The Lovely Shadow

by Cory Hiles

  There was nothing inherently wicked in their appearance, they looked like any normal, run-of-the-mill beetle; small, black, maybe a half inch long, with a hard black shell. The creepy part was the way they seemed to swarm over their prey. Thousands, maybe millions of them, in an undulating black mass were crawling over a dead cow.

  The cow in that show had been dead for a while. It had bloated and split open, and the beetles were swarming all over its outer flesh, as well as traveling to and fro through the opening that had appeared in its belly when it burst.

  The cow’s eyes were still open, but its eyeballs had disappeared, leaving fleshy sockets, into which flies and beetles were crawling about, feasting. An occasional maggot wriggled out of the rotting socket and fell to the ground where it ran the very real risk of being run over by the never ending hoard of beetles that were still en route to the smorgasbord.

  The unfortunate cow’s mouth was open and its tongue lolled out and rested on the ground. The tongue was no longer pink, but had turned a sickly brown color and had shriveled a bit, making it look almost like a gnarled chunk of driftwood.

  The woody appearance of the tongue did not dissuade the persistent beetles and flies, however. If anything, this seemed to add a layer of decadent delight to the feast, and the insects munched quite contentedly on the rotting flesh.

  The program went on to show time lapse photography of the cow as the insects finished their work. In a space of twenty seconds of real time, all the fleshy parts of the cow vanished. The skin looked like it was dissolving; great chunks of it disappearing beneath black, wriggling masses of beetles and white, wriggling masses of maggots, revealing pink meat beneath.

  The holes in the skin spread outward in all directions at once, constantly spreading until it was completely gone. At the same time the insects were devouring the outside of the cow, they were also devouring it from the inside, making the shape of the cow undulate as the remaining flesh bulged and then burst, spilling out its grizzly inhabitants.

  The beetles, flies and maggots moved about jerkily as the time lapse put them into fast forward motion. Great chunks of the cows flesh vanished beneath the carnivorous devils until bones began to appear through the gaps in the flesh.

  At the end of twenty seconds all the insects had gone, most likely to find another buffet, since all that was left of the cow was a skeleton, with yellowed bones, and a few waxy brown remnants of tattered flesh.

  With that image in my head, I stood and stared at the dark wondering how long it would take the bugs in the dark side of the basement to strip me of all flesh, leaving my yellowed and waxy skeleton behind. I was sure it would be longer than twenty seconds.

  “Stupid,” I said, finally gathering my resolve, and started treading into the dark.

  As I entered the dark, I transfixed my inner eye on the face of my brother. Joe had been my best friend and my protector, and I figured if anybody or anything could keep me safe as I traveled through the dark places in the world, it would be my brother, or at the very least, his memory.

  As we’ve already discussed, I have a pretty powerful imagination, so when I imagined my brother, I could actually see him standing beside me. At just shy of six feet tall, he was nearly two feet taller than me. His blonde hair was straight and fine, all cut to the same length, and hung down to his shoulders, without a hint of curl anywhere, and it swung about freely with the slightest movements of his head, causing him to constantly reach up and tuck it back behind his ears to keep it out of his face.

  Joe was thin and tall, but not lanky. It seemed to me that every feature of his body fit perfectly together, so much so that there were no awkward parts on him, as there were on most teenagers I had seen.

  As I imagined him standing beside me in the dark, he seemed almost luminous. A light seemed to shine forth from him, illuminating the darkness, and I was surprised to find that I could actually see the objects in the dark around me.

  I was able to find the wicker picnic basket without any trouble at all, because I could actually see it! The light that was shining in the darkness was not painfully bright, but it was still brighter than the grey-filtered light that I had near the stairs.

  I grabbed the basket and smiled up at my imaginary brother. He was looking down at me and smiling the saddest and most lovely smile I’d ever seen. His bright blue eyes sparkled with tears that ran freely and unashamedly down his angelic cheeks.

