Faithful Shadow

by Howard, Kevin J.

  “I suggest you escort your friend out before I ban you all.” The bartender, a short woman with an oval frame, possibly in her mid-fifties, stood her ground against Stewart’s intimidation. “What are you gonna’ do big boy?”

  “Come on.” Sonia stood, linking her arm around Stew’s waist to pull him toward the door. “I’ll see you later Kelly,” Sonia said over her shoulder, struggling to get her man moving.

  “This is total bullshit.” Stew pointed his huge finger at the little woman, but he’d started to move, shuffling his feet until he was out the door.

  “Sorry about that,” Kelly apologized to the bartender as she came over with a tray and a towel to clean up the glass. “Some of his friends have gone missing,” Kelly said as she got out of her chair and knelt on the ground, helping the older woman clean up the glass. “He’s really a sweet guy.”

  “They always are, honey, until you get them sauced.” The bartender, Nina by her nametag, gave Kelly an all-knowing wink before heading back to the bar. Her demeanor told her it was water under the bridge; just another Wednesday night in the life of a bartender. A moment later she returned with a full pitcher.

  “Hey, there you are.” Richard came through the door, giving her a long hug and a warm kiss. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Did you hear about Janice and Marco?” Kelly took her seat.

  “Yeah.” Richard took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead where a nasty headache had begun to surface. “I did.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  “Not a word. No one even knows where they were when it happened.”

  “Hey, nothing happened. They’re just missing.”

  Richard nodded, withdrawing all skepticism to avoid any unpleasantness. Mostly he didn’t want to fight due to his headache. Plus, after a long day full of bad news and weird events, he really needed some sex. He grabbed the pitcher and poured them both a glass, sliding one over to Kelly with a smile—a peace offering. She took the glass and drank it quickly, wanting to keep things friendly as well. They both turned toward the door as Natasha came in, her head low.

  26

  Natasha had been escorted back to her cabin by one of the EMTs, a nice woman who had helped her into bed and then shut the door. At the time, she had wanted nothing more than to lie down and drift off into a deep sleep. The drugs the doctor gave her kept beckoning to take her away, down the river of her unconsciousness like a raft, but they never did. It couldn’t quite block those green eyes and that deep growl. It was as if the memory itself had become some kind of wild creature, biting at her leg as a constant reminder, following her around. She couldn’t shake it loose. The only positive to come from the day’s event was its’ horrific imagery overshadowing problems with her fiancé. But lying in bed with the drugs wearing off became quite difficult. There was an uncomfortable pressure building in her head, like a fat person sitting on her forehead. It felt slightly better when she sat up, but not a vast improvement. She stepped off the bed and froze, looking about the many dark corners in her cabin now that the sun had gone down.

  Natasha pulled her foot from the floor and kept it planted on the mattress. She wrapped her arms about her knees and leaned against the wall, rocking back and forth. Too many childhood monsters came running through her mind; a monster in the closet, something hiding under her bed, or a voice drifting up from her pillow. But those had all been the product of a child’s active imagination. Today had been real; something evil and tangible, a living creature. Of course no one would believe her. Even after they’d reviewed the startling remains of the fireman, they hadn’t believed her. After being interviewed by two rangers and a doctor, still no one believed her. They told her it had been a hallucination triggered by shock and then doped her up. But now the drugs had worn off and she could still hear and see the beast.

  It was too dark in here; too many shadows moving about the walls. If that thing could conceal itself inside a small closet, who’s to say where else it could hide.

  “You are stupid!” Natasha smacked herself on the forehead, hating how irrational she’d allowed herself to get.

  She couldn’t stay in here, trapped in a small box full of dark places, all alone in the dark with a monster out there. Natasha tried to control her breathing, telling herself slow and even breaths, but it wasn’t working. The room had gotten too small, too dark. Working against sheer terror, Natasha stepped onto the floor and ran to the door, expecting that at any moment something was going to grab her from beneath the bed and pull her into the darkness, but nothing happened. She reached the door unscathed and stepped out into the night. She pressed her back to the door and looked up at the light mounted above the door, a dim forty-watt bulb.

  “No, I have the breakfast shift.”

  Natasha overheard a group of guys as they passed her cabin, heading down the trail to the dining room. The lingering medicine made her slightly nauseated and the last thing she wanted was food, but she followed them anyway, desperate to be out of the dark and surrounded by people. It’s just safer that way. So she hurried to catch up, following them but not wanting to weird them out by stepping on their heels.

  A wave of relief washed over her as she stepped into the dining room, standing beneath the bright and somewhat blinding lights above. She stood in line behind the boys she’d followed in, flashed her badge and got some lime Jell-O. She took her spoon and had a tiny bite, working to get it down and working harder to keep it there. After her third bite, the food had become welcome, her stomach making a transition from nausea to starving. She ate the rest of the Jell-O and returned to the window for some meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She felt much better now that her stomach was full and her mind had relaxed a bit. But then the group of guys got up and left, leaving her alone in the large dining room. The bright lights above made her feel singled out, spotlighted. She had to be around people, at least in the same room as them. Then she heard the faint, unmistakable sound of music drifting in from down the hall.

