I never liked cities. I should know, I was born in Chicago. Too many souls. I try to stay as far away from them as possible, but even way out in the woods or up on a mountain, there's always people around. If not people themselves, there’s the crap they leave behind: old cabins, beer cans, garbage bags. The whole damn world just one big landfill. It’s also just one big graveyard. I been all over this country and everywhere it’s the same. I try to keep south, migrate with the seasons. I hunt, I fish, I sleep outdoors. I don’t bother anybody.
But sometimes, I just find myself in cities. These things come on me, what the doctors used to call “episodes,” and the next thing I know, I'm on some overpass, walking straight into a cluster of high-rises, serrated maw of the beast.
* * *
This time, it was a small Midwest city, and cold. I’d had no idea I’d wandered this far north. But there I was, trudging northbound along I-35. The wind cut right through my jacket as if it were tissue paper and not good, sturdy nylon. I flipped my hood up, pulled on a pair of gloves, and kept walking. As I entered the city itself, I noticed the usual wandering spirits. A few of them even tried to approach me but I ignored them. I ducked into a bathroom in a public park for a minute to add a few more layers to my ensemble. From my backpack, I pulled a thermal shirt, turtleneck, sweater, scarf. There was no one else in the facility. The park was mostly empty-- it was mid-morning on a school day, so no kids. Just a few dog-walkers.
I resumed walking, and, all at once, my shadow was joined by another shadow. At first, I stopped and looked behind me, startled. Was someone following me?
No. There wasn’t anybody.
Cautiously, I resumed walking, looking at the ground to my left, where my shadow stretched out over the concrete and into the grass. There were definitely two shadows there, mine, and a second one, identical to mine, as if someone were following me and mimicking me very closely. It was like that old I Love Lucy bit with Harpo Marx, except instead of a false reflection, I had a false shadow. I took a few more steps, watching the second shadow carefully, thinking maybe it was some kind of trick of the light. But the winter sun was pale and bright and perfectly ordinary. There were no close buildings or trees, nothing to create shade. And whenever I stopped, both Shadow #1 and Shadow #2 stopped. When I waved my arm, they both did too. I put my hands on my head. I stopped and stretched both arms to the sky. Every time, both shadows did the same.
I looked around, wondering if anyone else was experiencing this.
Nope, just me.
I resumed walking, watching the shadow out of the corner of my eye. In my experience, it’s best to be as direct as possible with these things. “Who are you?” I asked, low, barely moving my mouth, so no one would see the poor crazy bagman talking to himself.
A small, childish voice replied, “No one. Just a shadow.” I couldn’t be sure if it was actually speaking or just in my head.
“What do you want?”
“I’m bored.”
“Can’t help you there.”
The voice grew silky. “Oh, but you can. We can help each other.”
“You’re a demon, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“I’d like you to leave now, please.”
“Let me help you. You’re hungry. When you get to the edge of the park, turn left. That street takes you almost directly to City Hall. There are people there who will give you food, and you will find others like you.”
I sighed. I would think better on a full stomach. “Fine, but I would’ve figured that out for myself eventually.”
“I’m sure you would have.”
“Just so we’re clear, this does not constitute a favor.”
“No, of course not.”
Two shadows trailed me as I made my way deeper into the city, but the voice fell silent. Just as it had promised, I found the municipal building with a mobile soup kitchen set up on the lawn. I got a hot meal and something they called a blessing bag—a backpack filled with Slim Jims, granola bars, sandwiches, socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, Tylenol, wet wipes, lots of good stuff. There were other volunteers handing out gloves and coats. I sat down at the edge of a cement wall by myself to eat.
After a little while, a guy wandered over with his own plate. “Can I sit here?” I scooted over and he sat down. “I’m Seth,” he said.
“David.”
“I’ve never seen you around here.”
“Just got into town.”
“Oh. Well, if you come back later, there’s usually a van clinic that comes through. Give you a checkup, if you want.”
“That’s good to know.”
“You got a place to stay?”
I shook my head.
“There’s a spot where a bunch of us stay. I can show you.”
Suddenly, the voice spoke up in my ear, “You don’t want to go with him.”
I ignored it. After we ate, Seth took me a few miles west to an industrial area at the bottom of a steep cliffside. Overhead, bridges and overpasses crisscrossed, the sound of traffic a constant, low rumble. Below were railroad tracks and old warehouses. At the base of the cliff was a large encampment with tents and structures made of scrap material. There were many fires going, grills and gas-powered hot plates. Seth had a tent there. He had a black lab named Shuck, and a cooler stocked with eggs and milk. He had a crate where he kept dry goods and coffee. He invited me to stay with him for as long as I needed.
“Don’t trust him,” the voice whispered.
“Will you shut up?” I muttered.
“What was that?” Seth asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
Ghosts were one thing, but this was different. I didn’t like how close it was, I didn’t like anything about it. I intended to stay in this town just long enough to shake it off.
In no time, Seth and I were chatting like old friends. As we talked, I actually started to relax. Seth’s old man used to take him hunting and fishing, same as mine did. He was from everywhere and nowhere, same as me. (In his case, everywhere and nowhere by way of Fort Riley, Kansas. Army brat.) He liked books and games and woodworking, same as me. We even liked the same kinds of books, Steinbeck, McCarthy, Ellroy.
Some of the other denizens of the camp had decks of cards, a chess set, bottles of beer and whiskey, a radio. Some of them had cell phones that they charged up at the library or a McDonald’s or somewhere, so we could watch YouTube videos.
As it got dark, it became harder to see the second shadow, but I knew it was there.
“I don’t like it here. We have to leave,” it whispered.
“So leave,” I hissed.
But it didn’t.
* * *
The next day, Seth and I walked around the city. Nowhere in particular, just walking and talking. I tried not to keep looking over my shoulder, but every time I did, three shadows trailed us.
Around the tenth time I glanced back, Seth asked, “What are you looking for?”
Sheepishly, I shrugged. “Just jumpy, I guess.”
