Here are the first five chapters of my new novel, "Shadow."
Shadow
Chapter 1
The wretched feel of cold metal against my fingertips brings a shiver up my spine, but I've gone too far to look back now. Maybe it's fear that makes me shiver, maybe it's just the anticipation. Only a dirty beam of light shines through the tattered blinds but it's enough to make out my eyes in the sharpened metal. Eyes once full of life now only empty shells, a pale blue waste. Life fails around me, dull tiles lay shattered on the floor leaving holes on the dingy walls where they hung years ago. The rust, the grease and grime of years of neglect, is only shadowed by the darkness. So here I sit, cold and alone, with the remains of my shattered dreams scattered around me. There are a thousand things that brought me to this point, but it all started with her.
Her eyes, a deep forest green, met mine in a memory of a dream that was never mine. In a world of varying shades of gray. Across a room filled with blurred faces and music that I couldn't hear was her, my Sadie.
Sometimes I see things, I’m not always sure what I’m seeing, but I see something. I think they are warnings, or signs, I call them glimpses.
My name is Jason Shadley, but everyone just calls me Shadow. This is my story.
Chapter 2
Upon waking her eyes were burned into my mind like a camera flash in a dark room. Those brilliant eyes, the kind of eyes that play your heart for all it's worth.
The dry desert wind rattled my blinds as it snuck through my open window caressing the cold sweat that had broken across my brow. Bringing a sweet smell I couldn't quite place to fill the room, like roses in the rain.
As her eyes slowly faded from my sight I was paralyzed by a figure standing at the edge of my bed. Completely shrouded in black and darkness, unmoving, staring. The alarm clock silhouetting the too tall figure in deep red created an even more menacing appearance--1:21.
I tried to convince myself that it was only my imagination, but the fear stayed, overwhelming my mind. I couldn't move, those piercing, empty eyes held me in a trance.
I tried to say something, anything, but I could only manage the whisper of a breath. The escape of which was inaudible, even to me.
A sharp breeze across my face made me jump and broke the encapsulating hold the shrouded figure had held me in. I turned toward the window to make sure another figure hadn't appeared with that breeze. The blinds gently bounced against the window creating a melody I was surprised to notice.
I closed my eyes and slowly turned back toward the clock and the entrancing fear. In the darkness of my mind I saw her eyes once again, deep green, so beautiful. Eyes that could hold me and warm my very essence. But now was not the time to drift into dream, as enticing as that idea seemed, it was the time to open my eyes and face my fear.
Slowly I opened my eyes. As soon as I did I realized that the shrouded figure was still standing there, unmoving. Intensely staring at me, those empty eyes feeding off my fear. I studied the figure, unable to tell if it was even breathing. My shrouded fear stood at least six and a half feet tall, the dark black hood pulled over its face so far shadow hid all features, except those eyes and a snarled grin. Those teeth, too sharp to be human, formed a warped grin, a grimace of hidden anger.
It never moved, just staring at me as my fear built and built until the air wreaked of it. Unmoving, feeding, until it lunged.
Darkness swept over me, I was falling. As I fell the years of my life flew by me, my mother and father smiling when I was just a baby, unknown to them that their life was about to take a turn for the worse and they were going to drag me down with them.
Darkness over took again, I was falling into blackness. I didn’t know if I was dreaming or if death had come to me early.
Brightness filled again, my mother screaming at me, which was not an all around unheard of occurrence. Screaming while my father entered the room with a belt. I said, “I’m sorry, I didn‘t mean to!”
Darkness again.
I must have fainted. When I awoke the red glow was not obscured by the shrouded figure--2:19.
Was it death?
Was it a warning?
I knew that sleep wouldn't come my way again so I sat on the edge of my bed and tried to figure out what just happened. As my feet touched the floor I was overwhelmed with a feeling of vulnerability. I had to get out of here and clear my head.
Slipping on jeans and a t-shirt I was again overwhelmed by emotion, my mind was going crazy with the aftershocks of current events. As I pulled my shirt over my head I was struck with the realization that I was in for a very long day. A day that may not end back in my warm bed, which is okay because I'm not sure that sleep would come easy in this place again.
Hitting the street the warm desert air caressed my chilled bones, relaxing away the fear that had grasped my heart so tightly. The stars burned brightly in their safe haven a million miles above me, momentarily bringing back that feeling of vulnerability and insignificance. That fleeting stab brought clarification to me at once, I was not insignificant, and today was only the beginning.
