Room of Shadows

by Ronald Kidd

  “You want a Coke?” she asked, making herself a peanut butter sandwich.

  I gazed out the window. “I’m not hungry.”

  It started to rain. The drops were huge. When they hit the window, they sounded like explosions.

  In the downpour, something moved—like a shadow, but solid. Slinking along the street, it paused in the light of a streetlamp. It was the Raven. He was hideous and deformed, as if his body had been seized by giant hands and twisted. His back was bent. His head was turned at a strange angle and tucked down against his neck.

  When he had left the building across the street, he had learned the awful truth: he needed me. Without my anger, his body would become twisted and then destroyed. My anger was what made him strong. We were chained together.

  After finally escaping the chest, he was still trapped.

  I nudged Libby. Switching off her flashlight, she scrambled to her feet and joined me at the window. We stood off to the side and peered around the edge so he wouldn’t see us. He squinted up at the streetlamp, then turned away from it, limping toward the house.

  A few moments later, we heard the front door open. The hinges moaned. The door slammed shut. There were footsteps—uneven, relentless.

  Step, drag. Step, drag. Step, drag.

  “David!” he roared. It was no longer a human voice. It was the sound of fingernails the size of garbage can lids scraping against a fifty-foot blackboard. We covered our ears, but there was no escaping it. “David, I know you’re here.”

  We gathered up our things, as we had planned, and ducked into a bathroom off the hall. We peeked through a crack in the doorway, watching and listening.

  Step, drag. Step, drag.

  His head appeared in the stairwell. Clumps of hair were plastered against his head. Rain dripped from his ears and nose. Shoulders emerged, then chest and arms. His hands were gray, and the skin was cracked. He grasped the railing and pulled himself up.

  Step, drag. Step, drag.

  He reached the second floor and looked around. His eyes fastened on the bathroom door, and for a moment, I was sure he had seen us. Then he turned and entered my bedroom.

  We heard him inside. His steps never faltered. He was headed for the closet and the secret room.

  Step, drag. Step, drag. Step…step. Step, step.

  The limp was gone. He was moving faster, already feeling the power. There was a click as he opened the closet.

  I nodded to Libby, and we moved to the hall, where we peeked into the bedroom. The closet door was open. A light shone from inside.

  We tiptoed across the bedroom and looked into the closet. The panel on the back wall had been moved aside, and light from the room came through the open door. Since the electricity was off, the Raven must have turned on the battery-operated lantern.

  Libby touched my arm. I took a deep breath, stepped through the door, and closed it behind me.

  Chapter 27

  Grab Me and Gut Me

  The Raven sat at the desk.

  “Hello, David,” he rasped.

  I didn’t say anything. He swung the chair around and glared at me. His face was dark, and his eyes burned like coals.

  “You tricked me back there,” he said. “You made me think of Ginny. That was a mistake.”

  “It seemed to work,” I said.

  His voice rumbled deep in his chest. “Maybe for a few minutes. But not for long. Love doesn’t last. Nothing does.”

  I said, “Whatever you’re planning, you don’t have to do it. You can turn yourself in.”

  He gaped at me, his mouth a bottomless pit. A sound worked its way out. It started as a low chuckle, then grew into a booming laugh. He slapped his leg. I noticed that the skin on his hand was smooth. The cracks were gone.

  “Turn myself in?” he said.

  “It’s not too late. You haven’t hurt anyone yet.”

  “So, that’s your idea?” he asked. “They slap my wrist and set me free? Then what? I move in with you? We get bunk beds and eat popcorn on Friday nights?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I hadn’t gotten that far.”

  “So now we’re here,” he said. “What does your little friend think of it?”

  I knew Libby had wanted to come into the room with me, but she seemed to realize that I needed to do this alone.

  I said to the Raven, “Part of you is Poe. You can’t be this bad.”

  He sat, watching me. He reached across the desk and stroked the carved raven.