We returned late to find that vigilantes had raided the camp. They burned tents, beat down some of the old guys. The cops were in on it. They’d confiscated blankets and supplies, arrested a bunch of people. Of the thirty or so I’d seen the night before, only six or seven were left. They were sifting through the mess, trying to salvage what they could.
“Now I remember why I hate cities,” I said.
Seth nodded. “They just can’t stand anybody who lives different than them.”
Seth’s tent was flattened on the ground. All of his stuff had either been taken or was in one of the burn piles. I was glad I’d kept my backpack with me, but my sleeping bag was gone, along with the blessing bag I’d gotten the day before. Shuck was nowhere to be found. We went looking for him, calling and whistling, but he didn’t turn up. I hoped they hadn’t hurt him or turned him over to animal control or anything like that. He was an old dog, but he looked like he could still hunt.
While Seth and I looked, we wandered pretty far apart. The voice spoke up, “I told you, we shouldn’t stay here.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “Did you know this was going to happen?”
“It’s better to be alone.”
“So leave me alone.”
“Who are you talking to?” Seth asked.
I turned around, startled. “Myself.”
He peered at me for a moment. “I do that, too.”
We went back to the old encampment for his tent and to see if there was anything else worth taking. There wasn’t.
* * *
It was going to be a cold night. We had no choice but to find a shelter. At the first two places we tried, all the cots were taken.
Seth said, “Don’t worry, I know a place.”
We walked further uptown until we came to a Catholic church. Only we didn’t go in the front—Seth led me around to the side. There was a smaller building attached to the church by a walkway. He rang the doorbell.
While we waited, I noticed the ghost of an old woman step out of a side garden, rosary in hand. She crossed herself, then vanished. I shuddered. I would’ve thought picking up a demon hitchhiker would keep them away, but I guess not.
An old priest answered the door. “Hello, Seth. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Hi, Father. I was wondering if my friend here and I could spend the night in the church tonight?”
The priest didn’t hesitate. “Of course you may. Let me go get the keys. Do you need anything-- blankets, pillows…?”
Relieved, Seth nodded. “Anything you can spare. There was a raid on the camp so what we had on us is pretty much all we have left.”
“Oh, how awful. Was anyone hurt?”
Seth shrugged. “Probably. So don’t be surprised if more people show up.”
“And Shuck?”
Seth shrugged again.
The old man shook his head. “Are you hungry? We have leftovers from dinner.”
“That’d be great, Father, thank you.”
The priest let us in and Seth formally introduced me to Father Carrera. This building was the rectory. Father Carrera took us to the kitchen to eat—there was leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He even gave us dessert, cake and coffee.
While we were finishing our meal, the doorbell rang again. Just as Seth had predicted, more guys from the camp had arrived. I’d met them the other night, Alex and Tony. Alex’s head was bleeding. He was holding a bloody towel to it. At the sight of it, I instantly went lightheaded and nauseous, so I looked away.
“Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Father Carrera asked.
“I did,” Tony replied. “We waited in the emergency room for over two hours and nobody ever got to him.”
Father Carrera went upstairs for medical supplies, and to wake one of the other priests who knew some basic first aid. He handed Seth the key to the church. “Go ahead and let yourselves in. I’ll be over later.”
The two of us went back out into the cold night, our breath steaming the air. The walkway was covered by an overhang. There were outdoor lights strung up on the church, but between trees and the walkway support beams, it was hard to make out my shadow, single or otherwise. My mysterious passenger hadn’t said a word since we’d left the camp. But it was still there. I could feel it, latched onto me like a tick.
Seth unlocked the door and stepped inside. He held it open for me, but when I tried to enter, I just… couldn’t. I don’t know how to explain it. Of all the things I’ve seen, all the things I’ve experienced, this was by far the strangest. It was like my whole body just froze. I had one foot raised to step over the threshold. But I couldn’t complete the movement.
A terrible noise filled my head, like the roar of a freight train. The voice rose above it, speaking a single word: “NO.”
My vision darkened and for a moment, I was afraid I was going to pass out.
Seth looked at me with concern. “You okay, man?”
I stumbled back a few steps. Blinking, I shook my head, trying to clear it. “I’m fine,” I managed. Taking a deep breath, I tried to enter the church again, and again, I found I couldn’t step over the threshold.
“Something’s got you, hasn’t it?” Seth asked in a quiet voice.
I started. “What?”
“Here.” Seth propped the door open. Then he held both hands out to me. I took them and he yanked.
There was a tremendous force working against me, working against both of us, but somehow, he managed to pull me inside. As I passed through the doorway, I heard something rip. The creature inside me screeched with dismay and outrage. It was even worse than the roar I’d heard before.
The next thing I knew, Seth and I were on the church floor. He had fallen over backwards and I’d gone down with him, the sound of that scream still ringing in my skull.
“You okay?” Seth asked again.
Shaken, I said, “I think so. You?” Standing up, we checked ourselves over. Once we’d verified that no one was hurt, I asked, “How did you know?”
The door was still standing open. Seth went over and shut it. “What, did you think you were the only one?”
* * *
As promised, Father Carrera came over later bearing blankets, pillows, and Tony. The priests had cleaned and bandaged Alex’s head wound. Alex was going to spend the night on a pull-out couch in their living room so they could check on him throughout the night.
Tony, Seth and I made ourselves comfy on the pews. In no time, Tony was dead to the world, snoring, while Seth and I lay awake. We were sharing one of the long pews in the middle of the sanctuary, head-to-head, our feet pointed towards the aisles. “Think it’s still out there?” I whispered.
For an answer, there was a loud crack at one of the stained-glass windows, like someone had lobbed a rock at it. I tensed and didn't have to see Seth to know he did too. Even Tony's snoring paused. Then there was a whole patter of pings, pebbles hitting the window panes like hail. The force of them seemed to build, hitting harder and faster, until there was this awful creak. The church walls themselves seemed to shudder beneath some unimaginable external weight. Even the prayer candles in the side chapels around us vibrated on their shelves.
Then came the most eerie sound of all—a dog howled outside.
My blood turned to ice water, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. The howl might’ve been pain, rage, sorrow, or all three. “Shuck?” I whispered. “They got Shuck?”
