by John Sharp
Shifter
By John Sharp
Copyright 2015 John Ustaszewski
Editor Elizabeth Wiglesworth
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Ch 1 - The Mad Teenager
Ch 2 - Mother
Ch 3 - The Great Escape
Ch 4 - The Heist
Ch 5 - Dances With Watchers
Ch 6 - What Has Been Seen…
Ch 7 - The Unforeseen - Sarah’s Tale
Ch 8 - Getting Answers
Ch 9 - Shifters Inc
Ch 10 - Your Reality Or Mine?
Ch 11 - The Plan
Ch 12 - Into The Hive
Ch 13 - Surprise
Ch 14 - It’s A Trap!
Ch 15 - Brave New World
Ch 16 - The Dragon’s Graveyard
Ch17 - The Kiraten
Ch18- The City Of Babel
Ch19 - Judgment Of The Gods
Ch 20 - My Dream Girl
Ch21 - Stairway To Heaven
Ch22 - Its The End Of The World As You Know It
Ch23 - The Fallen Disciple
Epilogue - Its a Mad Mad World After All
Preview: Lilith Torrawind Saga Book I - Quest Of The Hellborne
Preview: Shifter Book II - The Corruption Within
Connect with John Sharp
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Scott Wiglesworth who believed in me, when I did not. I would also like to thank his daughter Liz who’s professional editing skills made this book a reality.
Shifter
Chapter 1 – The Mad Teenager
On October 18th at 12:30pm my neighbor, Mr. Sullivan, was discovered dead, and I was immediately sent into the Greenbroch Mental Institution …again. I can’t blame the police, not really. You find a grizzly crime scene and the local crazy boy is his neighbor. Crime solved. But the evidence will clear me in short order, if you consider a single severed foot evidence. I certainly don’t, but then again I’m mad, or so they tell me. I believe the term my doctor’s use is “mentally unstable” with an extreme case of schizophrenia and constant visual hallucinations. I’ve been on more medication than a life time drug addict, but nothing helps or even affects me. Everyone, and I mean everyone, thinks I’m utterly insane and some days I wonder if they aren’t right. When questioned by the police about the death I assured the good officers that I didn’t kill him but that he had been eaten by the wall. The conversation deteriorated from there.
I remember it vividly: Mr. Sullivan had just exited his apartment, the one adjacent to mine, wearing a rather heinous green Hawaiian shirt with pineapples all over it. A large sweaty man with a receding hairline, he had a belly that would make Santa jealous, and he avoids me like death itself. Most people do. Too bad this time it caused him to die…or it was the shirt? Anyways, that day he was edging along the far wall as I stared at him dispassionately. In all fairness I wasn’t looking at him but at the six inch pink elephant on his shoulder. I hadn’t seen one of those before. It was making cute trumpeting sounds as it danced around him in mid-air. Neat.
As he neared the exit for the stairwell a large face manifested out of the wall, grinning like a lunatic. This was not an uncommon occurrence for me. Often faces will appear out of structures or even roads and tell me what went on inside. But this time something was wrong. The face was immense, reaching from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. Large, fist sized teeth were visible in a mouth that was much too large, even for that face. Granite colored eyes stared at the approaching man, an eager, hungry expression dominating its features. I shouted a warning but all that did was make Mr. Sullivan turn directly toward his death. I don’t think he ever properly saw it, even as he was being eaten alive. A quick, startled scream and half of him was pulled into that mouth by a long thick black tongue the size of a python, wrapping around his feet and pulling him in. The first bite was the worst. Those teeth were not meant for piercing but for grinding. Sounds of shattering bones and urgent, pain-filled screams echoed in the narrow hall. He flailed uselessly, half of him already inside the mouth being steadily chewed and savored. Bloody hand prints decorated the wall at each wet slap of Mr. Sullivan’s hands like primitive cave paintings as he desperately tried to free himself. The smell of coppery blood quickly drove all else from my mind as I stood and watched, horrified. I wanted to help, but the blood told me it was too late, there was nothing I could do for him. Perhaps I should have ran but the sight of a two hundred fifty pound man being eaten like a tasty appetizer is one I don’t see often and a sick fascination held me in place. I did pale when the face’s cheeks puckered as it sucked off all the clothes and skin off the man like he was a piece of extra crispy KFC. Too bad the poor man was still alive when that happened. A few more bites and splashes of blood along with other fluids and it was over. With a final tug the rest of Mr. Sullivan disappeared into the mouth with all that remained was a single foot still in its expensive shoe that somehow fell out of the mouth during the meal along with a large puddle of blood.
So here I am two weeks later in a straight jacket, being drilled by a licensed medical professional who knows I’m a lost cause. I’ve been coming here on and off my entire life, ever since I could speak and reveal that I see disturbing things. In fact, I’ve spent more time here than at school or home. My mother doesn’t mind, it’s a relief to her when I’m away. She’s far more interested in her social life and keeping me away from any potential boyfriends before I can scare them away. My father disappeared shortly after my conception. I have no idea who he was or if he’s even still alive, and my mother never talks about him.