  “I used to get writer’s block,” he said. “Late at night, when I was working, darkness would descend. My hand and mind would freeze. So I took up carving. I found a block of wood and, sitting at this desk, whittled to pass the time. I didn’t try to make anything. I simply wanted to stay busy.”

  He picked up the carving and set it in his lap. “It came out of my hands and into the world, like a story or a poem—already formed, poised in the ether, waiting to be discovered. It’s death itself. It’s in this room. It’s watching and waiting.”

  He set the raven back on the desk. Picking up a letter opener, he cradled it delicately in his hands. Then, like a leopard, he sprang.

  I had imagined that if he moved, it would be slowly, awkwardly. I hadn’t counted on the energy he was getting from me. I thought I had learned, with Libby’s help, to control my anger, but it was still there, trapped inside like the Raven in his coffin. The energy sizzled around him, making him quick and strong.

  Realizing my mistake, I dove to the side, but it was too late. The letter opener slashed my arm. Pain shot through me.

  I cried out. From the other side of the door, Libby called, “David?”

  I scrambled on my hands and knees, trying to get away from him, but he was too quick. He took my leg and pulled, reeling me in like a fish. He was going to grab me and gut me.

  I looked back at him. His stench was overpowering.

  “David!” Libby yelled. “What’s happening?”

  “Don’t come in!” I shouted.

  He was pulling me closer. I could see his grin. I waited. I waited. Then I kicked the grin as hard as I could. Blood gushed from his mouth.

  The Raven gurgled and snarled. He tried to hold on, but this time I was too quick. I jumped to my feet, grabbed the electric lantern from the desk, and raced for the door. As I dove through, I told Libby, “Shut it!”

  She slammed the door behind me, just ahead of the Raven. I whipped the key from my pocket, jammed it into the lock, and turned it. The bolt clicked into place.

  The Raven let out an unearthly scream. He was alone in the darkness.

  Yes, I screamed. Wouldn’t you?

  Blackness. Nothingness. The void.

  I thrashed around, desperate to leave, but the door was locked. The fireplace was sealed. The window was gone. After working so feverishly to get out—one hundred sixty-five years!—I was trapped once again.

  I had escaped before. I could escape now.

  I breathed. My breaths were ragged at first, then smooth and clear.

  I made a fist. It grew stronger.

  I had a thought. It became an idea.

  All I had was my mind, my beautiful mind. And your anger.

  Chapter 28

  A Bloody Fist

  Edgar Allan Poe had been a bricklayer. It was a job he could do in his spare time, between stories. Like everything else in his miserable life, he had used it in his work. So did we.

  The bricks were stacked behind an old sofa in a corner of my room, covered by a blanket. Next to them was a bucket full of mortar and two trowels.

  As we carried the mortar and trowels to the closet, Libby noticed my arm. “David, you’re hurt!”

  I looked down. My shirtsleeve was ripped where the Raven had stabbed me, and blood dripped out.

  “I’m fine,” I said but knew it wasn’t true. The wound was painful, and I could feel it sapping my energy. I needed to see a doctor. Before that, though, there were important things to do.

  I carried
the bricks, and Libby laid them against the door, row by row, using a trowel to fill the mortar in between. We worked quickly, and soon the wall had reached our knees.

  The Raven was busy too. We could hear him trying the lock, jiggling the knob, pounding on the door.

  “David!” he shrieked.

  Libby glanced at me. There was fear in her eyes.

  “Keep working,” I told her.

  We heard a loud noise. The door jumped. I pictured the Raven on the other side, hurling himself against it. He tried again and again. The door was holding, at least for now. When we were finished, it would hold forever.

  I wondered what it was like on the other side of the door. Once, when I first discovered the room, I had closed the door and turned off the lamp. My eyes were wide open, but the world had gone away. The only thing left was black, a black that was completely different from the color you see with your eyes closed. There wasn’t a hint of light. There were no shadows or colors. A feeling of panic had risen in my chest. I wondered how long the air would last. I had trouble breathing. I imagined the walls closing in. Suddenly I hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. I stumbled to the door and threw it open. Light poured in, and air.