Chapter 3
Clearing my head didn't take as long as I thought it would, there were still four hours to sunrise and the hustle and bustle of the everyday world. I was utterly alone. The streets were empty, the only light was that of the yellow glow of streetlamps, most of which were broken on this end of town. All of the houses were dark, the families fast asleep in their beds. All of them at peace.
As I rounded to the next street there was a single light on. The gray ranch house belonged to Stacy Warren, the owner of Ma's Diner. She isn't the original Ma, her father opened the restaurant where her mother did all of the cooking, she was Ma. She made pancakes that could warm your soul, so flavorful and fluffy you had to hurry to put on syrup fearing they might just float off of your plate.
Stacy took the diner over when her parents died ten years ago. She dealt with the loss by putting everything into that place. Consequently, she was never married, she hasn't even had a steady boyfriend in all the years I’ve known her. She has the diner and her extensive library.
Because Stacy spends so much time at the diner her hours are almost as eccentric as my own, I decided to stop by and see how she was.
When I climbed the four steps to her front door and rung the bell she answered at once, "Hey, Shadow, what can I do for you at this time of night?"
Stacy is five foot two and thin, which surprises me because she eats almost every meal in a greasy diner. She has sandy brown hair like a paper bag got attacked by a highlighter. Her eyes are light brown and bursting with wisdom, so much so that you barely even notice they have a color at all.
Before I had a chance to answer she pulled me across the threshold into her entryway and into a hug. She was warm and filled a whole in my heart that was there for far too long. She told me to go sit at the sofa while she went into the kitchen to get a bottle of wine.
Her living room was drab and lacked the knick-knacks that really make a house a home. She didn't believe much in decorating a house she rarely used for anything but reading and sleeping. It was plain but it suited her. The only real decoration in the house were the bookcases, and the thousands of books that filled their shelves. Every kind of book you could ever want to read, from history all the way down to self-help.
As she returned to the living room with the wine and two glasses I said, “I’m just having a weird night, Stace.”
“How’s that?”
“You know those things I see sometimes, those glimpses I have? I think some of them are actually real.”
Stacy is one of the only people that knows about my visions. She says they are a sign from God that I must learn to see better, I’m not so sure God would do this to somebody. Sometimes I think that maybe I’m just crazy.
She poured some wine into my glass, cabernet. The aroma filled the room, sweet but pungent. I’m not a wine connoisseur by any means, if I had a five dollar bottle of wine and a thousand dollar bottle I would swear they were the same. But the cabernet soothed me at once, like a weight was lifted off of me. I drank the glass in two swallows. In retrospect it probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. Once you pop…
Stacy refilled my glass and asked me what had happened. I told her about the dream, those green eyes, and about the shrouded figure that stood at the end of my bed. I told her everything in great detail, which is the only way she will hear a story. She refuses to let me leave out any details and I have no reason to think I should. As I recounted my story we finished half of the bottle of wine and I had a good head buzz going. The room started to feel like it was floating and it was a good change from the way my night had started.
She interrupted only once to ask me to repeat the part about the figure’s eyes. She either found it extremely interesting or important, I’m not sure which.
After my story I got the distinct impression that it was closing in on time for me to start off on whatever adventure lay ahead. I thanked Stacy for the wine and always being a good friend.
She walked me to the door and as I reached for the knob she put a hand on my shoulder to turn me around. I met her eyes, they dazzled with fear and hope. She had a tear gently rolling down her cheek and she put her arms around me in a hug I hoped wasn’t goodbye. She warmed my heart like those moms on TV. Those moms that hold their child in their arms and tell them how much they love them. I never knew that feeling until Stacy came into my life. She is only ten years older than myself but she has a mother’s aura about her, it would be sad if she never had any kids of her own.
“Protect yourself Shadow, and keep your eyes and ears open.”
“I will, I promise.”
Stacy walked me out the door and sat on the steps until I was down the street and out of sight. I heard her softly weeping as I walked away, that plucked a chord of fear within me that made me more weary about the day that lay ahead. If only I knew what I was getting into.
Chapter 4
There were still two hours before sunrise when I rounded the corner from Stacy’s block. Two hours to get my head straight and figure out what it is I’m supposed to listen for or see.
As I walked I kept replaying my whole morning over and over trying to see some detail that would catch my eye. I kept mulling it over keenly focusing on all of the small details of the scene, the window blinds, the breeze, nothing. I am not a clairvoyant, I can’t see what is happening, I can just see something. Sometimes I just wish I knew what it was.
The more I thought about it the more my mind drifted to me falling and the visions of my parents.
When I was eight years old I had my first clear vision, and made my first huge mistake.