For the first time, Seth looked scared. “Maybe. Or maybe that’s not Shuck.”
Finally, the din was enough that Tony sat up, blinking. “Whuzzat?”
Everything stilled. “Nothing,” Seth told him. “Just a truck going by.”
Mumbling some acknowledgement, Tony flopped back down, and resumed snoring.
Seth and I had sat up as well, listening. Minutes passed. Nothing happened.
"I guess that answers my question,” I said. “You sure it can’t come in here?”
“No, this is a sanctuary. Holy ground,” Seth replied.
“It sure didn’t mind the priests’ kitchen.”
“I doubt they consecrate their kitchen. Also, this is where people come every day to pray, to worship. That builds up over time. Creates a vibe, you know?”
“I guess.” I gave him a sidelong look. “All this time, I thought it was just me.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe this is your first demon.”
“I’ve always tried to stay off the grid. Wherever there’s people, there’s ghosts. And now this.”
“You don’t know how to get rid of them?”
“Not really. That’s why I just keep moving.”
Seth looked thoughtful. “Well, with your run-of-the-mill spooks, you either want to bind them or banish them. But this isn’t just your run-of-the-mill spook.”
“So what do we do about it?”
“I’ve never seen it done myself, just heard about it. Demons aren’t from this world, see. You have to find whatever portal it came through, send it back, then seal the portal shut.”
I looked at him, mystified. “How do we do that?”
“Find the portal? Some good old-fashioned divination.”
“What, like a crystal ball or something?”
“No, but we need a map of the city. We can probably print one off at the library.”
“What if the portal isn’t in the city? How far can demons range, do you think?”
“Not very far, actually. Not on their own. They need something to feed off of. That’s why it attached itself to you.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
He gave me a grim look. “Years of experience.”
I thought it over. “If the thing can’t go very far, maybe I should just leave town. Wouldn’t that be the easiest thing? If I’m outside its radius, it can’t get me, right?”
“Then it would be free to get its hooks into somebody else—maybe a kid. Somebody who can’t stand up to it. But we can.”
We. My heart skipped a beat. No one had ever believed me before, about the things I saw. I’d already started to think of Seth as a friend, but that clinched it. I had a friend. And not just any friend-- someone who would face down a demon with me. “Okay. Let’s say we find this portal. How do we close it?”
“How do you think?” he said, still wearing that dark look. “With blood.”
* * *
The next morning, Father Carrera woke us early. He invited us back to the rectory for showers and breakfast. We gathered up our borrowed bedding and followed him.
I’d barely slept a wink. At the doorway of the church, I hesitated, looking all around like a rabbit afraid to break cover. Because that’s exactly what I was. I could feel the presence of the thing, hovering, waiting. I’m sure it was pissed off.
I’d let Father Carrera and the others to go ahead of me. Seth looked back, concerned. Despite what we’d talked about, I still wanted to run. I wanted to turn and dash back inside. I’d cut through the sanctuary and escape out the big main doors. Just go. Run screaming through the city and not stop until I was back in the safety of open fields and forest. Go somewhere where that thing couldn’t follow. And never, ever look back.
Seth must’ve known what I was thinking, because he stepped closer. Put his hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re scared, but we can do this. We have to. It’s not going to stop with this one. Now you’re on their radar, they’ll never leave you alone. You have to learn how to protect yourself.”
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I nodded. No sooner did I emerge, than the thing slammed into me. It hit so hard, it knocked me back against the wall and I sank down, gasping.
Father Carrera and others were already at the door of the rectory. “Are you all right?” the priest called. He didn’t wait for a response, but hurried over. “You weren’t injured too, were you? You should’ve said so.”
Numbly, I shook my head.
The priest hunkered down next to me, trying to check my pupils. “Is it drugs? Are you on something? Or withdrawing from something? I won’t call the police, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.”
I couldn’t speak. I was too busy staring at the enormous shadow pooling on the ground around us, threatening to swallow us both. You can’t help me, padre. No one can.
“He’s clean, he just gets these attacks,” Seth said quickly. “You know—anxiety.”
“Ah.” Very kindly, the priest helped me to my feet. “Just try to breathe. Come on, let’s get some food in you. But maybe stay away from the coffee?”
He helped me across the walkway, never noticing the darkness at our feet. Normal people never do. Not like Seth and me.
* * *
When we’d finished eating, we thanked Father Carrera profusely and went on our way, promising we’d come back that evening if we couldn’t find room at any of the shelters.
I couldn’t escape fast enough. Seth stood talking with the priest for a few minutes and I wandered away, to the edge of the church property.
“Why do you trust him?” the demon asked.
“Because he’s my friend.”
“Is he?”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “Don’t talk to me.”
The demon sighed. “I knew you were ignorant, but I didn’t think you were blind.”
“I’m done listening to you.”
“You’ve never listened to me. Maybe now would be a good time to start.”
Finally, Seth came over, and we hurried to the nearest library. He used his library card to log onto one of their computers. “Okay, where were you when you first noticed it?” he asked.
I sat down next to him, squinting at the monitor, and together, we figured out the meandering path I’d been on since I’d entered the city limits the day before. Seth pointed out the park on the north end where I’d probably picked up my invisible appendage. Seth printed off several pages of street-level map views. We took them into a study room and closed the door. Seth spread the pages out on the table, arranging them carefully in order.
“Divination?” I asked.
“Divination,” he affirmed.
And then—I’m not sure what I expected. I guess I thought he’d wave one of those pendulum things over it or toss some chicken bones or something. I was not prepared for him to whip out a switchblade and slice his fingertips open—the index, middle and ring fingers of his left hand. It was so unexpected and the blood ran so fast and thick, I actually cried out. “It’s okay,” he assured me. He let the blood collect on the blade and flicked it over the map. Then he appeared to wait. For what, I wasn’t sure. He pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and wound it around his wounds, all the while watching the pages intently.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Look.” He pointed one of his non-bandana-ed fingers at the table.
The blood had begun to move.
