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The Shadow
The girl gazed out the coffee shop window and out at the bleak streets of the city. People rushed by silently, donned in long winter coats as snow drifted lazily down onto the cracked sidewalks. Streetlamps stood resolute, casting pools of yellow light over passerby and car.
Dracula quivered slightly in her gloved hands, red cover tarnished and ripped. The empty shop mumbled quietly with the voices of the employees in the back. Her coffee was long gone, devoured just as she devoured the words in her book, and she had no reason to stay.
The clock on an opposite wall read 8:30 pm, and she realized with a start her brother would be there any minute. She pushed back the stiff wooden chair and tucked the book into a small leather handbag she carried at her side.
Without a noise, she walked out the shop to the frozen streets of the city.
An icy chill wrapped itself around her, sending her shivering as she made her way to one of the tall streetlamps in the now empty street. She stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her small body, and waited.
Not one building away, a man crouched silently between bags of trash and litter. The smell didn't seem to bother him, though, as he had been waiting there for hours. Watching, waiting.
He scanned the sidewalks and there she was. The short girl in the navy blue coat. He had been trailing her for hours, holding off 'til nightfall to retrieve his possession.
He had noticed it in that one shop, mirrors and lights dancing all round the small interior. He had been standing there observing the floors (or as it seemed to many passerby), when his gaze caught on a small, plain looking girl with brown, chin length hair.
Well, not on the girl, exactly, but her shadow. It was tall, lean, and distorted. It didn't mimick her movements, but his. It was gazing one way while the girl looked the other, seemingly oblivious to the shadow's crazy proportion to her.
He lifted his head and smiled thinly, his mouth a bleeding cut on his scarred and wrinkled face. He had found it.
Now as he stood from his folded position in the alley, his looming form seemed to swim as he blended into the darkness. If there had been anyone there to see him, that is.
He didn't make a sound as his tattered leather shoes glided over the pavement, eyes set upon the slightly woman. The street lamp showered her in light. Now he had no doubts it was her at all.
Masie shivered again. This time, though she thought she was imagining it, she heard whispers. Faint and foggy they were. From an unknown source they came. Then she felt a tug. Small, but enough to make her turn around.
When she finally saw the man, scraping at the ground where her shadow ended, she gasped. His face looked crazed, eyes withered and shrunken as if he had been staring at the sun for weeks. His thin mouth frothed heavily as his long black fingernails tore at the shadow.
With each scrape of his nails, she felt a tug.
He whipped his head up and faced her, a toothless grin stretching his features. Spittle dripped down his chin and fragments of some dark liquid sloughed off his hands. He reached out and she screamed.
He sprung up and lunged at her, snarling and frothing. His nails grazed her face once, leaving a small trail of blood on her cheek before she hurled her handbag straight into his mangled face.
Dashing into the street, she yelled for help and ran as hard as she could. Headlights blinded her just as the tall man was about to tear into her flesh from his perch atop a small car. She leapt into the passenger seat, tears streaming down her face, and the car sped away. The sound of the engine slowly faded away and his humanity that was once right in front of him had vanished.
The man's chest heaved and blood flowed out his mouth, leaving him to choke on it as he writhed on the dark street, tatters of his beloved shadow like tassle clinging to his bony hands.
© Salem Ferrel, All Rights Reserved
Dracula quivered slightly in her gloved hands, red cover tarnished and ripped. The empty shop mumbled quietly with the voices of the employees in the back. Her coffee was long gone, devoured just as she devoured the words in her book, and she had no reason to stay.
The clock on an opposite wall read 8:30 pm, and she realized with a start her brother would be there any minute. She pushed back the stiff wooden chair and tucked the book into a small leather handbag she carried at her side.
Without a noise, she walked out the shop to the frozen streets of the city.
An icy chill wrapped itself around her, sending her shivering as she made her way to one of the tall streetlamps in the now empty street. She stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her small body, and waited.
Not one building away, a man crouched silently between bags of trash and litter. The smell didn't seem to bother him, though, as he had been waiting there for hours. Watching, waiting.
He scanned the sidewalks and there she was. The short girl in the navy blue coat. He had been trailing her for hours, holding off 'til nightfall to retrieve his possession.
He had noticed it in that one shop, mirrors and lights dancing all round the small interior. He had been standing there observing the floors (or as it seemed to many passerby), when his gaze caught on a small, plain looking girl with brown, chin length hair.
Well, not on the girl, exactly, but her shadow. It was tall, lean, and distorted. It didn't mimick her movements, but his. It was gazing one way while the girl looked the other, seemingly oblivious to the shadow's crazy proportion to her.
He lifted his head and smiled thinly, his mouth a bleeding cut on his scarred and wrinkled face. He had found it.
Now as he stood from his folded position in the alley, his looming form seemed to swim as he blended into the darkness. If there had been anyone there to see him, that is.
He didn't make a sound as his tattered leather shoes glided over the pavement, eyes set upon the slightly woman. The street lamp showered her in light. Now he had no doubts it was her at all.
Masie shivered again. This time, though she thought she was imagining it, she heard whispers. Faint and foggy they were. From an unknown source they came. Then she felt a tug. Small, but enough to make her turn around.
When she finally saw the man, scraping at the ground where her shadow ended, she gasped. His face looked crazed, eyes withered and shrunken as if he had been staring at the sun for weeks. His thin mouth frothed heavily as his long black fingernails tore at the shadow.
With each scrape of his nails, she felt a tug.
He whipped his head up and faced her, a toothless grin stretching his features. Spittle dripped down his chin and fragments of some dark liquid sloughed off his hands. He reached out and she screamed.
He sprung up and lunged at her, snarling and frothing. His nails grazed her face once, leaving a small trail of blood on her cheek before she hurled her handbag straight into his mangled face.
Dashing into the street, she yelled for help and ran as hard as she could. Headlights blinded her just as the tall man was about to tear into her flesh from his perch atop a small car. She leapt into the passenger seat, tears streaming down her face, and the car sped away. The sound of the engine slowly faded away and his humanity that was once right in front of him had vanished.
The man's chest heaved and blood flowed out his mouth, leaving him to choke on it as he writhed on the dark street, tatters of his beloved shadow like tassle clinging to his bony hands.
© Salem Ferrel, All Rights Reserved
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