  Soon the Raven would have neither. He would never again see light. He would breathe for a while longer, then stop. He was trapped, about to be buried for the last time. I shook my head and tried not to think about it. The motion made me dizzy.

  Bracing myself, I eyed the wall. Strong and sturdy, it had reached the halfway point. Libby was working furiously. Mortar smudged her clothes and face.

  I realized we hadn’t heard the Raven for a while. What was he doing? Had he given up? I got my answer a moment later.

  “David?” he said in a muffled voice. “David, listen to me.”

  I kept working.

  “Think of all the people you hate,” said the Raven. “Think of how they laughed at you, made fun of you, told you no. Wouldn’t you like to wipe the smiles off their faces?”

  “Ignore him,” said Libby, stacking another row of bricks.

  The Raven said, “You know what makes you weak? It’s not what you would do—it’s what you wouldn’t do. You were weaker than Jake Bragg because you wouldn’t hurt people and he would. Then something snapped, and you hurt him, badly. That’s when he realized you were stronger.”

  I remembered the look on Jake’s face. I knew the Raven was right.

  “You and me, together,” he said. “Imagine what we could do to the people you hate, just because we would. We would kick them. We would stomp them. We would watch them bleed. Think of it!”

  For a moment, I did. Rows of my enemies lined up in front of me, and we cut them down like weeds. It felt good.

  “David?” said Libby.

  “Huh?”

  I gazed into her eyes. They brought me back from a place far away, a place without light or air. I saw strength in Libby’s eyes, but not the kind the Raven was talking about. Quiet and sure, it was a strength I could build on, the way we were stacking bricks, row by row.

  The wall was higher now. It had reached my chest. As we worked, my arm throbbed. Outside, lightning ripped the sky. Thunder crashed. Behind the door, there was a different kind of crash.

  “Hear that?” yelled the Raven. “It was the chest. I picked it up and threw it against the wall.”

  There was another crash. He let out a wild laugh. “That was the desk. I smashed it with my bare hands.”

  I remembered those hands. They had been gray and cracked when he arrived. After spending time close to me, they were smooth and healthy.

  Libby whispered, “He’s stronger. He’s getting energy from you.”

  “Work faster,” I said, handing her a brick.

  We did, but it wasn’t fast enough. As Libby laid in more bricks, the door above them exploded. Through it came a bloody fist.

  Chapter 29

  Talking to a Buzz Saw

  The fist was huge, like an anvil.

  As we gaped, another fist splintered the door. A jagged hole opened above our brick wall. Two hands seized the wood and broke it off, enlarging the hole. The Raven’s arms, giant now, reached through the hole and writhed like snakes. Fumbling blindly, they latched onto my leg and seized it in a vicelike grip. Then they began to pull.

  “David!” cried Libby. She grabbed me around the waist and pulled back. It was like trying to stop the tide. I was going out to sea.

  “Fight him!” said Libby. “Don’t let him do it.”

  I pounded on his arms. I scratched them and made them bleed. I worked to pry his fingers loose. I braced my feet against the door frame, trying to get leverage. I grabbed at the brick wall, which was just beneath the jagged hole.

  My feet went first. Then my legs, scraping against the rough edges of the hole, tearing my pants and cutting my knees.

  Libby glanced around desperately. “What can we do?”

  There was only one answer, but I knew she wouldn’t like it. “Make sure the door stays locked, no matter what he tells you. And keep laying bricks to cover the rest of the door.”

  “But what about you?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “A plan? Are you sure?”

  “Just finish the wall,” I said. “You’ll see.”

  The Raven gave a tremendous yank. My hips tore through the hole, then my chest, and finally my arms. Only my head was still outside, eyes blinking, looking around, trying to see into the future, if I had one.

  Libby placed her hand on my cheek. “Don’t go, David. Please.”

  Sometimes a lie is best. “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  She leaned in and kissed me on the lips. I tasted peanut butter. Then she was gone.