  “Thanks, Joe”, I said excitedly. “Do you know where the jars are?” Joe pointed to a box that was sitting on the floor right at the edge of the storage rack with all the food on it, back in my light circle.

  I jogged over to the box with no fear of tripping because the basement was so well illuminated. I lifted the flap on the cardboard box, and sure enough, it had about a dozen quart jars, complete with lids and rings nestled comfortably inside it.

  Smiling at my convenient treasure, I placed my basket down next to it and turned back to my brother. I was dismayed to see that he was growing dim. When I first imagined him, he appeared as solid as a stone, but now he seemed to be fading slightly, and I could see through him to the boxes stacked behind him.

  My distraction at finding my treasures seemed to be breaking my ability to concentrate on my brother, making him disappear slowly, ‘like the cow vanished’, I thought with a mild shudder.

  When I realized that Joe was going away, I hollered to him, “Wait, Joe! I still need a lid for my bucket! Do you know where one is?”

  Joe, dimmer than he was even a few seconds before and still crying freely, shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. I took that to mean that there was not one down here.

  As Joe continued to dim, he walked over to me and ruffled my hair as I looked longingly into his piercing blue eyes. While he ruffled my hair he mouthed silently to me, and I could read his lips perfectly; “I love you, Squirt.”

  “I love you too, Joe. Do you have to go now? I’m awful lonely and scared down here.” Joe smiled sadly again, and a fresh round of tears leaked out of his eyes as he nodded at me, assuring me that he had to leave.

  Joe put his left hand on my right shoulder and turned his right hand palm up, and swung it out in a horizontal arc, gesticulating towards the entire area that was encompassed by the basement. As he did this the whole basement lit up as if there was a light turned on, and I could clearly see that the basement was devoid of monsters, and flesh eating beetles.

  He returned his right hand from its arc and placed it on my left shoulder so that both his hands were on me. He looked directly into my eyes and held my attention while he gave a slow shake of his head. I understood his meaning perfectly;

  ‘There is nothing to be afraid of in here, Squirt.’

  Joe had faded to almost invisible, and the light that he brought with him faded along with him, slowly returning the basement to darkness. “Wait Joe,” I said. “Do you know where Mama is? Is she gonna let me out soon?”

  Joe’s nearly transparent face darkened immediately, his eyes flashed, and I could see that he was angrier than I’d ever seen him before. He pursed his lips and shook his head slowly back and forth in tiny movements.

  While he was still shaking his head, he disappeared completely, leaving me alone, back in the dark, and wondering what had made him so angry and what the last head shake meant.

  I stood in the dark after he was gone, and I wondered if I had really seen him, or if it was just my imagination kicking into overdrive. I was staring into the dark side of the basement as I contemplated that puzzle and it dawned on me suddenly that I was no longer afraid of the darkness before me.

  With that revelation came a belief that Joe had really been there. He might have been dead, but he was not gone, and he was watching over me, keeping me safe. That knowledge made me smile in the dark, but at the same time made me all the lonelier, trapped as I was, in the dark.

  Sighing, I turned around and grabbed my box of jars and my wicker basket and dragged them over to the washing machine area wher
e my bucket and rag sat, befouled, and smelling up my cell.

  It was much harder to see in the gloom now, after having experienced the basement in full light, but the light had served to flash a complete image of the basement into my mind, and I could bring that image to the front of my mind at will, which helped me to avoid tripping over any obstacles.

  I got my soiled rag picked up and placed it into the basket and closed the wicker lid. Then went to the dryer and got a full sized towel to drape over my bucket. I figured that without a lid, the next best thing was a towel.

  When the evidence of my earlier bowel movement was all taken care of, I turned my attention to my jars and getting a water supply stored. I dragged them all over by the washer and turned it on.

  I filled all but one jar and put a lid and ring securely on each of them and set them on top of the dryer. I guessed that would be a good place for them. I filled the last jar but did not close up with a lid. The morning had left me rather parched so I drank it, refilled it, and carried it over beside my chair. I left the washer on to finish its cycle and wash away my morning urinations, figuring that I could always start it again at bedtime.