I awoke to the storm outside, thunder crashing amidst down pouring rain. Every time the lightning flashed my room was lit with menacing shadows. To an eight year old a storm is a very scary time, sometimes I still want to curl up under the covers in a storm. I was coming into an age where I kept telling myself it was only my imagination, “don’t be afraid, stupid.” That gave me the courage to get up and go to the window. As I looked out I saw only rain, the lightning brightening up our backyard. There were no scary monsters coming to get me, no men with hook hands or big knives, just a regular backyard. The tire swing rocking gently in the breeze of the storm was actually kind of calming.
When I turned from the window my room lit up in a strange light, like a black light without the shining white. My dad came into the room with his belt, oh great. He didn’t say a word he just stopped a few feet inside the door and stood there, with empty eyes. My mother followed and stood beside him, both with a look so absent I couldn’t recall if they had real eyes or only hollow marbles.
“Mom? Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I didn‘t mean to!”
My closet door slammed open and from it came a man I didn’t entirely recognize at the time. He was an every man, blue jeans and a brown suede jacket, he had brown hair and a mustache. He wasn’t distinguishable from any other every man. But, unlike my parents, his eyes weren’t empty, they were filled with fear and hate. His eyes were twisted, along with his other features, in a rage that couldn’t be hidden.
He walked two feet from the closet door and started talking with no sound, he only mouthed the words, I couldn’t tell what he was saying. In his right hand was a gun. It wasn’t one of the guns like the cops carry, it was one that would only look at home in the hands of Dirty Harry. The man stopped talking and my father dropped the belt and started to say something when the man lifted the gun and put a bullet in his chest. He moved swiftly following the first shot with a second nicking my fathers throat and tearing half of it away. His third shot took off the top of my mother’s skull. They both fell to the floor without a sound and the man ran back into the closet with a sick grin across his face. He shut the closet door behind him.
I couldn’t move. I just stood there for what seemed like hours but, in retrospect, was probably only fifteen seconds. Then the tears started jumping out of me, breaking my trance. I ran out of my room and down the hall and straight into my father’s overly healthy stomach. My mother came out of the bathroom to see what was going on. Then I made my first huge mistake, I told them what I had seen.
They followed me to my room only to find it empty, closet and all. No dead parents on the floor, no psycho killer in the closet. Great.
After my mother finished screaming at me and telling me I was ruining her life she took me to see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist, Dr. Stevens, who looked and talked an awful lot like he was born, raised, and taught in Mayberry, told me I was dreaming. Ha, yeah, thanks a lot doc.
I went to Dr. Mayberry for one hour twice a week. This episode went on for almost a year before he told me all of the things I’d seen were dreams. Thank you for that productive tenure here, doc.
When I went home after my last session I told my parents that I still don’t believe anything I saw was a dream and they reacted the way all good parents do, by deciding to put me up for adoption.
I was sent to St. Matthew’s Home For Boys. It wasn’t an all around bad place. I got put into a room with Michael, a skinny kid from a broken home. Three weeks after I arrived at St. Matt’s I got called down to Father Hagen’s office where there was a sheriff waiting for me. He told me that my parents had been killed, they were shot by a man that worked with my father. That’s when I first started to question my strange visions.
···
In my trance I didn’t realize how far I’d walked, the sky was starting to lighten on the horizon. The shallow breeze was far warmer now than it had been.
I turned down Pima Street, a street almost forgotten by the city, almost every house on the street was burned or abandoned. The smell of the charred buildings long since wiped out by the blistering desert sun.
Pima Street used to be where people moved who had more money than they could spend. Elaborate architecture stylized every eave and window, mostly stucco and Spanish tile. In its prime architects had used this street to spread their artistic wings, and get paid a lot of money to do it.
A street characterized by the sweet smell of vast flower gardens and massive palms now a dried up memory. Lawns watered daily to bring lush grass to this dry region were now the dry dust of the desert from the years of neglect.
At the end of the block are the biggest, grandest houses. The original founders of Jericho built two giant Victorian mansions to try and show people that it was a town worth living in. The mansions have since then become museums to commemorate the town.
The last great remembrances of Jericho stand three stories of brick and masonry so carefully laid that their beauty isn’t negated by the years of the sweltering sun’s abuse. The steeply peaked roofs stand like mountains over the streets below.
In the highest window of the First Jericho Museum (the other mansion is the Second Jericho Museum, original I know), burned a single light, wavering, the soft glow of candlelight.
I knew that something had brought me to this place, something had pulled me to the ancient monster that lived on Pima Street.
As I made my way to the awaiting demons I couldn’t help but think about my mother. In some subconscious way I think her harsh punishments and eventual neglect was preparing me for the battles that lay ahead of me.
