The Shadows We Hide

The Shadows We Hide
By Alex DeMatteis

A dim light crept into the room as Asher’s shadow pulled open the curtains. The young boy opened his eyes and stretched as he sat up straight. He turned in time to see his shadow move across the ground and slide back under his bedsheets.

“Time to start another day?” he asked. Not that it mattered much to him — he wasn’t sure if he had been sleeping, anyway, or if he ever even slept at all.

His sheet flew into the air in response. “Alright.” He smiled. “Did you have to get the light right in my face though?” 

He blinked a few times as he stared out the window, always hopeful he’d see something new, but the crushing darkness of the outside world never changed. The outer ring of the sun shone through just enough to illuminate the room, an eternal eclipse hiding within an inky void. A loose corner of a faded band poster fluttered against the wall as a slight breeze drifted in.

It’ll change someday, he thought. Things can always get better.

As his focus shifted, he caught his own deep blue eyes in the reflection. He patted down strands of his unruly brown hair and tucked loose ones behind his ear.

Asher swung his legs from his bed and stretched, pointing his toes down until the tips brushed against the cold, hardwood floor. He pushed off and landed with a muted thump. The bed had always been a little too tall for him. He thought he’d eventually grow into it, but it had been years since he noticed any change in his height. Last he could remember was on his fourteenth birthday when he etched a new line into the wall two inches higher than the previous one. At least it felt like years ago to him. Looking at himself, he never saw any differences or any sign that time had passed. He still felt fourteen, still looked fourteen. And yet, it seemed so long ago.

“How long has it been?” he asked his shadow.

It stretched away from his body until its top half was on the wall in front of him. It turned to the side and started counting on its fingers. One, two, three, four, five… it stopped and shrugged, throwing its hands into the air. 

Asher laughed as it shrunk back down to his size. “Come on, let’s go find something to do,” he said.

Asher’s shadow had been his best — and only — friend for as long as he could remember. He was sure he had had other friends growing up, but he couldn’t recall anything about them. There wasn’t actually much about his past he could remember. Ever since the world got dark, his only memories were of the times with his shadow.

The ancient floorboards creaked as he walked across the room and headed automatically toward his dresser. Some of the drawers were missing their brass handles, so he had to pull it open by grabbing the sides. The inside of the drawers was pitch black, but he retrieved the same blue shirt and khaki shorts he did every other day. He sometimes wondered if there were any other clothes in there.

“Breakfast!” a singsong voice called, drawing out the last syllable. 

“Oh, no.” Asher gulped as he pulled the shirt over his head. 

His shadow darted from the room and reappeared a few moments later.

“Are they back?” The words were barely audible.

The shadow nodded, and a chill ran down his spine. 

When Asher first found himself in the house, a woman and an older man had lived there, too. At first, he thought they were his parents. They looked exactly like he remembered, but there was something off about them. They scratched at his door in the dead of night and stalked around looking for him during the day. The old man found Asher in the basement once and chased him out with a knife, threatening to eat him if he ever came back. He never left his room again. One day though, the couple vanished. Ever since Asher and his shadow had been alone.

“Breakfast,” the woman called, her voice the edge of a knife. 

Asher froze. “Should I go?”

His shadow placed itself against the door and vigorously shook its head.

“You’re right,” Asher said. He took a deep breath. “Let’s just wait it out.” His shadow nodded.

The doorknob slowly began to turn. 

“Last chance, Asher.” The woman’s whisper came from just behind his shoulder.

He gasped and spun around — there was no one there. The door burst open and slammed into the wall. He spun back and stared into the void beyond the door, waiting for anything, but nothing came.  

Asher rushed over and shut the door, careful not to make any noise. As he turned the flimsy lock on the knob, the metal started to shake and rattle, as though someone was trying to force their way in. The shaking grew more violent until the knob exploded off the door, whizzing past Asher’s ear as it smashed against the window, leaving a large crack in the glass. The door creaked open, inch by inch. Unintelligible whispers floated inside.

His mouth ran dry. There was no keeping anyone out now. 

As he took a slow step towards the door, his shadow nodded and placed itself ahead of him. A little bit of fear seeped from his mind.

