The Shadow Man
By
Carter Swart
I work the Wild Mountain
ferris wheel concession, Mid West Carnival's prime attraction.
That's what I was doing earlier this afternoon when the whole nightmare
thing commenced. The ferris wheel is the most popular ride, and it's
easy to see why, 'cause when I pull the brass lever on this dude, I send
fifteen tons of wheel spinning on it's clanking, clattering orbit around-and-around
and up-and-down. The little kiddies think it's great. Me, I'm
bored with it. Fact is, I'm bored to death with the whole goddamn
carny. It's Carl do this, Carl do that; help with the tent ropes,
hammer in the spikes, feed the two-headed goat, pick up the litter--you
know, the scut work.
Hey, I ain't no Einstein,
I know that. But I figure there must be something better than this.
When I left Moline and joined the outfit five years ago, I thought carnival
life would be exciting. But it really sucks. I'm twenty-five
and I look like an old man. The booze ain't helped, neither.
And I hate travel. I know every Motel 6 from Moline, Illinois to
Tulsa, Oklahoma.
But tonight promised
to be different, the beginning of a new life. I was gonna be famous,
leave all this shit behind. Maddie and me had made plans to meet
at the main supply trailer at midnight. I got me a spare key.
I'd promised to show her a sure enough shadow man. See, I knew the
supply trailer was the place where he holed up. I'd seen him sneakin'
around there. How did I know? Well, once, three guys walked
past that trailer, but I saw four shadows. The extra shadow
dropped off behind the trailer. He was smallish for a shadow man,
mostly they’s a lot bigger, but this one had something wicked-lookin' in
his hand.
The way I'd set it
up for tonight, we was supposed to meet outside the trailer, then me and
Maddie would go inside together. I'd turn on the bright power lamps
and call it out, make it show itself. I thought that when Maddie
seen three shadows on the wall, and seen it slinking about, she'd know
I wasn't crazy, like Dr. Jensen once said I was--that no-good, four eyed
son of a bitch. He was dead wrong about that. Now he's just
dead.
I'd planned to take
my hand axe with me, too, 'cause after what I'd heard earlier in the day,
I figured this shadow man might be dangerous--maybe a killer. If
he tried anything, though, I was confident I'd be ready. I reckoned
the shadow man would have to shift his shape from two to three dimensional
in order to harm us. That was the moment I thought he'd be the most
vulnerable. And that's when I was gonna hit him with my axe.
I'd hoped that, whatever
happened, the world would finally know about these unseen things that live
right under our noses. I guess I had expected to become world renowned,
the discoverer of the Eighth Wonder of the World or somethin'. And
so to prove my theory, I was bringing along a witness, my Maddie.
I suppose she only
agreed to come along just to humor me. Maybe she just wanted to prove
to me that shadow men were an illusion. Whatever, she was game to
the core.
Before tonight, when I'd
try to tell folks about shadow men, they'd mostly laugh and say I was nuts.
But then I'd ask `em: "you ever really watch a bunch of people go by on
a sunny day; you ever check out their shadows?"
"Count the shadows,
Carl? "Hell no," they'd say. "Why do that?"
"'Cause, I'd say, sometimes
there's an extra shadow in there--a shadow man."
Hell, I don't pretend
to know where they come from, but I seen a show once on TV talking about
other planes and dimensions. Could be they're from another dimension
or another time, trapped in our world with no way to get out. I don't
know. But I know they're real. And now I'm sure that some of
'em are goddamn dangerous.
Anyway, this afternoon
I was busy helping the little kids get out of their seats after a ride,
when Frank and this stranger come by and stopped near the Wheel.
Frank Olmstead, the boss of the carny, a fat little sissy with roving hands
(leastways that's what Maddie called him), had this here big, gray-haired
guy in tow who I later found out was Sheriff Morris Redfern.
Frank cocked an eye
in my direction and they both laughed. It warn't a nice laugh.
But, hell, I'm used to it. Being such an ugly cuss, I don't get much
applause. Simon Murchison once told me I had a face like a fresh
baked pizza. I know I'm not pretty to look at. I got a skin
problem, and I'm six feet, four, one hundred and thirty-five pounds.
Because of that, I'm just (what's the word?) tolerated around here.
Life ain't much fun when a man's just tolerated. I reckon that's
the real reason I wanted to be famous--so folks would respect me a little.
Frank lit up a smoke
and the two men commenced to gab. I managed to hear a lot of what
they was saying. I got real good ears.
"I'll tell ya Olmstead,
I don't like it," said the sheriff, frowning and looking over at me.
"You figure I do?"
answered Frank.
"I think you got a
monster working right here in your carny. Six killings in the last
six towns you've played. It can't be coincidence."
Frank said somethin'
I couldn't catch.
"Now that's bullshit,
Olmstead," replied Redfern coldly. "You listen good. I don't
care if this is your biggest night of the week. I want to talk to
every roustabout, sideshow freak, and rip off artist you got, right down
to the World's Smallest Woman. I want their personnel records and
I want a rundown, by you personal, on each one, and I want it this afternoon.
