Closed at Dark

by Rob Blackwell

When the door to the Leesburg Science Society swung open, Soren was surprised to find a young man standing there.

  “Where’s Terry?” Soren asked, sticking his head inside the doorway to look around.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “The guy who’s going to kick your ass if you don’t tell him,” Soren said. “Who are you?”

  The man appeared unfazed by the threat. He was lean and wiry, and looked like Soren could push him over with one hand, but he leaned into the doorway and looked at Soren sullenly.

  “I asked you first,” he said.

  Soren sighed and resisted the urge to barge in. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he was already on his nerves.

  “I’m Soren Chase, a fellow paranormal investigator.”

  “Oh, he’s told me about you,” the man replied. “You’re the one who chases pretenders.”

  “And other things,” Soren said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

  “Uh-huh,” the man said dubiously.

  “Where’s Terry?” Soren asked.

  “I don’t like your tone,” the man replied.

  Soren considered grabbing him and shaking the guy like a rag doll.

  “How would you like my fist in your face?” Soren growled.

  “I like your tone even less now,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You seem like a pretty violent person. Maybe you should seek professional help. I know a good therapist.”

  “He’s not a man to trifle with,” a new voice said.

  Soren turned to find Terry Jacobsen standing behind him. Terry was Leesburg’s original “ghost hunter,” a term he despised but which adequately summed up his vocation. He was wearing his usual bow-tie and old-fashioned clothes — he looked like his tailor hadn’t updated his wardrobe since 1954.

  “You got yourself a partner?” Soren asked.

  “Not exactly,” Terry replied. “My sister thought it would be good for her youngest to get out there and experience the real world. I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow he was sent to me. Soren, this is Glen, my nephew. Glen, this is Soren Chase. He’s a rather dangerous individual so I’m not sure you want to antagonize him.”

  Glen eyed Soren up and down.

  “Doesn’t seem that dangerous to me,” he replied.

  “First rule of this business,” Terry said. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  Glen shrugged, implying that he did not share his uncle’s point of view, and walked back inside the office. Terry waved Soren into his office. Soren stepped into the office and felt a tinge of envy. It wasn’t that the office was so beautiful, just that it existed. He was forced to work cases out of his apartment, which felt cramped and stifling. He usually met prospective clients at coffee shops just so they wouldn’t know where he lived.

  Terry pointed to a chair in front of his desk and sat down. Glen sat on a corner of the desk, prompting his uncle to give Glen an irritated look that he ignored.

  “What can I do for you?” Terry asked.

  “Need some help tracking something down,” Soren said.

  “Another pretender?” Terry said.

  Soren frowned.

  “I don’t just go after pretenders, you know,” he replied.

  The look Terry gave him was somewhere between deep skepticism and pity.

  “I don’t,” Soren said a touch too defensively.

  “Then what are you chasing this time?” Terry asked.

  “That’s the thing,” he said. “I have no idea. It looks and talks like a man, but he can disappear at will and probably read minds. Also, he’s incredibly strong and seems to have a thing for young boys.”

  Soren gave them the run-down of the entire affair so far, starting with Alex’s encounter with the creature in the park and including his own run-in with him earlier that morning.

  “Any of this sounding familiar?” Soren asked.

  Terry shook his head. Soren was disappointed. Terry had been doing this for decades. Soren often thought of him as a walking encyclopedia of paranormal information. If he’d never heard of this thing, Soren was in deeper trouble than he thought.

  “One thing I forgot,” Soren said. “The guy has silver eyes.”

  “What did you say?” Terry asked, noticeably perking up.

  “When you look at his eyes, they’re hypnotic. They seem almost like mercury.”

  Terry stood up and immediately went to his bookshelves. Soren watched as he scanned various titles, obviously looking for something. He glanced up at Glen, who shrugged.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “Usually he has all the stuff in his head.”

  Soren waited until Terry found the book he was looking for. He pulled it off the shelf and then began leafing through it.

  “Talk to me, Terry,” Soren said. “What am I up against?”

