Shadow People

by James Swain

  Finally, he gave in. “All right.”

  Ray seemed relieved. From the fridge he grabbed a long-neck beer. Perhaps he’d seen himself going down on Friday night as well. No doubt he had some skin in the game.

  “You gonna stand there and listen to me?” Munns asked.

  “What—I make you nervous?”

  “Everything makes me nervous. Go in the living room.”

  “Whatever you say, Doc.”

  * * *

  Ray walked out of the kitchen, and Munns pulled up Rachael’s number from his cell’s directory. He’d talked to her many times, knew her schedule by heart. She worked at a cancer research center in New York affiliated with one of the universities, and got to work by seven thirty each morning so she could feed the rats that she used in her experiments and would one day have to inject with pink juice and put to sleep. She’d told Munns this was the most difficult part of her job, and always made her cry. Munns hadn’t understood how anyone could feel compassion for a rodent, but had pretended he did, just to make her happy.

  The call went through. Munns quickly made up a story. Rachael lived by herself on the Upper East Side and had no close friends or social life. A single woman living in New York who didn’t get out much or have any attention showered upon her. It gave him an idea.

  “Hello?” she answered, sounding out of breath.

  “Rachael? This is Doc Munns. How are you? I sure hope didn’t catch you at a bad time. I have some wonderful news to share with you.”

  “Not at all. I just came through the door and was pulling off my coat. It sure is cold for April. And I’d love to hear some good news.”

  “The dean of the college called me last night, and said he wanted to hold a party at his house tonight so he can introduce you to the faculty. I thought it was a great idea, so I said yes. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Tonight? But I’m not coming out until Friday night.”

  “I know. But I didn’t think you’d want to pass up this opportunity. Kevin and Bob and Marty and Roland will all be there, and I know they want to meet you. Roland’s a long-distance runner, just like you. If I’m not mistaken, Kevin attended the same college you did. And Marty and Bob are both great guys. They were all thrilled to hear they’ll be having a nice young lady in their ranks.”

  He heard the hesitation in her voice. Four single men, one single women. Those were a lot better odds than she was going to find in some stinky bar in the city.

  “But I have to work tomorrow,” she said rather lamely.

  “I realize that. Here’s what I’d like to suggest. When the party’s over, I’ll drive you back to the city in my car. The trip won’t take more than an hour and a half. It will be a late night, but I think it will be worth it. You game?”

  “You sure it’s no trouble?” she asked.

  Munns smiled into the phone. “Not at all.”

  “But I don’t have anything to wear. This is too sudden. No.”

  He frowned. “The party is strictly casual, jeans and sweaters. No one will be dressed up.”

  “Casual is different between men and women. You know what they say. You only get one chance to make a good first impression.”

  “Trust me, you won’t make a bad impression.”

  “You sound awfully determined to get me out there. Is there something else going on here I should know about?”

  Rachael’s intuition was kicking in, and intuition was the messenger of fear. If Munns didn’t put this fire out now, she would not enter his trap. “Of course not,” he said in his smoothest tone. “It’s just that I already told the dean that you’d come, and his wife is making a special dessert to serve the guests. They’ll both be terribly disappointed if you cancel.”

  “Oh, God, now I’m backed into a corner,” Rachael said. “I really wish you hadn’t committed for me. That wasn’t fair.”

  “I didn’t feel comfortable saying no,” Munns replied. “The dean’s my boss, you know.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”

  “Do you want me to cancel for you? I can, you know.”

  Rachael hesitated. It was at that moment that Munns knew she was coming.

  “I’ll call him the moment we hang up,” he threw in for good measure.

  “No, I want to come,” his next victim said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. It sounds like a good time.”

  “That’s wonderful. You’ll love the dean, and everyone else, too.”

  “I’m sure I will. I’ll finish up my work early, and grab a late afternoon train out of Grand Central. I’ll text you when I know my arrival time.”

  “That works for me. I’ll see you at the station. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Same here. Good-bye, Doc.”

  Munns ended the call. That hadn’t been nearly as difficult as he’d thought. A woman’s greatest weakness was her desire to be loved. It blinded them to so many things.

  “All done,” he called into the next room.

  44

  Ray skillfully maneuvered down the twisting gravel driveway outside Munns’s house. He hadn’t liked setting Munns up, and hoped it did not come back to haunt him.

  At the bottom of the hill, the road turned smooth. The lassitude of highway driving took over, and he fired up a cigarette and settled in for the ride back to town. Tonight was going to be the end of the line for Munns. The elders of the Order of Astrum had said as much, and they were never wrong.

  Ray took a deep drag on the cigarette. He needed to get out of town. He didn’t like leaving on such short notice, but had no other choice. There would be bloodshed tonight, and he needed to distance himself from the carnage.

  But where would he go? To the hinterlands of upstate New York? The wilds of Maine? Or to a remote town in Vermont? They were good places to hide, with plenty of farms and wide open spaces. He’d grab a map when he got back to the tattoo parlor and make his decision.