  Inside the room, I dropped to the floor with a thud. The Raven loomed over me, bigger than before. Somewhere in the darkness he had changed. My anger, nearby now, had turned him into something new and fearsome.

  The room was still dark, but it wasn’t black anymore. Light seeped through the hole in the door. Guided by it, the Raven fumbled around and found the kerosene lantern and a box of matches. He lit the lantern and held it over his head.

  The place was a mess. The remains of the chest were strewn by the door. The desk was a pile of rubble. Around it, sheets of ancient yellowed paper were scattered. Next to them, still in one piece, was the wooden carving, like a dark blotch on the floor.

  The Raven set the lantern down next to it. His face was covered with blood. Behind him, a gigantic shadow danced on the wall.

  “I’m glad you could join me,” he said.

  My arm throbbed. My legs and shoulders, cut on the door, had started to ache.

  “Just tell me what you want,” I said.

  He grinned. Some teeth were missing where I had kicked him. “Oh, I have big plans. Let’s see, there’s Libby. Then your mother. Then that withered-up witch, Ms. Fein. Mr. McGill, of course. And Jake Bragg—I’ve got special plans for him.”

  “All those people?” I said. “Why do you want to hurt them?”

  It was like talking to a buzz saw. The blade whirred. It moved forward. Nothing you could say would change it.

  My expression must have shown how I felt. The Raven saw me and snorted.

  “Get used to it,” he said. “I’ll be doing a lot more. And here’s the best part: you’re going to help me.”

  For a moment I felt panic rising. Then I remembered.

  “Oh, really?” I said. “How do you plan to get out of here?”

  He smiled. “The way you came in. Through the hole in the door.”

  “What hole?” I asked.

  He whirled around. Where the hole had been, there was now a wall. Libby had bricked us in.

  The buzz saw shrieked. It echoed around the room. In two quick steps, the Raven was at the door. Reaching through the hole, he pummeled the wall. It held fast.

  “Quick-dry mortar,” I said. “It’s amazing what you can buy these days.”

&nbs
p; He turned back, a look of genuine puzzlement on his face. “Now you’re trapped. We’re both trapped.”

  I shrugged, trying to look better than I felt. My arm ached. So did everything else. “Okay, I admit it’s not what I planned. I wanted to brick you in. You were going to die alone. Now I guess there’ll be two of us.”

  “What about Libby?” he asked. For just a moment, there was a glimmer of something in his eyes.

  “I think she’ll understand,” I said. “I hope she will.”

  The glimmer faded. Now there was only anger, red and ugly, evil, pulsing. Screaming with fury, he threw himself against the door. He pounded the bricks. He picked up a chair leg and paced the room, checking the wall for weak places. When he thought he had found one, he attacked it. He made a few dents but nothing more. The room held firm, as it had for almost two hundred years.

  The Raven sat down heavily on the floor.

  “It’s just you and me,” I said, talking as much to myself as to him. “But then, when you think about it, it’s been that way from the beginning. We’re trapped together. We’re paying the price for what we’ve done. I beat up Jake Bragg. I can’t change that. The things you did—the mummy, the cat, the pendulum—they’re no different, really. They’re more dramatic. They’re based on your stories. But they came from my anger. They’re still me.”

  The Raven lifted his head. “So, that’s it,” he rumbled. “It’s over. Everything I’ve tried to do comes down to this. Pain. Death.”

  He stared off into space, then looked at me. “There’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I’m still mad.”

  He got to his feet. Picking up the chair leg, he swung it into his palm, a little harder each time. Whack! Whack!

  “When you’re angry, you need a target,” he growled. “There’s just one left.”

  He moved forward.

  For some reason I thought of my mother. After I’d beaten up Jake Bragg, she had sat me down and told me that if I didn’t change, my anger would kill me. Little did she know.

  She had stood over me that day, her face red and her fists clenched. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one with a temper. But she had used hers, not to hurt me but to help me. You could turn your anger on others, the way I’d done, the way the Raven had done, or you could grab it, pull it close, and make it a part of yourself.