As we watched, the droplets began to move, gathering themselves into a solid mass. It was shaped like a red slug. It slithered and wormed its way across the pages like a slug, leaving pinkish streaks behind.
I don’t know why, but the sight of that little bit of blood was too much for me. The world blurred, then seemed to tip sideways as I fainted.
* * *
That’s a lie. I know exactly why the blood was too much.
I’ve been seeing things for as long as I can remember. The Bridgeport bungalow where I was born and spent my formative years had been built in 1880. There was no shortage of ghosts in that house, in that neighborhood, both the permanent variety and the ones that were just passing through.
But the blood thing—that started with my Great Uncle Ronald’s funeral. I was only four or five, and my parents took me along for the visitation. It had been scheduled on a week night. I remember very clearly sitting in the living room in my uncomfortable dress-up clothes, watching the last cartoon that was on before the evening news. Mom and I were waiting for Dad to get home from work. Mom said we’d get dinner at McDonald’s afterwards, a rare treat.
It was a cold, drizzly, autumn evening. When we got to the funeral home, I refused to go in. You can imagine how a funeral home might look to someone like me. Apparently, I threw a full-blown tantrum. I screamed and fought and dug in my heels, repeating over and over, “NO, NO, I DON’T WANNA GO INSIDE, DON’T MAKE ME, DON’T MAKE ME.” My parents were of the generation that thought spanking was the solution to anything that wasn’t total obedience, so when soothing and reasoning didn’t work, they went pretty quickly to punishment. No McDonald’s. A real spanking when we got home. My father assured me I would not sit down for a week.
Didn’t matter. I went right on pitching a fit until I was purple in the face. Mom offered to wait outside with me, but Dad wasn’t about to indulge the whims of a kindergartner. He picked me up and carried me inside.
Stepping over that threshold was exactly like being plunged into a lake of icy, black water. The breath was torn from lungs. Everything seemed to go dark. I’m not sure I was able to keep screaming. In fact, I think I must’ve shut up, because I don’t remember anyone turning to look at me—no one living, anyway.
The ghosts were another story. They crowded in close, their eyes bright and avid. Their dead hands reached for me. Dead voices whispered my name. I could barely breathe with the stench of rotting corpses assaulting my nostrils.
In the visitation room, I saw the ghost of Great Uncle Ronnie, stark naked, leaning against his open coffin. He looked awful even for a ghost, his skin grayish and mottled. When he saw me, he straightened and began gesticulating wildly, wrinkled old man dugs swaying with the movement. “Davy!” he cried. “They took my blood, Davy! Look what they did! My blood is gone!” He pointed to the base of his throat, where there was a small incision, dribbling blood and some other pinkish stuff. At the time, I didn’t know it was embalming fluid.
My dad must’ve set me down at some point. The next thing I knew, Ronnie had shuffled over with terrifying speed and seized my shoulders. His dead eyes bored into mine. “Listen. Can you hear the hounds? You can, can’t you? They’re coming for me. Oh God, don’t let them take me, don’t let them take me, don’t let them take me—!”
As his voice rose with panic, his grip grew tighter, and he shook me. He shook me so hard, my eyes rolled in their sockets. (To everyone else, it looked like I was having a seizure.) Still screaming, Ronnie began to leak from more places, not just the incision site—eyes, ears, mouth. Blood and the other nasty-smelling pink liquid. It ran down his legs, dripped all over the floor. Red dots sprinkled my good Oxford cloth shirt, blooming like a bed of poppies. (At that point, I was unaware that I had a nosebleed.)
Dimly, I could hear the murmur of the other ghosts pressing in around us, and underneath that, I could hear the live people talking. Someone said, “Call an ambulance.”
And beneath that, I could hear it.
The yipping and the baying. The hounds.
Ronnie was right. There were hounds, and they were coming, a whole pack of them. Somehow, they sounded both near and far, as if they were coming from somewhere up the street, and as if they were right outside the room. I fully expected to feel canine teeth sink into my calf and begin tearing flesh from bone.
I wanted to run, but I couldn’t move. I could only watch as my great uncle disintegrated in front of me, collapsing into a heap of gray-pink-red ooze at my feet.
I fainted then, too, right there in the middle of the man’s wake. On the way down, I cracked my head on the metal edge of a chair.
Hours later, I awoke in the hospital. The first of many.
* * *
When I came to, I was on the floor of the study room, Seth’s bunched up jacket under my head. Seth was leaning over me anxiously. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I touched my head gingerly. “I didn’t hit anything, did I?”
He shook his head. “No, you just went down like a sack of potatoes.”
“Did it work?” I asked.
“Can you stand up?”
“I think so.”
Seth helped me up. He stood for a moment with his arm out, ready to catch me if I fell again. When I did not, he nodded towards the table. “See for yourself.”
On the map, I saw that the red slug had marked a spot, like a kid’s treasure map. Only instead of an X, it was a bloody O, sticky on the paper.
Still squeamish, I said, “That’s some trick. Why can’t you use it to find Shuck?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I can only use it to find demonic things. I think it’s just how we are, you know, magnets for ghosts and other entities? Something in our blood draws them to us. But our blood is also drawn to them.”
“I’m not drawn to them.”
“No?” Seth smiled. “Tell me again about how you just found yourself walking into town.”
Together, we bent over the map. The blood ring surrounded a place called Roanoke Park, a playground in the heart of the city.
“I know that place,” Seth said. “There’s a cave there. I bet that’s where the portal is. Now we just have to go close it.”
“With blood?”
“Yep.” He folded the pages of the map and tucked them into his coat pocket. “With blood.”
* * *
We went by the park just to get the lay of the land—Seth, my two shadows, and I. It was in a stately old neighborhood, lots of Victorians and wrought-iron gates and old-fashioned streetlamps.
The park itself was in a wooded ravine, surrounded by limestone bluffs. The roads from all sides swooped down into it. A small playground butted up against the steepest of the bluffs, which rose about thirty feet overhead, almost a sheer wall. Its mineral deposits glinted in the pale winter sun. Otherwise, there were the usual parks and rec stuff: walking paths, baseball diamond, soccer field, community center, plenty of shade trees. A visitor’s station told us that the park was situated across almost forty acres. That was a lot of ground together.