  Terry ignored him for several minutes until he came to the right page. He stood there reading and occasionally muttering to himself, but Soren couldn’t make out the words. Instead, Soren just sat there, feeling helpless. It was not a sensation he was accustomed to.

  Finally, Terry looked up, walked over to Soren, and handed him the open book.

  “I believe what’s stalking the boy is a shade,” Terry said.

  Soren looked up.

  “I thought a shade was just another term for ghost,” he said.

  Terry turned to Glen.

  “Second rule of our business,” he said. “Names have power. Pay very careful attention to what something is called; it could mean the difference between life and death. The average person will use many names interchangeably: ghost, shade, wraith, wight, specter, phantom. To them, they all mean the same thing. And yet there are some important differences among the terms I just used. Confuse one with another and it will not end well for you.”

  “Enough with the lecture, Terry,” Soren said. “Just tell me what a shade is. All I remember was that it was a Greek word for a spirit.”

  “Technically speaking, that’s perfectly true,” Terry replied. “But the name evolved once we became aware of what these creatures are. Why don’t you examine the book you’re holding?”

  Soren looked down and scanned the pages. There was a drawing that caught his eye. It wasn’t of a white-haired man, but of a woman. In the picture, she looked youngish, but was staring out from the book with a lost and forlorn expression. Her eyes were the most arresting part. They seemed to look right through him. The drawing was in black-and-white, but Soren knew what color the eyes were. He examined the entry beneath the picture.

  According to the book, shades were related to ghosts, with one significant difference. They were the spirits of people who in life had psychic powers.

  Soren understood how ghosts were created. If someone died with an unresolved issue or experienced such trauma that he or she couldn’t move on from the world into whatever afterlife awaited them, they became a ghost.

  Shades were in the same vein, but their psychic abilities gave them abilities a normal ghost lacked. The average ghost was almost powerless, unable to interact with the living or move objects. Most never even wanted to — they were lost inside their own worlds, oblivious to what was happening around them.

  But shades were different. They could turn corporeal as well as manipulate objects. Arguably the most important distinction was that they retained some of their psychic power, whether that was telepathy or precognition. Death appeared to even amplify those abilities, likely because their soul was free of the limitations placed on it by the human brain.

  Shades were also conscious of their own demise and aware of what was happening around them. Still, like ghosts, they were often hung up on the same preoccupation of their mortal lives, whether it was the activity that led to their demise or an obsession that carried over after death.

  The book carried a warning that such fixations made shades extremely dangerous. Despite their ability to read minds, they tended to view all living creatures with suspicion and sometimes
acted out against unsuspecting mortals for no apparent reason. The book’s author theorized that as time went on, shades became gradually more consumed by their own obsession. They were known to become almost maniacal in their pursuits.

  “Not good,” Soren said.

  “It gets worse,” Terry said.

  “It usually does,” Soren said.

  “You said that his eyes were ‘hypnotic,’” Terry said. “That may be literally true. Shades aren’t made from just anyone with psychic abilities, but only those with a lot of talent. It’s possible he possesses the ability to compel someone to do something.”

  “Damn,” Soren said. “Alex said something about the shade talking about his father, wanting to bring him ‘home.’ His father was my best friend growing up. He’s also dead.”

  Terry nodded so quickly that Soren had the uncomfortable feeling the older man already knew about Soren’s past. He quickly dismissed it as paranoia. Terry was probably just agreeing with him.

  “He wanted the boy to come with him,” Terry said. “He used his father as leverage. The boy likely dwells on his lost parent quite a bit.”

  “Why are the eyes silver? Does that mean anything?”

  “The ancient Greeks said it was because of the coins they put on the dead’s eyes to pay the ferryman to Hades,” Terry said. “I doubt that’s literally true, but it’s what triggered my memory. There aren’t many shades in the world, although this is the second that I’m aware of that has visited near here.”

  “And the first?”

  “The blogger who disappeared a couple years ago,” Terry said. “You wrote about him on your own blog, remember?”

  The memory finally clicked in his brain.

  “The silver eyes,” Soren said. “One of the ‘ghosts’ he saw, the one of the Civil War soldier. He had silver eyes. That’s where I’d heard it mentioned before.”

