Stone's Shadow

by Martin McConnell

  “So, you're saying there's a science to fortune-telling?”

  “Exactly. It's not as easy as measuring the thrust from a rocket, or the weight of an atom, but there's a lot of things we don't understand about the brain, or about the mind, or perception. Sometimes, our bodies just know things. You can either find a way to tune into that, or you can ignore it. But it's happening, right now. Even to you. Sometimes our minds are even capable of decoding the future.”

  His gaze turned to sparkles in the wet concrete. “Kind of hard to digest.”

  “I know there's a girl you've been meaning to speak to, but you're afraid to break the ice.”

  His eyes shot back to hers in an instant. “How did you? What?”

  “You think she's out of your class, but she isn't. She has similar thoughts about you. She's intimidated. Probably because you look so grumpy all the time. And there's something else.”

  “What?”

  “I don't know. It isn't just shyness. You think that you did something to ruin your chances. You think that one mistake on your part is a reason to throw in the towel. It isn’t, Scott. Persistence is important if you actually want to accomplish anything.”

  Scott took two steps backward. This wasn't a trick. Somehow she knew things. All the years he spent laughing about psychic hotlines and horoscopes, and this girl came along and nailed it in one swing. She was talking about the blonde at the coffee shop. She had to be. Maybe they knew each other. Maybe they talked. He couldn't figure it out.

  “Don't be scared,” she said. “You're the one broadcasting. I'm just picking up what you're putting out, and all the little details that your mind has collected.”

  “Is there more?”

  “Lots. It’s not just the energy coming from you. Your energy is bouncing off of everything around us. The lamp. The sidewalk. The sky. Everything. The whole universe.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She winked and continued walking, leaving his mind struggling to figure out what just happened.

  “You coming?”

  “Yeah.” He snapped out of the daze, and trotted up alongside her.

  When they reached the building, he led her straight to the apartment without hesitation. With Serena at his side, there was no fear climbing the stairs or walking the hallway of doom. He surveyed the sharp edges of the door, looking for evidence of blood from his skull bashing, but couldn’t find a drop.

  “Okay. I need you to leave so I can do this. Your place is going to smell like incense. Just be ready for that.”

  “I can't be here?”

  “No. Because you bug me.” She winked. “Just tell me where you’ll be, and I'll meet you there when I'm finished. It shouldn't take very long. You'd get bored watching this part anyway, and I need all of my concentration, so it works better if I’m the only one here.”

  “There's a coffee shop next door,” he said. “I can meet you in there when you finish.”

  “Okay, sounds good. Now go. Shoo.”

  “Just. Let me, grab some things.”

  He shuffled past her, standing his office chair up after bumping into it. He punched through the tubes, sifting for the overdue nine o’clock dose while sending a couple pill bottles into a dance across the desk. He grabbed his books off the bed.

  “Okay, see you in. . .”

  “It’s a small apartment. About fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  As the apartment door closed behind him, he wondered if he would return to find all of his stuff missing. She had earned his trust so fast that he felt as if he’d just been duped by a random car salesman or con artist.

  He knew where to find her, and she was probably taking as much risk coming back to his apartment as he was leaving her there, except for her ability to read him. That part wasn’t mutual. Still, better her in the apartment than him. He strolled through the hallway and started down the steps.

  It wasn't like he had much to steal anyway. His mind shifted gears to the monster. Would it attach itself to her? Would she be the next victim? Surely not. She seemed to know what she was doing, but still he wondered.

  The sky started pissing again. Tiny droplets glided down from the heavens. It was bright enough outside that tiny currents whipped them into flurries. It wasn’t rain, but a heavy mist that descended on the street. His face coated in a film of damp, icy fluid. The clouds flashed with short bursts of electric blue. His eyes dropped toward the door, then raised again to the apartment window, where he saw Serena’s shadow. The building lit up with another flash from the sky. The flighty Midwest weather changed constantly. There was no predicting it. It could snow the next day, or go straight back to summer for a week.

  The scene reminded him of the first night he spotted the creature. A trip to the coffee shop under a thunderstorm. An innocent night, followed by red eyes. Somehow, just thinking about it seemed to summon monsters from the darkness. Something flashed past him, and his head spun to catch sight of it. A car rolling down the road animated shadows on the building walls. They danced in his peripheral vision, taunting him.

  “Was that the car, or the monster?”

  His skin crawled as he jogged to the café entrance, hoping to hide from whatever he might encounter outside. The shop was brightly lit, a shimmering gem on the corner of the dark street. Perhaps that made it safe. He pushed through the door and dropped a pill on his tongue while approaching the counter. The table full of giggling girls grew quiet for a moment. They stared at him behind condescending smiles before letting out another clutch of cackles, laughter, and even a snort.

  “Feeling better tonight?” asked Patrick. “You look a little better.”

  As much as he wanted to have a normal human conversation, his inner extrovert was overworked for the day. He had moments where he could summon the courage to speak freely, but it was hard to do while wondering how many of the patrons saw him bust his butt the previous night. His eyes disengaged the barista, and his vision panned across the room.

  “Tall cap.”