  Music came out of his radio’s speakers like a funeral dirge played extra slow. As the noise grew louder, he fiddled with the dial to make it go away. Instead, the sound became deafening, and the interior of his car turned black.

  He hit the brakes, fearful of hitting something in the road. When the lights returned, he found himself sitting in a deserted theater, dead center with the stage. The strange music he’d heard was coming from the orchestra pit, where a quartet of skeletons plucked discordant notes on violins and blew savagely on wind instruments. Had he died, and gone to hell?

  “Hello, Ray,” a voice said.

  Three men wearing black robes appeared. One sat to his left, the second to his right, the third directly in front of him, positioned backward in his seat. Ray was trapped. Were these the elders? He had to think so. They were handsome devils, with strong facial features and good teeth, and appeared to be in their late twenties, although Ray knew the elders were much older, having been granted eternal youth as part of their pact with Satan. It was not a bad deal, only the spark of humanity that colored all human beings was missing, and they looked like ghouls.

  “You’re the elders of the Order of Astrum,” Ray said respectfully.

  “We thought it was time we had a chat with you,” the elder facing him said. “You’ve been an outstanding recruiter, the best we’ve ever had. You’ve done such a good job, we decided you deserved to be rewarded. Would you like that, Ray?”

  Ray started to get excited. He’d become a member of the Order in prison after hearing stories about members gaining mystical powers as rewards for pleasing their masters.

  “Are you going to give me special powers?” he asked.

  “We can. Is there something in particular you’d like?”

  “I know this is going to sound stupid, but I’ve always wanted to bend silverware with my mind. You know, like spoons. I always thought that was really cool.”

  The elder facing him smiled like a department store mannequin. The elder didn’t possess a soul, and it showed through in
everything he said and did. Ray imagined himself as an elder one day, immortal and able to wreak havoc on the world whenever it suited him.

  “Consider it done,” the elder said.

  “Cool,” the tattoo artist said.

  “There’s something else we’d like to give you as well.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Call it the gift of knowledge. It’s time for you to be enlightened.”

  Enlightened. That was a strange word for the elder to use, and Ray nearly laughed.

  “I’m game.”

  “Good,” the elder to his right chimed in. “You see, we have a master plan which involves the good citizens of New York being exposed to something that will forever change their lives. A portentous event designed to alter their souls, so to speak. We cannot put this plan into motion with Peter Warlock in the picture. Warlock must be erased.”

  “I thought that was Munns’s job,” Ray said, uncertain where this was going.

  “You must make sure that Munns does not fail.”

  “Whoa. I was going to leave town.”

  “You cannot leave,” the elder facing him said sternly. “You must stay, and make sure that Munns does away with Warlock.”

  Ray shifted uncomfortably in his plush velvet seat. He didn’t like when plans got changed at the last moment. Yet at the same time, he understood the elders’ concern. Munns was erratic, and could very well screw up. If Peter Warlock was going to be taken out of the picture, it would probably be better if Ray hung around and made sure the job got done correctly.

  “If I say yes, will I become like you?” Ray asked.

  “You will be given the opportunity to become like us,” the elder facing him replied. “The process takes time. First, your old self will fall away, then your new self will be born. With your new self will come new responsibilities. You will become one of Dante’s disciples.”

  “Who’s Dante?”

  “Dante is the anti-conjuror. For the past thousand years, he’s performed his magic for the delight of Satan and his guests. Satan has decided that it’s time to unleash him, and is sending Dante to New York. You will have the honor to be one of his assistants.”

  “Will this make me like you guys?”

  “Yes. It will bring you one step closer. Would you care to meet Dante?”

  Ray had always wanted to join the inner sanctum of the Order, for he knew that one day it would lead to him standing at Satan’s side and becoming immortal. Whoever Dante was, he was sure he could find a way to get along with him.

  “Bring him on,” Ray said, unable to hide his excitement.

  “Splendid. Enjoy the show.”

  The elders vanished, and Ray found himself sitting alone in the theater, shuddering from a burst of cold air. He could no longer remember what the elders looked like, their memory having been erased. He would have given anything to be so powerful.

  The house lights dimmed. The curtains parted to reveal a darkened stage. A single spotlight shone down, its beam so bright it reminded Ray of a light coming out of a flying saucer in a Spielberg movie. Smoke filled the stage, followed by a flash of light, from which stepped a wild-looking young man wearing a flowing purple robe. This had to be Dante, his new boss. The guy was a trip, with spiked purple hair, pierced eyebrows, lips, and nose, and Gothic designs smeared across his face. He moved in a slight crouch while staring sinisterly from side to side, and looked like a jackal that had learned to walk on its hind legs. Plucking two black scarves out of the air, the anti-conjuror bunched them together, and made a screaming vulture appear.

  The vulture was released into the theater, and flew in a lazy circle over Ray’s head. More vultures appeared from the same scarves, and were also set loose. The birds weren’t hidden in Dante’s coat or stuffed up his sleeves, but were molded to life right before his disbelieving eyes. Ray had once seen a magician at a birthday party, and thought the whole thing was a bunch of crap, the tricks obvious if you looked hard enough. Dante’s magic was different. It looked real, and something told him it probably was.

