no longer. The terror inside him must have release. William screams.

  Abruptly, the scuttling noises cease. His senses tell him the spiders are gone. It is as though they were never there.

  Sitting in the dark on a chair at the foot of the bed, his father smiles.

  Daytime, a year later, for once, William is alone in the apartment. His father has gone out to make one of his irregular forays into the world outside. Sometimes, when his father makes these trips without him, William feels sad. He wishes his father would take him with him. To William, the apartment is his entire world. He has never been outside it. Except for the Tri-D and the view through the window, he has never seen the city where they live. At other times, William is happy that his father is absent. The spiders only come when his father is in the apartment. So long as his father is away, William is safe. The spiders leave him alone.

  The doorbell rings. At first, William ignores it. His father has rules. Rule One: William is not to answer the doorbell. Rule Two: he is not to talk to strangers. Rule Three: he is never to mention the spiders. Rule Four...

  The doorbell rings again, more insistently this time, and again, louder. Long minutes pass and the ringing continues. This never happens. Normally, a caller rings the bell once or twice, and then gives up when there is no reply, but this caller is persistent. As William stands by the door, listening to the bell ring and ring, a troubling thought occurs to him. Perhaps it is his father outside? Perhaps he has forgotten his keycard and needs William to open the door for him? Then again, his father could be testing him. Perhaps he is waiting outside to punish William if he breaks the rules? Further minutes pass as William weighs his options and the ringing continues. Finally, he reaches a decision.

  He opens the door.

  A man is standing in the hallway. He is holding an electronic clipboard and has a holo-card with a picture of his face on it pinned to his jacket. He talks in Spanish, and then switches to English when he realises that William does not understand him. The man tells him he works for the Department of Child Welfare. He asks William why he is not in school. He asks to see his father. When William tells him that his father is not home, the man says he will wait. He steps into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Looking around him, he seems surprised to see the undulating ridges of sound-proofing materials covering every wall of the apartment. After making a note on his clipboard, he sits on the sofa. He talks to William, asking him about his toys. Little by little, he gains William's trust.

  Eventually, William tells him about the spiders.

  "You understand, senor, this is an unusual situation," the Child Welfare man says. "Some might even call it suspicious."

  When his father arrives back at the apartment, he is annoyed to find the man there waiting for him. He sends William to his bedroom while he and the man talk in the living room. Now, William stands with his ear pressed against his bedroom door, listening.

  "First, there is the question of your son," the man says. "He is not enrolled at a school, nor is he registered for home-schooling. The boy has a most vivid imagination. Really, señor, you would not believe some of the things he told me while we were waiting, but there is a more serious matter to be considered. According to Immigration records, your name is Peter Gerald Ganz and you hold a Brit-Cit passport. However, there is a discrepancy. When I directed a routine enquiry to the Brit-Cit authorities, I learned the real Peter Ganz is dead. He died of a gunshot wound five years ago, just before you came to our city. You see my concern, señor?" There is a pause as the man leaves the question to hang unanswered in the air for a moment. "Of course, I suppose I could simply pass this matter along to my superiors. I am sure they will be able to clear the whole thing up."

  "How much?" he hears his father say. "How much do you want?"

  "I am a public servant, señor." There is a smile in the man's voice. "It is my duty to report the matter to the relevant authorities." The man pauses again. "Shall we say one hundred thousand credits? It is the going rate for duty here in Ciudad Barranquilla these days, give or take."

  His father is angry. After the man leaves, he pours a drink and begins to pace across the living room. Then, still fuming, after a few minutes he puts the drink down and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  Time passes. Inside his bedroom, William waits in dread of the punishment he is sure will follow.

  At length, his father returns. Finishing t
he drink from earlier, he pours another. He seems restless, yet quietly elated. Picking up the remote control for the Tri-D system, he turns the set on and begins to switch through the channels.

  "William!" his father calls out to him. "Come out of your room, now. I want you to see something."

  Dutifully, William does as he is told. Standing in his father's shadow, he sees his father turn to a Tri-D news station. The commentary is in Spanish, but William sees pictures of the body of a man covered in blood and lying in the gutter. A road traffic accident, the footage is graphic. Horrified, William tries to look away.

  "Look at it," his father says. "I want you to see this."

  The camera pans to the face of the dead man. One side of his face is crushed, but William recognises him all the same. It is the man from the Department of Child Welfare.

  "The witnesses say he was acting like a madman." His father presses a button on the remote control, causing the picture to freeze-frame on the image of the dead man's face. "He was screaming about spiders, his hands flailing around like he thought they were crawling all over him. In a blind panic, he ran out into the skedway. A traffic accident, that's what they are calling it."

  Pressing another button, his father switches the Tri-D set off. He turns to look down at William.

  "You understand now why I wanted you to see this?" his father asks him. "You understand what happens when people don't follow the rules? Tell me you understand."

  "I understand, father," William says. Looking up, it seems to him that his father is a giant.

  "Good. So, in future, you will follow the rules?"

  "Yes, father."

  "Good," his father smiles.

  Following the death of the man from Child Welfare, life in the apartment soon returns to its usual routines. The spiders come for William at different times of the day and night, sometimes singly, more often in great writhing tides of glittering eyes and scuttling legs. Every time the spiders appear, William's father is there, watching him, waiting. And, every time, no matter how hard he tries to control them, William's fears always get the better of him. Time passes. William and his father both grow older while the patterns of their lives remain unaltered. The spiders come. William screams. The spiders disappear. His father smiles.