  “I thought I told you not to call me that, anymore.”

  His stare returned to Patrick. “I.”

  “You what?”

  “You’re here early.” He pulled his phone and tapped the button to bring up the time. It was already eleven.

  “Nope,” said Patrick. “You’re late, mate.”

  “Where's Maria?”

  “She might still be in the back. She was supposed to be off an hour ago, but she was lost in some text message the last time I saw her. Here you go. Tall cap.”

  Scott blew gently across the hole in the lid, paid the barista double the cost, and found a place to sit. A pair of eyes glared at him from across the room. He sat with his back to laptop guy, and took a sip.

  “What the hell is this guy’s problem?” he whispered to himself.

  14

  “Scott,” said Maria excitedly. She approached the table and beamed at him, resting her hand on his shoulder. “How are you?”

  “A little better, I think.”

  “No ghost sightings today?”

  “Not a single one. Well. I had a nightmare this morning, but I don't think that counts.” He blew at the coffee lid again. Even with his back turned, he could feel laptop guy watching him. Silent threats drifted across the room as a mumbled whisper of brain energy. They decoded themselves as they filtered in. Like a smell, or the sense of touch from half an inch away from the skin, the thoughts seemed to materialize. Perhaps Serena had given him the power to draw on that universal mind reading thing. This place had been his safe zone since he started college, and was quickly becoming another on the growing list of stressors. He found himself lost in a sea of thoughtless musings and name-calling, once again the butt of the cosmic joke.

  “You don't think it's invading your dreams, do you?”

  “What?” She hadn’t moved. He wondered how long she had been talking. “Please don't put creepy thoughts in my head.” His heartbeat became audible as a dayd
ream of laptop guy attacking him from behind took control of his focus. He glanced over his shoulder. The nut ball was still staring, but hadn’t moved from his seat.

  “Sorry.”

  Scott’s attention returned to Maria. “What? Sorry, I’m kind of distracted.”

  “I guess I would be too if I was surrounded by monsters.” She pulled out the chair opposite his and sat down. “So you brought all of your books, but you’re just sitting there tonight?”

  “Aren’t you usually off work by now?”

  “Waiting on Mike to show up.”

  “Oh.” His gaze fixed on the tables outside.

  “What’s up with you? What’s going on? You don’t want to go back to your apartment, and I don’t blame you for that, but. . .”

  “There's a lady doing a blessing up there right now.”

  “From the Church?”

  The conversation brought him out of the daydream. “Um. No. Nothing really came of that. I talked to some guy and he asked a bunch of questions. The lady in my apartment is some kind of spiritual person.” His lips pursed with the fear of making himself sound even crazier.

  Maria’s twisted eyebrows demanded an answer. “What kind of spiritual person?”

  His shoulders dropped. He couldn’t resist her, and he couldn’t lie. He took a deep breath before answering. “She’s a palm reader.”

  Maria laughed. “You hired a witch? Yesterday you were afraid to talk to a priest and now you’re hiring loonies.”

  “Little louder, please.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her smile closed.

  “Dr. Landers dropped her business card, and told me that she'd be interested in helping out. I figured it was worth a shot.”

  “Cool.”

  “And she’s not a loony. She’s really nice.”

  “Oh yeah? Did she read your palm and tell you your future.”

  “No.” Not exactly.

  “Did she give you that look?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “What look?”

  Maria let another snicker slip. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I really am. I should be nicer.”

  He wondered again if their friendship was only for her personal amusement. Sickly Scott Stone sees a spirit. Maybe that’s why laptop guy hated him.

  “That guy at the other end of the shop, on the laptop. You know him?”

  Maria twisted in her chair, and waved.

  She turned back with a smile. “Yeah. That's Richard. He's a friend of Mike's.”

  “He threatened me earlier.”

  “He what?” Her eyebrows dropped sharply over narrow eyes. “That guy? Maybe he was off his meds or something. You should give him a little leeway, he's had kind of a rough life.”

  “Rough enough that I should ignore him when he says—never mind.”

  “When he says what?”

  “He seems to be very upset with me for talking to you about my ghost.”

  “That's weird. He has moments where he freaks out a little. You want me to talk to him?”

  “No. That'll just make things worse. I wish I knew what his problem was.”

  “He's a bartender down the street. After he got clean, the owner gave him a job."

  "Got clean?"

  "He's a recovered addict. Doesn't have much family to speak of, at least he doesn't talk about them. I know something traumatic happened to his ex, right before he went to rehab. And he's not the friendliest person in the world, but he's usually quiet."

  Scott leaned back in his chair, not knowing whether to be scared of the recovering addict’s remark, or at ease because the threat may have been a spaz. He wanted to relax, but fear ran unchecked through him. "That was the first time I'd seen him talk to anyone."

  "Mike says the drugs messed with his head, and turned him into a sociopath. You sure you don't want me to talk to him?”

  “No. I'd rather just forget about it.” As if that's possible.

  “If he bothers you again, let me know. What did he say exactly?”

  “I don't remember. He just told me to stay away from you, and him, and that I should shut myself up in my apartment and die.”