My attention comes back to the professionally dressed man in front of me as he starts up his line of questioning; the same repetitive questions they ask me every few days, expecting reason and logic to change my response.
“How are you today Jerry?” He asks, making small marks on his notepad.
“Fine. A snug straight jacket always improves my self-esteem.”
“I would like to talk about what happened to your neighbor.” He says in a dispassionate tone, dismissing anything I might say.
“I was watching the pink elephant dancing around Mr. Sullivan’s head when the wall ate him like a slim jim.”
“Uh huh,” he replies, making more notes. He continues like he hears that every day, and perhaps he does. Maybe there are no crazies in the world, just people who see things like I do. “Did anyone else see this happen?”
“Just my shadow.” I reply, looking over his shoulder at my shadow, who leans against the corner wall smiling wickedly at me. It’s odd how no one notices I don’t have a shadow like they do. They explain this away by the angle of lights or conflicting shadows around them. The simple truth is that my shadow isn’t attached to me and can go where he wishes, but he never travels too far.
“You should just kill him and leave. I’m bored,” my shadow says, glaring at the man in front of him. My shadow always suggests violence and dark deeds, like my own personal devil following me around.
“Relax, we’ll leave soon enough,” I say over the doctor’s shoulder. He instinctively turns around, looking to see who I am talking to. A slight frown crosses his face as he notices the extra darkness in the corner. Turning back to me, he takes off his thick rimmed spectacles,
wiping them on his shirt and dismissing the strange phenomenon like everyone else does.
He gives me a patronizing smile and says, “Its ok Jerry, no one is there.” He gestures toward a large mirror so I could see that we are alone, but of course I see things differently. I pause, studying my reflection. I have reddish-brown hair that could be best described as a burnished copper. My odd hair color is offset by my vivid, forest green eyes which are more cat-like than human with slit pupils. I was told it was some kind of genetic defect. With the complexion of a lifetime heroin addict, I have large, purple bags under my eyes and a wiry frame. I don’t do drugs of course; I’m already crazy enough. I also don’t tolerate patronizing assholes like the doctor here.
I decide that I’ve been here long enough to satisfy any law enforcement and that it’s time to go home. I really want to see Whisper, my best friend. I’ve had plenty of practice getting out of these places. I’m sure I can be back on the streets in an hour.
“But doctor, there is someone there and he’s getting anxious that I’m still stuck here when the police have no proof that I did anything. If he gets annoyed things might start happening.” The doctor gives me a wary look. There are a lot of not-so-nice rumors floating around about me. Of course, I didn’t do any of the things they think I’ve done, but then again, I didn’t have too. Madness can be rather infectious.
“Now Jerry, I want to finish my examination and file my report. You can stay here for a few more days. For your own safety, of course,” the doctor says, making a few more marks on his clip board. Focusing my gaze directly on my shadow still lounging in the corner, I deliberately squeeze both of my eyes tightly shut. He grins. This is our agreed upon signal for him to screw around as much as he wants. He slides along the wall to his left, as if light was shifting away from the door, casting the room into unearthly dark shadows and he flicks off the lights.
Startled the doctor looks up at the door. The light switch is far away from me, now bathed in a soft red light by the always present dim emergency lights. Confused, he stands up to turn the lights back on when my shadow does it for him.
“Holy shit!” He cries out, backing away from the table.
Smiling like a loon, I say, “Don’t worry doctor, it’s only my shadow. It happens all the time. You’re just as sane as I am.” I don’t think that comforts him. The lights flick on and off several more times as the frightened man watches, not believing his own eyes. With a final act of mischief the doctor’s clip board spontaneously flies off the table. He’s finally had enough.
Thirty minutes later I stroll toward the security desk with the doctor whose name I never bothered learning. My ever present shadow trails behind us, poking at the doctor’s inanimate shadow. Stopping at the front desk my doctor holds out a clip board with an unsteady hand to the guard, safe behind a metal cage.
“What? He’s being discharged?” The guard asks, blinking in disbelief.
“I finished my examination. He’s no danger to himself or others.” The doctor says in a shaky voice. “The police can question him at home if they need too. I don’t need to see him again.” He’s very careful not to look at me.
“You ok, doc? Did the kid do something to you?” The guard asks, cracking his knuckles.
“I didn’t do anything. It was just my shadow,” I reply. My shadow lets out a deep, evil laugh; the kind of laugh that raises your hackles. It affects the men too. Although they can’t hear it, the sheer malevolence is heavy in the air.
The doctor shudders. “We can’t help him here. Send him home!” Without waiting for a reply, he turns and does a stiff, fast walk away, obviously resisting the urge to run.
Grumbling, the guard comes forward and unlocks the door. With an impatient gesture, he signals me forward and helps me out of my straight jacket.