Fortunately, there was plenty of daylight left. We circled the place a few times.
I kept my eyes on the bluffs. “Where’s this cave? I don’t see an opening anywhere.”
“I’ve never been there myself. I’ve just heard people talk about it,” Seth said. “They say outlaws used to hide out here, in the Wild West days. They say the cave leads into a tunnel that runs east, all the way to the other side of the city.”
“Okay, but where is it?”
The red slug hadn’t been terribly specific, it had just pointed us to the park. Could it have been wrong? It didn’t seem that something so magical and so, well, gross, could lie.
“You don’t think magic can lie?” the demon asked. “Boy, that’s dumb. Even for you.”
“No one asked you,” I said.
Seth looked at me sharply. “Is it talking to you right now? What’s it saying?”
“Magic is practiced by humans, among other beings—every one of them liars,” the demon declared.
“Including you.”
“Including me,” it agreed.
Frustrated, I shook my head. “Then why are you talking, if everything you say is a lie?”
“I didn’t say everything I said was a lie. For example, I told you not to trust this Seth person. But here you are.”
“He’s trying to help me!”
“Out of the goodness of his heart?”
“I told you, he’s my friend.”
“I’ll be your friend, too, if you’ll let me.”
We went back and forth for a while. I got pretty worked up and I guess I made too much noise, waving my arms around the way I do. People were staring.
Seth put his arm around me, trying to calm me down. He spoke to me in a soothing tone, “You wanna rein it there, bro? I don’t know about you, but I’d really like to avoid the hoosegow. If we’re locked up, separated, how would we get rid of your little friend then? It’ll just give him the opportunity to dig his claws deeper into you.”
“Well, he’s not wrong there,” the demon said cheerfully.
“For the last time, shut the fuck up.”
The demon ignored me and kept right on talking for a time. I stopped listening. Its voice trailed off to a faint, background hum—like a mild headache. A distraction. Nothing more.
“I think he talks more when I’m doing something he doesn’t like,” I told Seth. “We must be on the right track.”
We did one more lap around the park, still looking the bluffs over carefully. It was near the tennis courts that we finally found the cave—or, rather, it called to us.
Seth and I both stopped dead in our tracks when we heard the sound from somewhere within the limestone. A dog barking.
For the first time since I’d met him, Seth sounded less than sure of himself. “Shuck? You in there, buddy?”
The dog barked again, a little yip of acknowledgement.
“Shuck!” Seth ran his hand over the wall, searching for an entry point. “Hang on, boy, we’ll get you outta there!”
We soon found that this was, indeed, the cave entrance. It was right next to the paved jogging trail. It had been hard to spot because it had been sealed shut with the native stone and carefully mortared to blend in with the rest of the rockface. The seams were obscured, also, by ivy and the branches of a silver maple. But the maple was barren of leaves, and the ivy was brown and dead, which made it easy to remove.
“Is that really Shuck in there, you think?” I asked.
My friend looked desperate. “It’s gotta be! Don’t you get it? The demon took him!”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know-- to fuck with us? Does it need a reason to do something awful?”
“Nope,” the demon said. “Sure don’t.”
“Maybe that’s why the camp got raided in the first place—ever think of that?” Seth went on. “Things were fine till you showed up. Then, the very next day, we lose our tents and all our stuff, and I lose my dog.”
Of course I’d thought of that. Guilt reared in me like a snake about to strike. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just help me get my dog out.”
“But are you sure it’s Shuck?”
Seth’s tone grew snappish. “Of course I’m sure.”
We could hear scratching on the other side of the rock, the dog whining. It sounded so pitiful. Ever since Great Uncle Ronnie’s funeral, the sight of blood makes me faint, but, funnily enough, dogs never bothered me. Maybe if I’d actually seen the hounds Ronnie’s ghost had been shouting about, I would feel differently, but I didn’t. So I’ve always loved dogs -- all animals, in fact – far better than people. When I was a kid, we had a golden retriever named Gadget. Dad and I used to take her on hunting trips with us. Since I’ve been on my own, I’ve had two dogs, a medium-sized mutt named Gurgi, and an Australian shepherd named Swift. Both times, they sort of found me out in the woods and just stuck around. Eventually, Gurgi got hit by a car and Swift just up and disappeared one day, much like Shuck. I knew how much it hurt to lose a canine companion. Sometimes, I see animal ghosts, but they’re never scary. Just sad.
If we had the chance to help Shuck, or any dog, I was in.
“How do we get him out?” I asked.
“We’ll go get chisels and hammers. I’d say a sledgehammer, but that would make way too much noise. Any kind of hammer is more of a risk than I’d like anyway, but I can’t see any way around it.”
“You wanna just come back here and start chipping away?”
“At night, genius. We’ll get us one of those camping lanterns too.”
I wondered how he had the money to afford all that, but he seemed so sure of his plan, and now that he’d brought up how this was all my fault, I was afraid of losing him—the one and only friend I’d had in years. So I didn’t question him further. I just said, “Okay.”
* * *
I’d seen a Home Depot not far from Father Carerra’s church. I thought that was where we’d go. Instead, Seth led me into some other neighborhood. The strip malls and buildings were old and more than a little rundown. The houses and apartment buildings were worse. We blended right in here.
Seth took us to a pizza place where he knew the owner. He knocked at the back door, and the guy gave us some calzones, drinks, and a medium pizza for the road. The calzones were fresh, too, still piping hot. We sat on the curb and ate them. Seth said we’d need our strength for what we had to do.
He took a swig of his bottled iced tea, smiled at me. “What I said earlier, about all this bad stuff happening because of you—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s not your fault.”
I was so relieved, I almost couldn’t speak. “Thanks,” I managed.
“I’m glad you’re here. It's good to have someone looking out for you, you know?”
I nodded in heartfelt agreement.
“You and me, after we take care of this thing, we should stick together. We could head south, where it's warm. With both of us fighting, maybe we could keep the ghosts and monsters away. Find someplace to stay permanently. Almost be normal.”