At least I’m not alone.

“I’m— I’m coming,” Asher said as loudly as his hoarse throat would allow.

A sweltering heat washed over him as he left his room. Beads of sweat instantly rolled down the side of his head. The hallway looked endless in both directions, but he knew it wasn’t. He turned left, following the cracked, rotten walls towards the kitchen. He passed what seemed like hundreds of locked doors on either side. Various picture frames holding dusty photos lined the walls. Though the faces had been burned away, Asher recognized one of them — a family portrait on Christmas. His mom and dad were next to the tree, and five-year-old Asher was hiding behind a wheelchair off to the side. He didn’t recognize any other photos. There was one of a woman in a blue dress with her arms around a man, one of the same couple at their wedding. They pricked the edges of his mind.

A high pitched humming drifted down the hall — a slow, melancholy tune being repeated over and over. 

“Kitchen must be close,” Asher whispered, turning away from the photos. His shadow nodded. 

The humming got louder and louder until he saw light shining through an open door. It stopped abruptly just before he reached the entrance, and the light faded away. He swallowed and took a step forward. 

The kitchen was as dark as the rest of the house. Only a few meager rays of sunlight shone through the grimy windows. The floor was missing large sections of tile, and those that remained were cracked and covered in thick layers of filth — very little white was still visible through the blacks and browns and greens. 

“You’re finally here,” the woman said, the words slow and deliberate. She stood at the sink scrubbing a plate, keeping her back turned to him. Black water sputtered from the faucet. Stains and muck desecrated her once-yellow floral dress. “Sit down and eat.” 

In the center of the room stood a dilapidated wooden table and a single stool. A bowl and fork sat upon it.

Asher pulled himself onto the stool, never taking his eyes off her. It rocked on uneven legs. The woman began to hum again as she washed, her head swaying lazily with the tune.

An unbearably sweet, putrid smell hit Asher, making him look away and into the bowl. Bile rose in his throat as he did. Thick chunks of rotten fruit were layered on top of each other — shriveled up apple slices, decayed bits of strawberries and blueberries, mushy, brown slices of banana — all oozing a thin, brown liquid and covered in clumps of mold. He gagged and pushed the bowl away.

“Is something wrong, dear?” the woman asked without turning around. 

Asher’s mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say. He looked to his shadow, but it merely copied his movements. He pushed away from the table, and the wood screeched across the ground.

“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving before you’ve finished,” the woman said. She scrubbed the plate faster, spraying drops of dark water over her dress.

He grabbed the fork and pulled the bowl closer to him. The rancid smell hit him again, forcing him to turn away. He covered his mouth and nose with one hand and stuck the fork into the top-most strawberry. As he lifted it, it slid right through the tines and made a wet plop as it landed in the bowl.

“Tsk, tsk,” the woman said, her voice unnaturally high. “It seems you’ve let your meal go bad.”

Asher’s heart fluttered. He pushed the bowl away again.

“Can I… go then?” he asked.

She threw her head back and laughed hysterically, then came to a sudden stop.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she said. Her head began to turn. “You’re not leaving this table until I see you eat.” Her voice lowered as her neck cracked and continued to turn. “Every. Last. Bite.”

Asher jolted up, the stool crashing against the ground as it fell. 

Her head had turned around completely to look at him while she continued to scrub. Her eyes were closed, though — both lids stitched shut to the undersides of her sockets. A lipless smile revealed blackened teeth. 

A shrill creaking filled the room as the old man rolled his wheelchair through the door. Liver spots ran rampant across his sagging skin. A blanket sat on his lap, covering his legs. The sight of him made Asher flinch.

“What’s going on in —” he started but stopped short when he saw Asher.

“He won’t eat his breakfast, Brennan,” the woman said, her head still turned to them. 

Brennan’s body convulsed as he hacked, spit and blood erupting from his mouth. When he finished, he looked Asher in the eyes. “I told you what would happen if I ever saw you here again.” His voice was harsh and low.

“What do you two want from me?” Asher asked, the words shaky. He dared a glance at his shadow.

“You don’t belong here,” they said in unison.