  “Wow.” Her eyes turned to fire, looking straight past Scott. “You sure you don't want me to have a little chat with him?”

  “No. Please. Whatever it was, I don't want to make it worse.”

  He turned again, and saw Richard hammering away at the keyboard.

  “You might be right,” said Maria.

  “What’s he doing on that laptop all the time if he’s a bartender?”

  “Talking to his buddies on some message board.”

  “Message board?”

  “That's just something that he does. He dropped his drug addiction, and now he's addicted to support groups. Some kind of therapy bull crap. Bunch of ex-users banding together to try and keep each other clean. He's on there like five hours a day.”

  “That's interesting.”

  “That’s Richard. Anyway. I have go, but I was hoping you would show up. I wanted to check on you.” Winking as she stood, she did one of those half-wave gestures and trotted across the café to wrap her arms around her hulk of a boyfriend as he entered.

  Richard continued typing, and never looked up. Serena appeared by the table, spooking Scott into sitting up straight.

  "Little jumpy?"

  “How did it go?” He took a long pull from the coffee cup. She wasn’t dead, or bleeding, or shaking herself apart. Maybe she killed the monster.

  “Didn't see anything strange.” She dropped into the vacant chair. “I did some protection work to ward off negative energy. See if that works tonight. If not, I'll just have to find a bigger hammer.”

  Scott nearly choked on his coffee. “Hammer? What were you doing up there exactly?”

  “It's just an expression. I'll break out the smelling salts and we can figure out what's going on, and how to get rid of whatever is tormenting you. I'm going to do some extra research on shadow people tonight, and maybe call. . .” Her eyes floated for a moment. “My teacher. He might have some more insight.”

  “They have classes for this sort of thing?”

  “Not exactly, just trying to put it in terms that make sense. We have a lot of our own nomenclature.”

  “I see.”

  “Hopefully everything will be okay now. If not, you know how to reach me.”

  “I can hope. I'm still a little nervous about going back up there.”

  “If anything strange happens, get out of there and call me. If you need a place to stay, I can let you sleep in the altar room at my shop. It's a safe place. But try your apartment first.”

  Serena stood and checked her watch, which was hiding among the mass of bangles on her wrist.

  “We won’t know if the protections are working until you give it a try. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He polished off the coffee and took one last look at Richard, who was still consumed with computer stuff. The perfect moment to make a discreet exit.

  She wasn't kidding about the smell in the apartment. Scott walked into an intense fog of incense carrying a musky scent he couldn't identify. Everything behind the haze looked the way he’d left it. He stripped off his jacket, and hung it from the door handle. With the corner post of his bed broken, it could hardly be trusted. He only hoped that he didn’t hurt himself crawling into the sheets later.

  His head swiveled from side to side. A couple of pill bottles dotted the floor beneath the desk, next to the dark stain. As the smell waged war against his nostrils, he waded through the complex scent toward the desk, and knelt to scoop up the empty orange tubes, tossing them in the wastebasket. Compulsive urges to clean didn’t come often, and it was important to take advantage of them.

  The cloud cleared about a foot from the ground, as if an invisible forcefield levitated it off the floor. He climbed into the chair, and opened his email inbox, which was empty as usual. Social media was decorated with pictures of his mother’s garden. The squash harvest was apparentl
y going well. Nothing urgent, as usual, and no homework tonight. Not even a reading assignment. He had the night off, and didn’t have a clue what to do with it. He pulled up a web comic, trying to force a chuckle, but nothing was funny. The day had worn him out, but as much as he wanted to turn in, he couldn’t help feeling that he was not alone in the apartment.

  It’s incredible how a space can change your mood, or spark a certain kind of emotion. When this whole thing was over, he wondered if he would ever be able to sleep comfortably again. He might need to move to get away from the memory, that was assuming he got out of this alive.

  He spun on the office chair, scanning for creepy things. The smell gradually faded to normality. Eventually, he pinpointed it. That building near the church had the same smell, but it was almost unnoticeable there. The thought of witches and priests using the same incense to ward off evil forced a smile. There was something professional about the scent, even if you'd never smell it in an office.

  His eyes landed on a tiny sack taped to the headboard. He got up to investigate. The material was a porous purple cloth, and the bag held something that smelled like a fancy bathroom. Through the mesh, he could see tiny purple bits of plant material shaped like beads. The bag crunched as he rolled it between his fingers.

  “Looks like she covered all the bases. Screw it.”

  He kicked off his shoes, shut down the light, stripped off the sweaty clothes, and climbed under the cold covers. He yanked his glasses free, and carefully placed them on the nightstand. The cool blankets warmed quickly with trapped body heat. For a moment, he considered keeping them over his head, and wondered if doing so would drop the oxygen level enough to suffocate him. He rolled and twisted until the blanket wrapped him tightly. He was once again the meat in this bed-top burrito, and the remaining three bed legs supported the structure without wobble.

  Wide awake behind closed eyes, between the random bursts of false color caused by confused retinal cones in the dark, the day played over in his head. The morning wake up call with the weird dream, Dr. Landers’ lecture, the waste of time at the church, Serena’s mind reading.