“You think that’s possible?” I asked.
He shrugged. “One step at a time, I guess.”
“You ever been institutionalized?”
“No, but trust me, sometimes the alternative is worse.”
“Like what?”
“Juvie. Prison. Living on the streets is actually a step up from that. A big step up.”
I didn’t think being in a psych ward was as different as he seemed to think. No, you probably won’t be crammed into a cell with other people, but there was forced medication, awful food, and of course, straps on the beds. Living outdoors was infinitely better, on that we agreed. But—stay together? Did he really mean that? I was a little scared by how much I wanted that. A friend, a brother, more blood than blood—someone who understood me. It made my heart speed up and my breathing go shallow. A friend, a brother, and if we get Shuck out of that cave, then we’ll be three.
Since it was winter, the afternoon was dying fast. The crimson sunset made the white sky seemed a body drained of blood. It was fully dark by the time we’d finished eating and went to our next stop.
Schultz’s Hardware was a mom-and-pop shop. When Seth went around back again, I assumed the owner or manager was another friend of his. Instead, he said to me, “Wait here.” The employee entrance door was unlocked. He turned the knob as if he’d expected that and went right in.
So I stood outside and shivered, trying to stay upwind of the strip mall’s communal dumpster. (Schultz’s was next door to a fried fish place.) There was a real bite in the air now. As I huffed on my hands and rubbed them together, I saw the first snowflake fall. Not five minutes later, it was coming down steadily.
Overall, I think we were there maybe twenty minutes. Seth came back out, with his pockets bulging and some suspicious lumps under his coat. He did not appear the least bit hurried. “Ready?” he asked me casually.
I was too surprised to say anything, so I just fell in step beside him. He’d stolen that stuff. I’d never stolen anything before. What could I say? We were on this little ghostbusting expedition because of me, and I didn’t have any money. So I kept my trap shut.
* * *
We waited till close to midnight. The park was empty, as we’d hoped it would be. At the cave entrance, Seth laid all our tools out on the dead grass. Somehow, he’d managed to stow the camping lantern under his coat-- don’t ask me how. He’d even stolen a pack of batteries for it, something I never would have thought to do. The hammers and chisels were in his coat pockets, along with some small flashlights and more batteries. He’d also grabbed some stubby little pumpkin spice candles (fall décor on clearance) and a book of matches. I didn’t need to ask him what those were for.
By then, the snow had been falling for a few hours and everything was coated in a layer of white. That was good. It would muffle the sound.
Before we got started, Seth rested his hand against the stone. “Shuck?” he called softly. “You okay, boy?”
We got a bark in reply—it was growing weak, but still there. Even if it wasn’t Shuck, I reasoned, we couldn’t leave the poor pup in there. So we got to work. Seth started on the right side, nearer to the tree. I started on the left.
“We don’t need to bring the whole thing down,” Seth said. “We just need to clear enough space to squeeze in-- to pull Shuck out, if we have to. He might be hurt.”
We worked silently, frantically. Snow melted on my forehead, stinging my eyes with icy water. It fell into the collar of my coat and melted down the back of my neck. Trying to chisel with wool gloves on was a challenge, but it was better than taking the gloves off and trying to chisel with cold-numbed hands. The light from the lantern behind us made our shadows huge against the bluff. I still had two. A dark, looming shape that was somehow attached to me and yet not a part of me.
“You sure about this?” the demon asked. “We haven’t hit the point of no return yet. You could still put down the hammer and just walk away.”
“You just don’t want me to go into the cave.”
“Well, I guess that all depends on what you want. You tell me, Daaaavy,” the demon drawled out my name. “Because, honestly, I don’t see this scenario playing out any other way but you, me, and happily ever after.”
“Fuck you,” I said through clenched teeth. “What I want is for you to leave me alone. That’s the only scenario I care about.” Grasping the hammer with even greater determination, I swung it. Mortar crumbled.
I could practically feel the demon shrug. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Seth and I had problems, but being out-of-shape wasn’t one of them. I’d say it took us a little over two hours to chip away enough of the wall to create a small opening near the ground. It seemed to exhale a dank mineral odor, the scent of old wells and cellars and basements. So close now. We knelt side-by-side in the snow, focused on widening the hole. Inside, the dog whimpered again.
Seth put his face into the opening and called, “Hang on, boy! We’re coming!” He turned on one of the flashlights and beamed it inside.
“Can you see him?” I asked.
“No, but it looks like that cave does go back quite a ways.” Standing, Seth shed some of his bulky layers—coat, scarf, hoodie, flannel. “I think I can get in now.”
“Not yet!” I protested. “I wanna make sure this opening is big enough for all of us to get in and out, especially if we have to do it in a hurry.”
Seth was practically knock-kneed with impatience. Finally, when we had a good 4x4 space cleared, he said, “Okay, now I’m going. Bring the candles and the matches.” Without bothering to wait for a reply, he lay down flat on his belly and wriggled through the opening.
I understood. When Swift had disappeared, I’d looked for him for months, long past the point of futility. Even now, if I see a dog that looks like Swift, I do a double-take.
When Seth’s boots disappeared into the hole, I asked, “All clear?”
“Well, it’s not exactly picturesque.”
I pushed the lantern into the opening with my foot.
“Oh, that’s much better, thanks,” Seth said. “It’s pretty cramped in here.”
Leaving my coat on, I stuffed the candles and matches into my pockets. After a brief internal debate, I put my chisel in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie. Then I crawled inside.
I’m not very tall, but when I stood up, I had to hunch. The cave ceiling was only four, four and a half feet high. After a few yards, it got higher. As Seth had said, it was very tight in there—this wasn’t one of those tourist-trap caves with handrails and footpaths. Large rock formations jutted from every angle. Loose stones made walking treacherous—it would be easy to twist an ankle in here, and if you wiped out completely, there was nothing soft to cushion your fall. Bruises, broken bones, and maybe a fractured skull awaited. And, with the snow still falling outside, it was extra damp in here.