  Natasha entered the bar and instantly lowered her head, feeling everyone’s focus directed at her. She turned toward the bar and had a seat on the stool, ordering a draft beer to start. Just a local ale she’d never heard of, but it really didn’t matter. She took the tall glass of cold beer and eagerly drank it. She could feel it traveling down her throat and into her stomach, an odd sensation, but a pleasant one. She instantly ordered another one, hoping to drown out the worry and pain in an amber river. But after five beers she’d only seemed to become more paranoid, fueling the negative voice living inside her head.

  They’re all staring at you.

  Natasha subconsciously lowered her head, feeling the weight of all their eyes bearing down on her, drowning her in their curiosity and speculation. She looked over her shoulder, trying not to make it look too blatantly obvious, and watched them. A woman behind her leaned toward the handsome man across the table from her, speaking softly behind her hand while glancing toward the bar. Natasha knew what she was saying.

  Everyone thinks you did it.

  Natasha rubbed her forehead. The headache was coming back. The accusations they must all be throwing her way; it was ridiculous. How could someone do something so horrific to another human being? She certainly didn’t know how to dry someone out. But she knew they were blaming her. Who else could it have been? How convenient for a crazy person to put the blame on some imaginary monster.

  You killed him!

  Natasha had enough. She slipped off the stool, stumbling a bit. Normally her tolerance for alcohol was rather high, but mixed with medication, the booze had hit her hard. She gripped the bar and turned toward the people sitting at the tables. They looked away or pretended not to be staring, looking to the bar or down at their watch. It was all too obvious even with the liquor coursing through her. Natasha shook her head and moved toward the door, jumping as it
slammed behind her. Overwhelmed by the gravity of the day’s events, fresh tears began to flow. So much had happened to her in the past couple of days. She was used to a boring, mundane existence. Natasha leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, pressing her face into her knees. For the first time since she’d discovered the chalky remains of that man, Natasha was thankful to be alone. The last thing she wanted was for someone to walk by and see her bawling into her knees; adding fuel to the already spreading reputation that she was a whacko. She looked up and eyed the clock across from her, giving her blurred vision a moment to focus in on the numbers. How had it gotten to be past midnight? Had she been that out of it?

  Natasha placed her hands on the wall behind her and rose to her feet, holding still a moment to allow the dizziness to settle. Once she felt confident enough, Natasha left the employee dining room, walking with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her employee sweater and her head down, nothing in her field of vision but her black sneakers and the gravel path. Her mind wandered from Yellowstone, taking a long trip back to her quiet life in Poland and memories of riding her horse, picnics with her family, and Gerik. That was what she really wanted, a simple life without complication. Putting yourself out there in the world, living a carefree existence, led to nothing but problems. She’d decided right then and there that she and Gerik would have a good life together. He didn’t need to know about her little indiscretion. It wouldn’t do him any good to know. Besides, she knew deep down that it would have never worked out with a man from the States. Natasha nodded along with her thoughts, feeling good for once. Her mind had been given a clarity she hadn’t felt in quite some time.

  Natasha looked up from her feet with a genuine smile, one that quickly fell from her face. She’d been so wrapped up in her major decision that she’d completely bypassed the employee cabins and stood a few feet from the Inn. Something was running along the gravel path.

  Natasha took a deep breath and looked into the darkness, spying something small and quick running toward her. It could be a dog or a deer, but she didn’t know for sure. It might be the creature, out to take care of the one that saw it. Her joyous realization about the simple things in life became overshadowed and insignificant next to the prospect of being eaten by this beast. Natasha turned and ran to the nearest door into the Inn, hoping to come across a guest or employee, someone. She threw open the stairwell door, shutting it quickly with her body pressed against it for a little extra security. It took all her courage to turn and look out the thin rectangular window, giving her a great view of the small deer that came running out of the darkness and across the parking lot.

  She couldn’t help but laugh, releasing her tension and panic in a stream of humor. But the carefree release of terror was quickly extinguished by another sound, something external. Natasha began to shiver as she instantly recognized that same inhuman snarl, only this time it was not from some closet across the room but directly above her. Summoning every ounce of strength she could, Natasha lifted her head and looked up into the glowing green eyes of the creature.

  Natasha trembled and stood for a moment, her mind processing so many unbearable thoughts she couldn’t think to run. Nothing registered beyond the fact that this thing was now looking down at her from the stairs above, reaching over the railing with black fingers and sharp black claws. Her mind finally got in gear, giving her the ability to turn and bolt down the hallway. It was only a short distance, just five rooms on each side. But there was no one stationed at the front desk; no one to scream for and no one to help. She looked back over her shoulder and stumbled over her own feet, sliding along the ground while looking up at the beast as it ran along the wall, digging its nails into the wall to support its long form. Natasha gripped the knob to her left, the same room she’d been told to lie in while they administered the sedatives. Thank God for today’s mayhem, because they’d left the room without remembering to lock it.

  Natasha turned the knob and dove into the room as the creature reached out with its three fingers, slashing the air and missing the back of her head by mere inches. Natasha kicked the door shut and quickly locked it, falling against it with a scream, hearing the creature’s harsh breathing on the other side of the thin wood. The door began to shake as it pushed against it from the hall.