  “You two lost me,” Glen said.

  Soren had almost forgotten Terry’s nephew was there. When Terry didn’t explain, Soren filled in some details.

  “Big case,” Soren said. “A blogger went into an allegedly haunted house in Leesburg and never came out. I never realized one of the spirits in there was a shade. Though that explains what happened to the blogger, I suppose.”

  “What happened?” Glen asked.

  Soren shook his head.

  “You don’t want to know,” he replied.

  “Shades aren’t necessarily evil,” Terry said. “They’re like people; they come in all forms.”

  “The one I saw today was intense,” Soren said. “He was almost territorial about Alex — and Alastair, come to think of it.”

  “As I believe you just read, they have a tendency to focus on a particular subject,” Terry said. “In this case, it appears to be young boys.”

  “Awesome,” Soren said. “Just great. Some pedophile kicks the bucket and becomes a super-ghost.”

  “Not that weird,” Glen cut in. “A friend’s basketball coach turned out to be a pedophile. My friend had no idea. He said the guy was charismatic and very persuasive. Probably some form of psychic mojo at work right there. And when your guy died, maybe it became stronger.”

  “A good point,” Terry said, “but be careful about what assumptions you make. You don’t know why he’s taking these boys.”

  “And I don’t care,” Soren said. “It’s going to stop right now. Which brings me to my last question: how do I hurt this thing?”

  Terry shook his head sadly.

  “It’s always the most violent response with you, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Your nephew mentioned that a moment ago,” Soren replied. “Let’s not have this debate again. These are monsters; I kill them. It’s what I do.”

  “The supernatural world is not just made up of monsters, Soren Chase,” Terry said. “You have to see the shades of gray.”

  “I really don’t,” Soren said. “Ghosts, pretenders, shades — it’s all the same to me. They’re interfering in our lives, and someone needs to stop them.”

  “That’s not always easy.”

  “Tell me about it,” Soren said.

  “I mean it literally,” Terry replied. “I’ve only personally encountered a shade once, and she wasn’t hostile, just confused.”

  “How did you get rid of her?”

  “I resolved her issue,” Terry said. “It’s the best way to deal with ghosts as well, though they are far less hazardous.”

  “What happens when the issue can’t be resolved?” Soren asked. “This guy seems to have taken his taste for little boys to the grave. It’s not like I can give him a 12-step program, a hug and some therapy.”

  “You will have to be creative,” Terry said. “It might help if you knew more about him.”

  “Like what? His shoe size?”

  “Stop being obtuse,” Terry replied. “The solution to problems is always more information. To stop this shade, you need to understand it. And if this is his obsession in death...”

  Soren clued in and began nodding his head.

  “Got it,” he said. “If he’s hunting kids in death, he was probably doing it before he bought the farm. At least I know what to do next. What do I do once I figure out who it is? I can’t just wait around for it to attack Alex again.”

  “Shades can be summoned, but it’s unpredictable,” Terry said. “You’d need a summoning stone like the one I gave you not long ago, as well as some kind of personal artifact of the person who became the shade.”

  “That doesn’t sound hard.”

  “The difficult part is what happens once you summon the shade,” Terry said. “They are very powerful spirits and summoning them is akin to dragging them to you against their will. They are likely to see it as a personal affront.”

  “Like I give a damn,” Soren said.

  “You will if he begins tearing you apart,” Terry said.

  Soren abruptly stood up.

  “That’s good enough,” he said. “I can take it from here.”

  He stopped on the way out the door.

  “Thanks for the help again, Terry,” Soren said. “Glen, it was extremely unpleasant meeting you. I hope when I come back, you’ve found some other way to occupy your time.”

  Glen responded by nonchalantly extending his right hand into the air as if he was going to wave, and then turning up his middle finger. Terry ignored them both and put up a hand to stop Soren from leaving.

  “You said the boy, Alastair, was taken two days after he first encountered the shade,” Terry said. “And Alex first saw the shade a day ago. There may be a pattern there. If I were you, I’d move quickly. I fear you are running out of time.”

 

  Chapter Seven