We entered a tunnel. Even the glaring light of our LED lantern could not penetrate its darkness more than a few feet, so it was slow-going.
“Shuck?” Seth called, his voice echoing in the narrow passage. Somewhere up ahead, the dog was crying, a limp, exhausted sound. It was impossible to tell how far – or how close – it might be. Seth crept forward, placing his feet very carefully. I did likewise.
“Oh man, he’s gotta be hurt,” Seth fretted. “That’s the only reason he wouldn’t come when I call. He’s hurt. I hope it’s not too bad.”
“He’s not hurt,” I assured my friend. “Maybe he’s just weak. He’s been down here for almost two full days. He’ll need food, clean water. Or maybe he’s tied up or something.” I’d spoken that last sentence thoughtlessly and immediately regretted it. Seth darted a glance at me over his shoulder. His face had gone ashen. But he kept going. He kept going, and I went right along with him.
We’d gotten in about forty feet or so before the tunnel began to curve slightly. It was barely perceptible at first, then grew sharper and sharper. If my bearings were correct, it was pulling us southward, not east.
At last, it sounded like the dog was somewhere to our left. Swinging the lantern around, we found a keyhole pass that led to—what? An adjacent tunnel? A sort of naturally occurring chamber? I didn’t know. I’m no spelunker.
We hurried through it.
At that point, I was hoping we could just get the dog and get out. Maybe if we found him and he wasn’t in dire shape, we could just go back to Father Carrera’s. A meal and a bunk, even if it was in a pew, sounded awfully good right about now. Then, after a good night’s sleep, we could get out of town, second shadow or no second shadow. Like Seth said, we could head south, to sunnier climes.
Instead, we found ourselves in a side chamber, wide, but shallow, with a low ceiling. The keyhole was the only way in and out. We shined the lantern around, looking for an injured dog.
But Seth was distracted by something in the center of the room. “David,” he whispered. “Look.”
I followed the beam of his flashlight to a hole in the floor, not two feet in circumference. Puzzled, I said, “What? It’s just a hole.”
“No, it’s the portal. We found it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Kneeling beside the hole, Seth held his hand out to me. “Where are those candles?”
Handing them over, I crouched down with him. While he arranged the candles in a neat circle around us and lit them, I shined my flashlight doubtfully into the hole. I couldn’t tell how far down it went. Shouldn’t a portal to hell be—? Well, I wasn’t sure what a portal to hell should be like. More conspicuous, I guess. On the other hand, why would the forces of evil want their secret passages in and out of this world conspicuous?
Meanwhile, the chamber was rapidly filling with the overwhelming scents of cinnamon and cloves. Seth had settled into a cross-legged position, eyes closed, chanting something in a language I didn’t know.
“What are you doing?” the demon demanded. “You’re not putting me down there, are you?”
“Yep, you’re going home,” I said. “Been nice knowing you.”
Seth’s eyes opened. “I can hear it now.”
“You can?” I asked, astonished and relieved.
“It just asked if we were putting it down there.” To the demon, Seth said, “Yes, we are. We’re banishing you, motherfucker.”
At that, a bitter wind suddenly blasted through the room, overturning the lantern and blowing out the candles. We were plunged into a darkness so absolute, I froze, afraid of what might be in the darkness with us. When the roar of the wind died down, there were other sounds: the click of claws on stone, yips and howls echoing from the main tunnel.
Hounds were coming—more than one. The rank odor of wet dog filled the room, and some other smell, a chemical smell that I had trouble placing at first. Then it took me back to freshman biology and dissecting frogs.
Formaldehyde. It was formaldehyde.
Embalming fluid.
I jumped to my feet. My only thought was to get out of there, but before I could take a step, I saw something gleaming in the darkness. A pair of red eyes. More and more of them appeared, circling us, at least a dozen. The barks turned into a chorus of growls.
“Seth?” I whispered, my voice so shaky and low, I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hear. “Seth?”
Someone was scrabbling around on the floor. I realized Seth was still on his knees, feeling around for the lantern. Then I heard the rasp of a match. In that tiny little flare of light, I spotted the lantern. I snatched it up as fast as I could-- I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life. It was an LED light. Surely it had only turned off when it got knocked over. Surely it would come back on. The red eyes around us seemed to be closing in, the growls so close, I could smell their putrid breath.
I fumbled with the lantern, making sure the batteries were still in place. Then my shaking fingers found the dial at the top and I cranked it left, then right. The light flared, white and holy, blinding in that small space.
But it blinded only for an instant. The room was filled with shadows—shadows in the shapes of dogs and men, flickering against the walls of the cavern like puppets. I felt a curious sensation—if you’ve ever had a really bad sunburn and peeled the dead skin off, it felt sort of like that. There was almost an audible tearing sound. Then the hounds threw back their heads and began to howl. Something howled with them, something that made a sound that was neither human nor beast, something that was of another world entirely.
The wind whipped at us again, threatening to tear our clothes from our bodies. It was like being locked in a room with a tornado. I crouched and covered my head with my arms, certain that the roof was about to come crashing down around our ears.
A flash of silver caught my eye. I turned to see Seth had pulled his switchblade. Raising it into the air, he shouted something over the din—what was that, Latin? Greek? Hebrew? I’d have to ask him later.
The shadows stilled, though they continued to snort and snarl, and I heard the distinct sound of claws being scraped against stone. I shuddered.
Seth shouted something else and the shadows gathered into a single, great, seething mass on the cavern wall. Its shape was that of a winged creature. If it had been corporeal, it could have demolished the chamber, the tunnel outside, possibly the entire limestone system in whose guts we were now churning.
Seth’s voice seemed to grow stronger, more commanding, and the shadow began to shrink. It melted towards the hole in the middle of the floor, like filthy water to a drain. Its growl even became more like a gurgle.
I supposed this was where I came in. I held my arm out to Seth expectantly. He just gave me a look I didn’t know how to interpret—triumph? Amusement?
“What?” he asked.
Bracing myself, I said, “We need blood to close the portal, right? Doesn’t it have to be my blood? I already know I won’t be able to cut myself. You’ll have to do it for me.”