Asher stepped closer to the table. 

“You don’t belong here,” they repeated together. “You don’t belong here.”

Asher’s shadow sprung from the ends of his feet and made itself appear huge against the wall. That was all the distraction Asher needed. He grabbed the bowl and hurled it at the woman. It smashed against her head, and the rotten fruit splattered across her face, in her mouth, and down her dress. She let out an ear-piercing shriek as Brennan propelled himself forward, his arms outstretched. Asher dodged back and kicked the stool into the wheelchair. One leg caught in the wheel, halting it in place and launching Brennan into the air. He crashed onto the ground and slid until slamming into the wall. A handful of teeth rattled across the tile.

The woman’s head snapped back around, and in an instant, she was inches away from Asher. Her bony fingers stretched to twice their length and wrapped around his neck. He grabbed her wrist as she lifted him into the air. She shrieked again, shooting bits of fruit against his face. 

“You worthless little brat,” she said. “Never appreciative of anything, were you?”

Asher struggled against her grip, but it only tightened more. He coughed as he struggled to breathe.

 “How have you stayed alive all this time? You don’t belong here,” the woman screamed at him.

“I don’t… know what you’re… talking… about,” he choked out. 

Darkness started creeping in from the edges of his vision. He flailed wildly and finally kicked her knee causing it to buckle. Her grip loosened as they both collapsed. Asher crawled away from her as he tried to regain his breath. The woman didn’t move. Asher’s shadow flung towards him.

“Good job back there,” he said, then began to cough and shudder as he wiped bits of fruit off his face. He splayed his hand against the ground, and his shadow matched it — their version of a high-five. The shadow brushed its hand across its forehead. 

Asher closed his eyes and laid his head back against the wall. After only a moment, he felt a slight tug on the side of his shirt. He looked and saw his shadow waving frantically and pointing at Brennan. His eyes shot to the old man.

“What is it?” he asked, scrunching his brow. 

But just then, the old man’s body writhed. Asher slowly got to his feet. Brennan writhed again as his back began to arch. 

“I’m going to snuff you out for good this time,” Brennan said. His body rose off the ground. His legs contorted and both began to split apart into four pointed limbs. “There will be no light here. There will be no happiness.” His new limbs hardened, and a thick, black shell grew over the skin. They grew apart as a bulbous growth formed between both sets of limbs. He rose on all eight legs — the bottom half of his body had morphed into that of a spider while the top half remained human. “We live because he suffers. You will not take that from us.”

One leg shot out at blinding speed, missing Asher’s head by a fraction of an inch. It gouged his shoulder as it retracted. Asher took in a sharp breath and ducked as another leg came from the other side and impaled the wall behind him. Brennan screamed, the veins in his neck threatening to bulge from his body. His eyes grew larger and filled entirely with black. Asher waited for him to swipe one more time — he dodged it and barreled across the room and into the hall. In seconds, the doorway exploded behind him as Brennan tried to force his new body through the frame. His legs clawed and scratched at the wood, but he couldn’t fit. The walls and frame groaned and splintered from the force. 

Asher ran. Crack. Brennan was almost completely through. Not far ahead of him, Asher saw a door left ajar. Looking back one more time, he saw Brennan free himself and scutter in the opposite direction. He dashed inside the room and shut it as quietly as he could. His shadow flew in from under the door a few moments later. A burning candle provided scant light.

“Good job distracting him,” he said. His shadow bowed, making him laugh. “Where do you think we are?” The room seemed familiar, but he couldn’t make out many details through the flickering light. 

Another candle burst to life on the opposite side of the room. Then another, and another. The room took shape as it became illuminated.

“Wait,” Asher said. His eyes darted between the dresser with the missing handles, the slightly-too-tall bed, and the discolored sections of the wall where posters had once been hung. The dresser looked more battered, and the sheets on the bed were tattered and full of holes. Dusty photos of the same couple as before were strewn about. A cracked floor mirror was propped up in the corner. “This is my room, but…” He paused to take it all in. “What happened in here?” His shadow scratched its head.