  Ray started to applaud, figuring he’d better make his new boss happy. The hollow sound echoed throughout the theater. Dante silenced him with a menacing glare. Clearly, he did not like interruptions.

  A final vulture was brought to life, and sent airborne to join the flock. Ray kept one eye overhead, noticing that the vultures had positioned themselves directly over his chair.

  “What’s your name?” Dante’s voice was high-pitched, like a woman’s.

  “Ray,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Do you know what the purpose of magic is, Ray? Magic is supposed is to reveal the secrets of the universe and life itself. Magic is not supposed to create illusion, it’s supposed to strip illusion away. It’s about finding eternal truth.”

  Ray didn’t know what the hell Dante was talking about but nodded anyway.

  “Here. Let me show you.” Dante cupped his empty palms together while his eyes bored a hole into Ray’s soul. “Think of a thing which truly frightens you. Don’t tell me, just think of it.”

  That was easy. The one thing that truly frightened Ray were rats. One had bitten him in the foot as a kid, and he’d never shaken the experience.

  From Dante’s cupped hands appeared a rat with a curled tail. It leapt to the stage, and was quickly followed by another. Soon, rats were pouring out of Dante’s cupped hands in such great numbers that they flooded the stage, and began to pour into the audience.

  Ray had seen enough, and jumped out of his seat in fear. Too late. A rat was attached to his pant leg, tearing at the fabric. Several more jumped on his shoe, their weight dragging him down. Within seconds he was covered in furry rodents whose sole intent was to scare him to death. Then the vultures swooped down, attaching their beaks to the tattoo artist’s shirt, and lifted him into the air with the rats still clinging to his body.

  “Don’t do this to me,” Ray cried.

  Dante stepped to the foot of the stage to appraise his handiwork. He had peeled back the darkest layer of his subject’s soul, and seemed pleased with himself. “You now work for me, Ray. Do as I say, and you’ll do fine. But if you disobey me, my furry friends will skin you alive. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes. Please make them go away,” he begged.

  “When your job is finished here, you will join me in the city. We’re starting rehearsals soon, and I want you to be there. Does that sound good, Ray?”

  “Yes. They’re biting me!”

  Dante howled with laughter and lifted his arms into the air. The vultures released their grip on his clothes, and Ray let out a blood-curdling scream as he fell into the audience.

  A car horn’s blast brought Ray back to the real world of Westchester County. A delivery truck idled behind him at an intersection, the driver fuming. Ray could still feel the rats on his body, and tried to swipe the invisible creatures away. The delivery truck passed, firing its horn.

  Ray pulled off the road and started to cry. Dante had made him want to die. He’d never felt that way before, and his fear was tearing him apart. This was not what he’d bargained for, and he told himself there was still time to escape to Maine or upstate New York and get out with his soul. He would live in the woods if he had to. He was ready to do just about anything to get away from this madness.

  A shadow fell over his van. It was a perfectly sunny day, without a cloud in the sky. Rolling down his window, he stuck his head out. A mob of vultures hung directly overhead. Try to run, they dared him, and see what happens. He wiped away his tears, knowing he was doomed to serve a master far darker than any he’d known before.

  45

  Every day began with the promise of a new beginning. Peter had read that in a book while growing up. The message had stayed, and had helped him get through the dark times.

  Wednesday morning was a perfect example. Sunlight flooded through his bedroom window and delicious breakfast smells floated up from the kitchen. It was enough to make him
forget what a nightmare the previous few days had been, if just for a little while.

  He tossed on a bathrobe and bounded downstairs. The brownstone had been sold to him with a warning. The previous tenant had fallen down the stairs, and broken his ankle. The staircase was treacherous, and not using the handrail was a serious mistake.

  Soon after moving in, Peter had learned that the staircase wasn’t treacherous at all. The problem was a cantankerous ghost named Zachary Nathaniel Harrison who’d inhabited the brownstone for over a century, and occupied the spacious guest bedroom on the second floor. Zack, as he liked to be called, was a light sleeper, and punished those who woke him up by tripping them during their stair runs.

  Ghosts could be reasoned with. Peter had conducted a séance in the bedroom, and summoned Zack to the table. The old ghost had obliged him, and they’d sat and talked and eventually worked out a deal. When the sun was up, Peter was free to run the stairs as much as he wished. When it was down, there would be no running. They had shaken hands on it, which had felt strange, since there had been nothing there to physically shake.

  The kitchen greeted him with a spread of food fit for a king and Liza at the counter squeezing fresh oranges. It still amazed him that she’d not packed her bags and split after yesterday’s revelations. The expression “love was blind” had taken on a whole new meaning.

  “If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” she said.

  “What’s the special occasion?” he asked.

  “I just thought you needed a fresh start after yesterday.”

  “Why? What happened yesterday?”

  She wiped her hands on a paper towel and wrapped her arms around Peter’s thin waist. “We have a lot of talking to do, you know.”

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Good. How about later this afternoon?”