  The spiders come. William screams. The spiders disappear. His father smiles. Always the same pattern. Over time, William begins to realise that his father and the spiders are connected. The spiders only come when his father is in the room. The man from Child Welfare died because he thought there were spiders crawling all over him, yet it is clear from what his father told him that no one else saw them. "The witnesses say he was acting like a madman." A madman, courtesy of some of the shows on the Tri-D, William has already learned that madmen sometimes see things that are not there. Slowly, William ponders that thought and comes to understand a terrible secret. There are no spiders. They are an illusion. An illusion that, somehow, his father is creating. And, if the spiders are an illusion, then there is nothing about them for William to fear.

  Sadly, he soon learns that understanding the nature of his problem makes little difference. The next time the spiders appear, he tries to hold his fears in check. He tries to ignore them. He tries to stop himself from screaming, but it is impossible. Real or not, once the spiders have advanced close enough to begin crawling all over him, he finds he is incapable of constraining himself. They feel real. The sensation of hundreds of arachnid legs scurrying across his body is too much to bear. Then, as a spider crawls up onto his face and attempts to force its way into his mouth, William finally gives in. He can stand it no longer. He screams, louder and longer than he has ever screamed before. And, with it, the spiders disappear. His father smiles.

  His father smiles.

  Little by little, this fact becomes the focus of William's attentions. Day after day, night after night, his father sends the spiders to torment him. Worse, his father seems to take pleasure in torturing his son. Confused, William finds himself increasingly troubled by a simple question. A question he is too frightened to ask his father directly for fear of punishment, a question that gnaws at him incessantly.

  Why?

  His father is red.

  The answer is revealed to William shortly before his thirteenth birthday. As they sit watching the Tri-D one night, he turns to look at his father and sees him surrounded by a shining nimbus of light. His father's soulshadow is a sickly and murky shade of blood-red, shot through with a faint patchwork of rust-coloured lines. Astounded, William watches the colours of the aura squirm and shift before his eyes, but further revelations are soon forthcoming. That night, when the spiders come for him, as he screams William notices the shades of his father's aura become more brilliant and vivid. Blood-red becomes the colour of shining rubies, the rusting patchwork becomes a web of flaring scarlet. It is as though his father is feeding on his fear, his life-force revitalised and made stronger every time William screams.

  Abruptly, William realises something that, until then, his conscious mind has refused to acknowledge. His father is a monster. He keeps him as a prisoner, here in the apartment, so that he can use William for nourishment whenever he chooses. His father is a monster, but what can William do? On the brink of his thirteenth birthday he is still little more than a boy. If he rebels or displeases his father in any way, he will be punished. There is nothing to be done.

  In the end, he is powerless.

  "William," his father calls to him. "Come here."

  It is two months later, and his father has been drinking all day. It is worse when he is drunk, The spiders are larger and they linger longer, prolonging the moment of fear. Hoping to somehow evade his fate, at first William stays where he is, pretending he has not heard his father calling him.

  "William. Come here."

  His father's voice is more insistent. Miserable, William goes to stand before his father as he sits in his chair. His father's face is grey and lined, his eyes bloodshot, his soulshadow a slowly pulsing and faded shade of reddish brown. He looks old, tired. Looking down at his father, William feels an unfamiliar sensation building inside him. It is rage. He wishes his father were dead. For an instant, he experiences feelings of shame as his mind gives shape to that thought. Then, he casts his shame aside. He is right to feel angry. He is right to know rage. His father tortures him every day. His father feeds on his fear. His father is a monster. He deserves to die.

  "Tonight, we could do something different," his father says from his chair. His smile is sardonic. Gloating, he takes a long sip from the glass in his hand, and then glances up at William to breathe an invisible cloud of synthi-whiskey fumes in his son's direction. "Tonight, we could make it centipedes, or maybe rats or beetles. We could make it fire burning at your flesh, or water drowning you, but then, why change a winning formula?" From the corner of his eye, William sees dark shapes moving past the skirting board. He hears the sound of a thousand scuttling feet. His father begins to laugh softly. The pulse of his soulshadow seems to quicken. "Always stick with what works, I say. And I know you like the spiders."

  "No!"

  The word comes out of William unbidden, with a strange and unexpected force. His father recoils as though struck, the glass falling from his hand to shatter on the floor. The spiders gathering at the periphery of William's vision abruptly disappear. Inwardly shocked at the effect achieved with a single word, William says it once more.

  "No."

  His father recoils again, pushed back into his chair as though held there by some invisible hand. Listening to the sound of his own voice, William realises there is something different about it. On the surface it is unchanged, but beneath it he can hear a new strength and power. It is as though the transformation that began when he realised he could see his father's soulshadow has reached some unexpected zenith, and, with it, William is no longer powerless. He says the word again, more quietly this time.

  "No."

  The effect is the same. His father is pushed back
further in his chair, his soulshadow dimming as its colours become more faded. Staring down at him, William sees fear in his father's eyes. It is a new sensation, as new as the feeling of power that now courses through him. William finds it pleasing.

  "William..." There is a desperate, pleading edge to his father's voice. "I don't know how you're doing this, but please-"

  "Quiet." William's own voice is commanding, forceful. Seeing his father obey him gives him further pleasure. Inwardly, he understands there has been a shift in the tides of authority between them. William is the strong one now, his father the weakling. Looking at his father, William realises that he hates the old man with every fibre of his being. He feels the rage inside himself, as restless as a caged beast, demanding action. His father is at his mercy. This moment is not to be wasted.

  "You were wrong to hurt me, Father," William says. "You have to be punished. You see that now, don't you?"

  Helpless, as though some unseen giant has hold of his head and is shaking it, his father nods.