The stairs were brick and layered with the grime of their age. And in their own subtle way resonated with an aura of approaching darkness. With each one a subtle fear began to chill my very core.
Shadows come.
The voice pushed me into a sudden, full blown fear. My lips began to quiver with unspoken desperation. My chest tightened as I struggled to take breath.
I wanted to run, I wanted to forget it all and run. But, I knew I couldn’t forget it, it wouldn’t forget me.
I ascended the last of the steps to the small stone deck, cracked and worn by the years. In every crack and hole was an aged beauty.
Come.
The door was an oversized oak monster.
The center held a gold plated sign with a single word sketched into the tarnished surface:
Deceiver
I have only visited the Jericho museum a few times, but I knew that the sign was not one that was regularly hung on the big oak door. I knew the sign was put there for me alone.
At first the knob wouldn’t budge, it stuck as if it was being held from the other side. But it let go and the door opened without the eerie creak I had expected.
Chapter 5
The room was dark and the smell of death burned my nostrils.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the blackness of the room. As they began to refocus I could make out the layout of the entry way, though the details of the room were lost to the shadows.
A rhyme from my childhood suddenly popped into my head, a rhyme I hadn’t thought about in years.
Darkness comes on the tail of light,
But I do not have fear or fright,
Because darkness is afraid of day,
The light can send it all away.
So fear not the darkness, son,
Calm your heart and do not run,
The darkness won’t hurt you tonight,
Now banish all your fear and fright.
Saying the rhyme to myself actually calmed my nerves and cleared my head, I’d have to remember that for the next time I have to meet a girl’s parents.
I slowly walked in the small stone floor entry way. Directly ahead of me a grand staircase rose to the second floor. To my left and right were large arched entries to other areas of the house. The left lead to what must have been the great room.
This place was reminiscent of a new age golgotha, where artifacts rather than lives are left as husks of their former selves. These husks now on display, a mockery of their past, of their stories.
I went to the stairs, the top of each step was covered in sleek white marble. The white of the stairs made me think of the teeth of a monster, come on Shadow, I don’t bite. Ha, yeah.
As I climbed I feared every step would give me away with that old house moan, but none did. I reached the first landing that held three options: left, right, or up. I chose up, against my own will.
The top of the second set of stairs offered no options, only a door. From underneath the door came a faint orange glow, the flicker of the candle I had seen from the street. The door was white, as was much of the rest of the house, but the doorknob was different than the others I had seen. It was a standard, gold knob but inlaid into the middle was a small mark. Something that would go unnoticed if the person standing at the door wasn’t searching around for a reason to flee instead of enter the room. It was a seven with all corners touching the inside of a circle. A mark I’d never seen before.
Instead of studying the seemingly meaningless sigil I put my hand on the knob. Slowly I turned it expecting at any second it would be pulled free of my hand and I would be facing a hideous beast. The knob finished its rotation, I began to slowly push the door open.
I opened the door only a small crack to try and see what I would soon be up against, I saw nothing. A little further, a bookshelf.
Darkness comes on the tail of light,
But I do not have fear or fright…
Deep breath, deep breath
I pushed the door open.
···
The room was small and filled with shadow, a bookcase stood against the wall to my left, another to my right. directly in front of me there was a big desk facing the window. Sitting behind the desk was a hooded figure, oh great, another one. I entered so the figure’s back was to me, but I could see that his cloak was a deep brown, like a rich leather. It looked to be the cloak of a monk or those satanic leaders you see in movies, I was hoping for the first over the latter.
Without turning to me he said, “Welcome, I was waiting for you.” His voice was deep, though barely above a whisper, you could hear a soft melody in it. It held a deep understanding that could be heard, as well as felt, even with such few words.
Though I knew it was unimportant I had to ask the most obvious question, “Who are you?”
“I am all that once was, I am what could be and what will be. I am me and I am you.”
He stood, his robe gently swaying from a breeze I couldn’t feel, but did not turn at first.
My fear started to build once again, expecting the monster I had seen in my room only hours before. A grotesquely disfigured face or jaws of a shark. My mind raced with these images of hell and hate. A shiver ran along my spine.
He turned.
Before me was the face of a man, though empty, a face worn out by what it has seen. He stood no more than six feet tall, although his robe hid the contour of his body I could see that he was much thinner than he should have been. His hood hid most of his head but shaggy black hair snuck over his forehead. His nose and chin were remarkably sharp only broken by a thin strip of colorless lips. He was clean shaven, or maybe he couldn’t grow hair on his face at all. His eyes though, such a pale gray they had almost no color at all. Although his features were different I could see myself in his face, like a distorted funhouse mirror.