  I wandered over to my pantry and dug up a box of Ritz crackers and a jar of peanut butter. I returned to my chair and ate one entire tube of the crackers, dipping each one in the jar of peanut butter.

  As tasty as the snack was, my body was craving something more substantial than crackers and cereal, which was all I’d eaten in the last couple days. I went to the freezer and pulled out a package of frozen hot dogs, and a frozen loaf of bread.

  I had no way to thaw the hot dogs, and certainly no way to cook them.

  It’s gonna take hours for them to thaw out,’ I thought, ‘and by then I will have starved to death!’

  I sat down on my chair, holding the hot dogs and bread, feeling deflated, and listening to the washing machine chunking through its cycle. I muttered a few curse words as I sat in the dark, lamenting my predicament.

  As I listened to the washing machine, I thought to myself. ‘It seems pretty wasteful to run the washer with nothing in it. I should have at least washed my wipe-rag…Yeah, but still that would have been wasteful; to wash one rag, and then throw one rag in the dryer. THE DRYER, OF COURSE! The dryer would work to heat up my hot dogs!’

  With my sudden burst of inspiration, I jumped out of my chair so fast that I nearly lost my bread and hot dogs. I managed to hold on to them somehow, and rushed over to the dryer. I considered pulling the towels out, but then decided that the towels would help cushion the hot dogs as they spun around and around, riding the sides of the dryer’s drum up to the apex, and then tumbling back down to the bottom. I really didn’t want to have to smear my hot dogs onto my bread when I made my sandwich.

  I started to throw my bread in the dryer with the hot dogs, but quickly realized that would be a bad idea. For one, the heat would dry out the bread and make it crunchy, and for two, it would squash the bread. And besides, I’d just had a better idea.

  I tossed the hot dogs in with the towels and set the loaf of bread on top of the water jars that were on top of the dryer. I got the dryer going, (I had to move a few jars away from the control dial first), and then grabbed my stool so I could reach above and behind the dryer.

  The dryer, having been placed below ground level in the basement, vented out the wall behind it a few feet above the top of the dryer. The vent hose from the dryer came out of the back of the dryer at nearly floor level, and then traveled up the wall to a pipe which then ran up the wall a few more feet before a ninety degree elbow channeled the air outside through the wall vent.

  I climbed up on my stool so I could reach the vent hose and managed to pull it off from the pipe. I brought the vent hose down and laid it on top of the dryer and wedged it between two water jars, to keep it from slipping off and falling behind the dryer where I’d never be able to reach it again.

  I put my loaf of bread in front of the hose and let the hot air that was blowing through the hose as the dryer ran thaw it out. With that setup I could monitor the bread to make sure I removed it from the heat before it had a chance to get dried out. I was, in fact, a genius; at least in my own mind.

  I decided to try the door one more time while I waited for my food to warm up. I was pretty sure the attempt was going to be futile, but having nothing but time, I figured I may as well try.

  I got to the top of the stairs and tried the door, proving my assumptions correct. I stuck my ear to the door and listened intently, but could hear nothing over the sound of the appliances thundering below my feet.

  Trying not to feel disappointed, I headed back down to my chair and waited patiently for my hot dogs to finish cooking in the dryer. I had left them in the unopened package so they would not leak juice all over the clean towels and get the inside of the dryer dirty, but as I came back down the stairs, I could still smell them. The smell was blowing out of the vent hose that I had set to thawing the bread.

  I sat on my chair and waited with my mouth watering. I wasn’t sure why I was so hungry, I’d already eaten a ton of cereal and crackers that morning, which was more than I usually ate. I guessed that the constant fear and problem solving that I was enduring must be creating an appetite in me.

  As I sat there waiting, I started to realize that my stay in the basement might be a long one. I was already on my second day without a single noise from upstairs to suggest that my mother was even in the house. Plus, Joe got pretty angry when I mentioned our mother, and I don’t think he was angry about me bringing the subject up. He was angry at her.