You got that?"
Frank scowled, half
shrugged his shoulders, and nodded. Then they resumed their walk.
Six murders?
Somebody from the carny? No way! Carny folk, leastways the
regulars who travel with this here show, ain't like that. Sure they
grift and grab some, and a couple of 'em drinks too much, but mostly they're
peaceable people.
Long about sundown,
I was relieved on the ferris wheel by Gus Anzack. He told me the
sheriff wanted to see me in Olmstead's trailer, that he was talking to
all the carny employees. I right away commenced shakin' in my boots.
People in authority scare the livin' shit out of me. I can't help
it, they just do. Dr. Jensen said it was because I was paranoid and
anti--antisocial. The idiot!
Well sir, on the way
over to Frank's trailer, I got more and more scared. I reckoned I'd
best not say anything about the shadow men. No telling how the sheriff
would react.
I walked into the overheated
trailer (old Frank usually keeps it about 200 degrees in there), and took
a seat across from Frank's big oak desk. The boss and the sheriff
were sitting behind the desk, which was piled high with manila folders.
I spotted a half empty fifth of Old Harper and a partially consumed six-pack
of Bud. The place smelled like a brewery. Frank sure liked
his liquor.
I begun to sweat directly.
"Carl, this gentleman
is Mike Redfern, Sheriff of Walpole County," said Frank by way of introduction.
"He wants to ask you some questions."
“S-sure.” I gulped
and waited, my heart thumping so loud I thought the whole world could hear
it.
Redfern leaned forward
and smiled. He had big yellow teeth, a large red beak, and tiny shoe
button eyes.
"Son, why don't you tell me about
those shadow men of yours."
My mouth popped open
in surprise. I could hardly believe it; somebody actually wanted
to hear about them. And he wasn't laughing, neither. I was
so excited, that I told him everything I knew. He sat there and listened
patiently. I rambled on about how I'd first begun to notice them
"extra" shadows amongst the others. How I'd seen the little one hanging
around the carny. I told him that shadow folks don't go out much
in the day. They roam around unnoticed at night, though, 'cause you
can't see 'em. Sunlight or bright lights usually sends 'em packing.
Finally, I finished my story and asked for a glass of water.
Frank tossed me a beer.
It went down smooth.
"Son," murmured the
sheriff after awhile, "that's about the most stupid story I ever heard."
He commenced to chuckling and his belly shook like one of them water beds.
I warn't surprised,
just disappointed.
"Tell ya what, Carl.
Let's you and me take a drive downtown and have a peek at your motel room.
Would you mind if we did that?"
I asked him why, but
didn't get no good answer. Anyway we went. On the way downtown
he asked me if I owned a straight razor. I said, yeah, and that it
was my pappy's before me. That's all he asked. A deputy with
a face like Howdy Doody sat in the back seat behind the wire screen.
He kept jingling his handcuffs and tapping his night stick against the
screen. It made me plenty nervous.
We pulled up at Motel
6, got out, and went over to my room. The sheriff and the deputy
checked everything, right down to my underwear. The sheriff asked
me if I would let him borrow the razor for the evening. I asked why.
He said for tests. He said the girls in those towns had had their
throats slit from ear-to-ear with a straight razor. I got real shook
up then and said that he just couldn't think it was me. He said he
didn't, necessarily, but that his job required him to check out all possible
evidence. I guess I could understand that.
We left the motel,
got us a couple of burgers, and then drove back to the carny. The
sheriff was real nice and paid for the burgers hisself. On the way
back, he asked me where I'd been on certain dates going back six months
or more. The time of day he was interested in was between 2:00 and
4:00 a.m. I told him I worked the Wheel every day from 3:00 p.m.
right through to midnight. He thanked me and we didn't talk no more.
That's all there was to it.
When we got back, Frank
looked at me real funny, though, and so did some of my friends. The
sheriff let me go, and so I walked back to the ferris wheel and went to
work. By this time the place was filled-up with people and I got
real busy. I was feeling pretty low, when Maddie come by and give
me a big hug. She said not to listen to idle chatter; that she knew
my trip to town with the sheriff was just routine, and that I couldn't
harm a fly. I admitted to killing flies, but nothin’ else.
She laughed, kissed me, and said I was a scream.
She was so beautiful:
black curly hair, smooth skin, the color of bittersweet chocolate, small
white teeth, long pretty nails, and those big brown eyes. Seems she
was always smiling and joking, and she was real smart and good at her job.
She was our cashier and bookkeeper. Frank always said he couldn't
run the show without her. She was so nice to me that night that I
started to cry.
Later I traded time
on the Wheel with Vic Gains and got myself free for my midnight meeting
with Maddie and the shadow man. I didn't think shadow men could talk,
but I decided I'd make this bastard confess to those murders somehow.
I met Maddie at 11:45 in front of the supply trailer. We sneaked
aboard the trailer, quietly shut the door, and closed the curtains.
Then I switched on the blinding studio lamps I'd set up earlier.