  “Leave me alone!” Natasha pulled her hair and screamed, shaking uncontrollably.

  She took a deep breath and ran across the room to the window, pulling the pane inward. It didn’t budge, not an inch. She tried to turn the small brass crank, her sweaty fingers slipping over the cold metal. She let out a laugh as the window began to inch outward, half an inch moving to a full inch. The cool night air gave her promises of hope. She looked back over her shoulder as the pounding ceased, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence, broken only by her own quick breaths. Her mind couldn’t determine if this was actually happening or if it was some kind of drug induced sleep. Had to be a nightmare. People don’t get chased through hotels by black monsters made of oil or tar, or some kind a blob. The way it moved was so fluent, like living water down the wall.

  The window opening had reached three inches and Natasha felt a moment of hope. Had she turned and paid more attention to the door, she might have noticed the absence of light seeping in from the bottom. A black hand with three long fingers stretched across the floor, slithering like a serpent. It gripped Natasha’s right ankle and gave a single hard yank, knocking her to the floor. Her face hit the wall, breaking her nose. The impact from the floor knocked out two of her front teeth. Natasha rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, unable to understand how she was now on the floor.

  She let out a scream as the hand around her ankle dug its nails deep into her flesh, pulling her back toward the door.

  27

  It was one forty in the morning and there was nothing on television but infomercials and static. Joe had gone with the infomercial, something about the world’s best juicer. He didn’t give the television a second glance, just kept it on for the noise. That’s what people do when they’re lonely, they invent new ways to feel busy or imagine someone else is there. Most times he’d come up with some urgent task that was anything but, usually rearranging his DVD’s or cleaning out his small closet, milking the chore so it’d last all day. But today’s little excursion to the Inn had given him plenty to occupy his mind. In fact when he’d come home he went straight to the shower.

  Joe couldn’t get Cameron’s death out of his mind. It made his skin crawl. He shivered every time he thought back to being in proximity to him. For all they knew it could be some new kind of bacteria pushed up through the earth from all the volcanic activity throughout the park. The firefighter falls into a hole, gets the shit on his skin, and boom, dried out corpse. The fact that Dr. Cartman wasn’t overly concerned with contagion did ease his fears a little, but not enough to keep him from hopping in a boiling hot shower when he got home. And a hot shower was where he’d stayed for over an hour and a half, rubbing himself with soap till his entire body looked as if it had broken out in white pustules. But that extreme soapy lather had soothed his mind better than the good doctor’s word ever could. His mother had always told him, “If you want to kill a germ you have to smother it with soap.”

  Joe had dried himself off and put on a pair of sweatpants and an old torn shirt with a picture of a faded bear digging through the trash. The picture always made him smile, hokey for sure, but still. He made himself a bag of stovetop popcorn and a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich for dinner. Before eating a single bite, he reached into his inner coat pocket from its place on the coat rack by the door and took out his flask. The light weight made him sigh. Had he really emptied it in just two days? He knew no one else had joined him in a drink, so who else did that leave? Joe went to the cupboard above the sink and pulled out a bottle of 151-proof vodka, but it was empty. He set it aside and grabbed the next one. A friend o
f his visiting from Canada a few months ago had been kind enough to bring him down nine bottles. Sadly, there was only one more bottle left in the cupboard. But he didn’t let that stop him. Joe unscrewed the cap and filled his amber-colored friend to the top, holding it below his nose to take in the unappetizing vapors he still craved. Joe put the bottle back in the cupboard and took a seat on the couch, eating and drinking his dinner. There he sat for the remainder of the night, getting up occasionally to use the toilet. Prime time infomercials gave way to religious programs, allowing time to slip by as he ate and then drank, ate and then drank. By then he’d begun to feel the vodka’s effects, dulling his senses.

  The phone rang, startling him enough that he slipped off the couch, falling hard to the floor. He cursed the world under his breath and got the phone, his eyes going wide as he saw the clock above the sink. How time flies when you’re depressed and drunk.

  “Hello?”

  “Joe, it’s Andy. Did I wake you?”

  “Yeah.” Joe faked a yawn. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve had a serious problem at the Inn. You better get down there.”

  “What about Rita?”

  “She’s out on patrol. Down near Canyon.”

  “What happened?”

  Andy hesitated a moment, reviewing the details of the hysterical call he’d received from the Inn’s manager. “I don’t really know, but it sounds bad.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Joe set the phone down and stood still, looking at his reflection in the window over the sink. He wasn’t ready to answer a call, not like this. Nor did he want to go back to the Inn for some new horror. Had someone been turned into a piece of furniture or melted like ice? Joe leaned into the mirror and turned his face in a slow circle, eyeing the wrinkles and purple bags beneath his eyes. He hadn’t slept well in so long. When he did manage to fall asleep early, he’d wake up screaming—often his son’s name. He put some coffee grounds in the pot and went into his bedroom to get his uniform back on, wondering why he ever took it off. He wore the damn thing every day and often at night. Getting a full body tattoo of beige and dark green with his name etched over his breast might actually save time. A little grotesque with his sagging features, but doable.