  I understood being angry with our mother. I had, in fact, just gotten over being angry with her myself. I hoped Joe wouldn’t hold on to his anger overlong. I may have only been seven years old at the time, but I already understood that constant anger was a wasted emotion that drained the life force from the holder of it in ways that can never be replenished.

  I wondered if Joe would ever return to me. I conjured up his image in my mind, but it lacked the same dimensional quality that it had earlier. It was only a memory this time, a memory without physical presence.

  I decided that Joe’s first visit had been a fluke. Joe had been able to return to me for that brief period because I had needed him desperately, to help me find what I needed, and to absolve my fears of the dark. Once I no longer needed him, he would not (and possibly could not) return to me.

  I sighed in my loneliness and decided to check the bread. It was already mostly thawed out and warm so I removed it from in front of the hose and set it on the washer. I opened the dryer and fumbled around in the towels until I found the hot dogs. They felt warm and soft to the touch, but poking at them with a little force revealed that the centers were still frozen solid.

  I tossed them back in and got the dryer going again and went back to my chair. The waiting around was killing me. I had only been waiting on my hot dogs for less than ten minutes, but I was already bored to death.

  ‘My god,’ I thought, ‘what am I gonna do when I’m all done eating my sandwich? I can’t just sit here in the dark and do nothing. If I do that I’ll go crazy, and I am NOT going to be crazy like Momma.’

  I sat in the dark for another ten minutes or so until the washing machine finished its final cycle and went silent. It was much quieter without the washer and I could hear my hot dogs thumping around in the dryer.

  The sound was very rhythmic and I began singing quietly to myself in time with the beats. “I don’t want to be here.” Thunk—kerplunk…thunk—kerplunk… “Where it’s really dark.” Thunk—kerplunk…thunk—kerplunk… “My Momma’s off her rocker.” Thunk—kerplunk…thunk—kerplunk… “And meaner than a shark.”

  I giggled involuntarily at my own cleverness and got up to check on my thunking—kerplunking hot dogs. When I pulled them that second time they felt nice and hot, and when I poked at them I could not feel any frozen places in them at all.

  I was pretty excited. I never thought that I could be so
excited about some lousy hot dogs, but then again, I never thought I’d ever be locked in a dark basement nor have Norman Bates for a mother either.

  CHAPTER 9

  The sandwich was a bit dry, lacking any type of condiments and therefore being comprised solely of bread and hot dogs, but I was still pretty sure it was the best food I’d ever eaten in my life.

  After I ate my sandwich and drank half a jar of water, I used the washer for bladder relief and went back to sitting on my chair, listening. I still hadn’t heard any sounds from upstairs. There were no footsteps, no T.V., no radio, no voices…nothing.

  I began to suspect that my mother had left. That thought scared me a little bit. She had always been averse to leaving the house, so I assumed it must have been something pretty drastic to make her leave. And if she had left, and had been gone for more than a day, then it must be really, really bad.

  I began to wonder why Joe had gotten so angry when I asked where she was and if she was going to let me out soon. Did his anger indicate that she was not planning to let me out? Did it indicate something else?

  I had no way of knowing. What I did know was that sitting around in the dark speculating on things that I could never know without some form of outside intelligence was a complete waste of time and was only serving to bring me down.

  I had to find something to do. I had to occupy my time in a better fashion. Having gotten my dungeon home set up, complete with day and night furniture, with drinking water and food prep stations, and restroom facilities in place, I had little to do besides sit and think, and that would never do. Too much time doing that would drive me crazy; just like my mother, and I was NOT going to let that happen.

  I wasn’t sure what was in all the boxes I’d sorted through in the dark earlier, but I was pretty certain that I had come across a box full of books at one point while looking for tape for my fingers, though it was hard to remember exactly as I’d been terrified at that point in time.

  There wasn’t much light for reading in the basement, but I thought that maybe if I went to the top of the stairs, closest to the source of light shining under the door, I might be able to see well enough to read.