I made Maddie duck down behind the counter, centered the light where I
figured the shadow man would hide--under the pile of tarps in the rear--
and waited for him to show.
My pulse beat in my
neck like a trip hammer. It was now or never. I took a good
grip on the axe handle.
"Come out you sonofabitch," I whispered.
Nothing.
I waved my axe.
"It's just you and me. I know what you done, you stinkin' dog.
Killin’ those poor little girls."
Nothing.
"Come out or I'll burn
down this trailer." I waved Maddie's cigarette lighter, and waited.
Nothing.
Maddie touched my arm.
“Carl, maybe you made a mistake.”
“No I didn't.”
I was getting pretty
discouraged when I heard movement. Then some horrible thing begun
lifting up the tarps--a sinister, silent shape, black as pitch. It
hissed like an adder and slid quickly out from under the tarps, then inched
its way along the wall, shielding its face from the lamp’s glare with its
right hand. It's coal-like body seemed to glow. It had three
arms.
"Look, Maddie," I cried.
I heard her gasp and
say, "My God! I don't believe this."
The shadow man snapped
his head in her direction, then rushed toward the door. I jumped
in front of him, swinging my axe. He stopped, darted back across
the room, and ducked around the counter. A second or two passed,
then I heard Maddie choke and let out a tiny bleat. There was silence
for a moment.
Maddie!
Maddie's head slowly
rose above the counter and she staggered out on the floor. A black,
shadowy arm circled her waist, a throbbing dark object held firmly under
her chin.
"H--help me," she cried,
"he's so strong." Her eyes were sick with terror.
The shadow man pushed
her slowly toward me, using her as a shield. As he got closer, I
could see his body was definitely three-dimensional, and though small,
it looked very powerful. His face was totally devoid of features--a
complete blank. He hissed again and there was this funny smell, like
burning plastic.
"C--Carl, help me,
please," Maddie cried, then she begun to scream.
I positioned my axe
and moved in quickly. I had to get him off her. In a flash,
though, the shadow man jerked the black thing across Maddie's throat, and
I was suddenly drenched in her blood. I swung my axe, but he slipped
around me and leaped for the door. I went after him, but he was too
quick. He yanked open the door and rushed into the night. I
flung the axe at him as he cleared the door frame and heard him scream
just as his feet hit the concrete outside. The sound he made was
unearthly.
I went back to Maddie
and knelt by her side. There was nothing to do. She was dead,
a gaping gash in her throat from ear to ear. Her blood covered the
floor, a great shining pool of scarlet. Her beautiful eyes, glazed
over now, were staring up at me in mute appeal.
Poor Maddie, my
lovely Maddie.
Afterward, they brought
me here to Frank's trailer. I was formally charged with murder.
Redfern read me my rights, and now I'm waiting for transportation to the
County Seat over in Bixby Grove. Frank won't even look at me.
He's still cryin’ and wiping his eyes. Everybody loved Maddie. The
sheriff and his forensic team is doing the crime scene. I'm sitting
on the floor, handcuffed to the desk leg, and covered with Maddie's blood.
I know they'll never believe me. I ain't even tried to tell 'em what
happened. Won't do me no good. Sheriff said I must have done
all them young girls; that I'm a--a sicko. Poor Maddie.
I don't care what happens to me now. Maybe I did do them bad things.
I remember that guy in "Psycho." Guess that's what they think I am.
Maybe they're right. Perhaps I was all wrong about the shadow men.
Maybe they was just a figment of my imagination, like Redfern said a few
minutes ago. Maybe I’m a murderer. Maybe it was me what killed
Maggie. Me!
Just now the sheriff
comes bustlin' in. But wait a minute, he just give me the weirdest
look. His eyes is wild, like he's seen a ghost or somethin'.
Another man scoots in behind him. Now this guy really looks important.
He's got a suit and a tie on, and there's somethin' outrageous in his hand--a
crescent shaped ebony knife of some sort; and it's clenched in the severed
hand of the shadow man. I must have cut it off with the axe
just as he went out the door.
Outside I can hear
a man talking real fast and excited. He's almost shouting.
"You won't believe me, Arty. You have to see it with your own eyes.
That goddamn weird hand, that funny black razor, or whatever it is; they're
not of this earth.” There is a breathless pause. “Hey, Arty,
and this Carl guy's got a size thirteen shoe, but the perps' feet are tiny.
Shit man, you can see his bloody little footprints plain as day just inside
the trailer door. My God! What if that hillbilly in there is
right? Arty, think of it for Christ sakes!"
Redfern leans out the
door and tells the man to shut up.
Thank God! Maybe
at last they'll believe me. Too late for Maddie, though.
Maybe it's too late for all of us.
The sheriff kneels
down and unlocks my cuffs. He's sweating and the fright in his eyes
beats anything I've ever seen. He's shaking all over, spittle on
his lips.
"C--Carl," he begs,
"for God's sake tell me about them again. Please, tell me everything
you know."
The End
Copyright 1994, Carter Swart
The Shadow Man first appeared in "Into the Darkness" magazine, Winter 1994