Laughing, Seth shook his head. “Oh, no. I never said it had to be yours.”
Defensively, I drew back my arm. “Well, I’ve never done this before. Let’s just get this over with so we can find Shuck and get out of here.”
“Shuck? Oh, Shuck’s right here.” As Seth spoke, darkness rose from the cavern floor and coalesced into the shape of a hound—an enormous hound with burning red eyes. Then it seemed to compress itself into the smaller, more familiar shape of a Labrador, the demonic light fading from its eyes. Its tongue lolled out in a perfectly goofy, perfectly ordinary doggie grin. Grinning, Seth scratched its ears. “Now are you starting to get the picture, Davey?”
With that, Seth gripped the switchblade handle in both hands and drove it into his own abdomen.
Maybe I screamed. I don’t know. On some level, I was proud of myself for staying awake and on my feet for as long as I did.
Because that first jab drew blood. A whole lot of it.
Over and over again, Seth stabbed himself, viciously yet methodically, all the while wearing that horrible grin. “Do you see, Davey? The portal is closing. Now, we can stay forever.”
The hole was closing. Even when it had closed completely, the blood was still flowing, coating the cavern floor crimson, and finally, my brain hit the kill switch. The darkness swallowed me, and I was grateful.
* * *
And then, what had happened so many times before happened to me again. I awoke in a hospital. Only this time, I was handcuffed to the bed.
Apparently, I had been found wandering the park, glassy-eyed, covered in blood. In my hand was a bloody chisel. It didn’t take a brilliant detective (or a bloodhound) to follow my gory backtrail to the cave, where they found, along with the small cache of stolen goods, Seth’s body. Or they found a man’s body, anyway. He was never officially identified, so, throughout the trial, everyone referred to him as John Doe. He’d had no ID on him, no cell phone. Even the library card I saw him use was gone. The people we’d interacted with, the manager at the pizza place and Father Carrera, Alex and Tony and a few of the other men from the camp-- they all testified that they’d only known the man who called himself Seth for a few months. None of them knew what his surname was. They did support my claim that Seth had been the owner of a black dog named Shuck. (Yet, the police found no evidence of a dog at the cave. No fur, no pawprints, nothing.)
I spent most of the trial zonked on a cocktail of tranquilizers and antipsychotics. Even if I’d been clear-headed, I suspect I would have been too confused to help much in my own defense. It took me the longest time to wrap my head around the fact that Seth was not Seth. He was not my friend. Had the man I knew been possessed? Was he a willing agent of the demon? The demon itself? Had he been the second shadow whispering in my ear all along? I didn’t know. Still don’t.
Maybe the court was right. Maybe I was just crazy. Maybe I’d murdered someone I’d just met in a fit of derangement, and his little dog, too.
Yet, I was found competent to stand trial.
When the judge announced the guilty verdict, I was looking down at the floor. I watched as my single shadow became two.
* * *
This was all a part of the demon’s plan—I know that much.
I share a cell with three other inmates. My very first night in my new bunk, the demon whispered with childlike glee, “Oh, thank you for getting us here, Davey!”
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“Now, don’t be like that. I told you not to trust Seth. I told you not to go into that cave. But did you listen?”
“So, what? This was all just a big game of good cop/bad cop?”
“Davey, Davey. It’s so much more than that. I knew all along you wouldn’t listen to me. In fact, I was counting on it-- you’re so needy, of course you’d glom onto the first person who showed interest. You would have followed old Seth anywhere, wouldn’t you? Pathetic. Anyway, you may want to consider listening to me now. I’m the only friend you’re ever going to have in here.”
“I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”
“You could enjoy this, you know,” the demon purred. “You could have a real good time with me in charge. Seth did. There’s so much we can do to amuse ourselves here—close quarters, short fuses, plenty of madness. Such possibilities.”
Horrified, I said, “No. I won’t let you make this any worse.”
“Davey, it could hardly be worse.”
“I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else. I’ll kill myself first.”
“Go ahead. Plenty of other people here I could piggyback on. In fact, I may do that anyway. You’ve got to sleep sometime. I’ll need something to occupy my time. A hobby. Violence, murder, riots—to say nothing of the guards, the amount of brutality they get away with! And let’s not forget the warden. Oh yes, guards and the warden, that will be refreshing if I want to get out and about. And there’s police and US Marshalls and--”
“Why me?” I asked. “If all you wanted was to get into a prison, there are millions of people to choose from. People you wouldn’t even have to frame—they’d be perfectly happy to murder someone on their own. Why me?”
“You just answered your own question.”
The demon talks and talks, from the minute I open my eyes in the morning, to the minute I fall asleep at night, and sometimes, I hear him even in my dreams. So far, he hasn’t carried out any of his awful threats. As long as he has me to torment, he seems satisfied. I’m hoping to keep it that way.
I have to work very hard not to do the things he whispers in my ear. Fighting him is the same as fighting my own body, ignoring the urges he plants. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. But I can’t let him go into someone else, someone who can’t fight him like I can. Though the temptation to let myself get thrown in the psych unit is almost overwhelming. The doctors there would pump me full of some lovely sedatives and I could check out for a few days. But God only knows what he’d do then.
There are ghosts here in the prison, but they keep their distance. I guess they know I’m spoken for.
Every day, when I go out into the yard, I see the black dog outside the fence, just watching. Waiting. Great Uncle Ronnie had said they were coming for him. If they’re here for me already, I wonder if that means I’m already dead, or I will be soon. The black dog is a reminder of what awaits me in the darkness, of the darkness that lives inside me.
After all, when the lights go out, we’re all part of the same shadow.
Lauren Scharhag is the author of fourteen books, including Requiem for a Robot Dog (Cajun Mutt Press) and Languages, First and Last (Cyberwit Press). Her work has appeared in over 100 literary venues around the world. Recent honors include the Seamus Burns Creative Writing Prize, two Best of the Net nominations, and acceptance into the 2021 Antarctic Poetry Exhibition. She lives in Kansas City, MO. To learn more about her work, visit: www.laurenscharhag.blogspot.com