He looked at me, almost staring. His pale eyes drilling into me, reading mine. “You need not be afraid of me, Shadow, I am here to neither help you nor hurt you, only to inform you. To teach you what you must know to go on.”
“To go on? Go on to where, to what?” Confusion swam within me, this was already more than I was ready for.
“I do not know, I simply know you must go on. But first I must teach you what I know.”
He reached up and removed his hood, his hair was indeed a deep black, almost purple. It was longer than I had suspected it would be, down past his sharp shoulders. While he removed his hood his piercing gaze never wavered from mine, reading my eyes, my mind, perchance my soul.
“Come, sit. You have much to learn but time is against you.”
Seeing no other options, I sat.
He began very slowly, deliberating each word, “Long ago, before the world became the shining example of selfishness and greed that it is today, there was a man. This man, like many other men, lived to provide only for himself, he was a humble man who lived alone, he had no wife and no children for which to provide. A prophet came to this man in a dream and told him that he was meant for great things. That he must leave all that he knows and find his true self. And so he did, he left that very day. He traveled the world for forty years before he found himself, before he was enlightened by the truth of truth. That man went on to do many great things, to save worlds.
The majority of people in this world will die without ever knowing truth, even tasting it. But truth is out there, it is there for you to find. And with truth you can do many amazing things. Right now your life is so small, so meaningless among the billions. In this fraction of time, in this small corner of the universe, you are but a blink, but you could be more. Oh, you could be so much more. I believe you have felt a bit of that truth all your life, maybe without even realizing it.
Shadow, it is time for you to shed all that you are, forget all that you know and go out into the world and find your truth. I am asking you to do what the man in my story did. And, yes, he was a real man.
There are worlds to save again. Though time is not on your side.
I know that you have seen more truth than most people have, but what you’ve done is only a glimpse of what you could do, what you were meant to do. You need to find the truth within your soul, find your purpose.
Oh, I believe you can save worlds, but do you?”
And with that question lingering in the air, which was thick enough to swim in, he turned back around and lifted his hood.
“I have so many questions, so much more I need to know.”
Without turning he said, “Yes, you do, but you will answer all those questions in time. Go now, time is slipping.”
···
I woke up. I was in my bed, a cold sweat across my brow. A cool desert breeze gently rattled the blinds. I looked over to the clock, flashing-- 2:19.
Was it all a dream? Vertigo over took, darkening shades of gray covered my vision, confusion, mind, body, and soul. An image came into my mind, the circled seven that was on the doorknob, so minuscule, so easy to pass by and never see. It felt like a very important sigil now. And with that vision burned into my mind’s eye, I fainted.
···
I was falling again, but this time I was unafraid. Clouds rushed past me as I began to fall faster and faster. I was pretty sure I was dreaming, pretty sure. After the events I’d gone through… oh crap.
I could see trees now, from very high above, but they were getting closer and closer. Either I need to wake up or I need to start flapping my arms and hope that I evolve pretty damn quick.
There were mountains in the distance, where was I? Is that even a question that should enter my mind when I’m falling to my certain death? Ok, ok, not necessarily my certain death, start flapping!
The wind was distorting everything, drying my eyes. Though I could still see that the trees were fearfully close. Oh god, be a dream.
The ground, closer and closer, here I come.
Closer.
Closer.
···
I awoke with a jump as I hit my head hard on the floor. Stars came into my field of vision, like in the old cartoons when someone gets hit with an anvil.
It was warm and the sun was peaking through the window. I looked at the clock even though I knew it wouldn’t matter what it said, I didn’t have a clue what day it even was-- 6:21.
I laid my head back on the floor, just need a moment to get a better grasp of reality, if this is reality.
Everything that had happened up until the bone cracking fall started playing in my head.
Without knowing I was going to talk out loud I said, “What the hell is happening to me?” My voice sounded hollow in the empty room, it almost sounded like someone else’s voice.
Realizing I was still on the floor I got up and crossed to the bathroom, I don’t remember ever having to piss so bad in my life.
To get to the toilet I passed the small mirror over the porcelain sink. I stopped.
Very slowly, so much so that I almost grew impatient of myself, I stepped back in front of the mirror.
My hair was going gray. The hair at my temples had definite gray and the rest of my dark hair had light streaks as well. I didn’t even have a hint of gray the previous night, and my hair didn’t seem as long.
“How long have I been sleeping?” I said in a whisper I almost couldn’t hear.
I ran out of the bathroom, forgetting how badly I had had to go, and turned on the television. Flipping channels I finally came upon what I was looking for, the news. It was June 13th, only one night had gone by.