A quiet sniffle tore Asher from his thoughts. He looked toward the noise and found a woman sitting in a chair in the corner, hands over her eyes and shoulders trembling. Golden waves of blond hair cascaded down the length of her back, flowing over her sky-blue dress like sunlight.

“Hello?” Asher asked, unsure of what else to say. He looked to his shadow, and it shrugged. He took a tentative step forward. “Are you okay?”

“Asher?” The woman’s head popped up and met his gaze. Her wet, honey-colored eyes glimmered in the candlelight. High cheekbones and a small nose accentuated the freckles that peppered her light skin. Asher’s head tilted as he admired her beauty — familiar, but surreal, like a masterpiece painted in a dream. “You came back?” Gleaming white teeth peeked out from behind a wavering smile.

“Do I know…” His words trailed off as he realized he knew the answer.

Mallory. I do I know her. But from where? Her voice lingered in his head, teasing the edge of a forgotten memory. 

“Do you know me? Is that really what you were about to ask?” Mallory’s voice rose steadily in pitch, but her mouth hadn’t moved. “I can’t believe you!” 

Asher whirled around as he realized where the voice had come from. The same woman stood on the other side of the room, fixated on him with an unblinking glare. She held the same beauty despite the venom in her eyes. 

“Don’t ignore me, Asher,” she said. The firelight glinted off the knife in her hand.

“I don’t remember,” he said, not fully processing her words. His eyes darting between the look-alikes and then to the door.

The first Mallory began to sob harder. “I didn’t mean to,” she said as she covered her face again.

“This is so typical of you,” the second said. 

Asher looked between the two of them. Some distant part of him felt bad for her, and he felt it tugging at his heart. 

So much sadness. The weight of their anguish and rage crushed down on him. His body felt weary, his mind sluggish.

He glanced at the door again. Before he could move, the second Mallory was between him and the exit, the knife pointed at his face.

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No. You don’t get to leave me again. This is all your fault. You’re the one who left after I said I was sorry. That wasn’t good enough for you?” Her voice cracked halfway through. “I’m not good enough for you anymore?” She strained her face trying to hold back tears.

Asher felt his heart sink as the happiness drained from his body. His arms were heavy, his body drenched in sweat. The room spun around him. He wanted to collapse and let the nightmare end. 

Stop it, he told himself. Things can always get better. They can always get better.

He steadied his breathing. “Look —”

“No, you look, Asher,” she said, cutting him off. “I’m sick of this.” She lowered the knife. “If I can’t have you,” she reached behind her, “no one can.” She ripped the door open wide.

A thunderous boom roared from above as the ceiling cracked and split in half. The walls began to crumble and collapse. Splinters rained from above as Brennan exploded through the doorway, shattering what was left of the wall. A victorious, inhuman shriek escaped him. 

Asher looked to his shadow, but it was still. 

What do I do? He fell to his knees, and his head drooped low. What can I do?

The first Mallory moaned louder and louder from her chair. Her cries mixed with the other one’s horrifying combination of laughter and crying until it became a tormenting cacophony of unending grief and pain. 

There has to be something, anything I can do. His body shuddered.

The broken wood and furniture sailed into the air, spinning around them in a violent cyclone.

I don’t want to give up. He bowed his head and hugged himself. 

Tendrils of black nothingness crept into the room from every side.

There has to be more to life than this. 

He felt something tighten around his neck, and his breathing constricted.

I don’t… I don’t want to die.

Asher felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw his shadow beside him. It had taken human form but was made of nothing and everything at the same time — a vast, starry night sky standing with him.

The shadow nodded to him then erupted into a blinding white light, drowning out every aspect of the world. Asher closed his eyes and smiled as the screams of Mallory and Brennen faded away. When the noise around him died, he reopened his eyes. He was back in his room, sitting on the floor by the mirror. Nothing was broken, nothing was out of place — everything was just as he remembered. 

He turned to say something to his shadow, but it wasn’t there. He looked around frantically until his gaze rested upon the mirror. It wasn’t himself in the reflection, but his shadow. As he stared, it gained color — brown hair and deep blue eyes, just like his own. He watched it turn into himself and then continue to change. Its eyes sagged ever so slightly. It grew taller. A beard broke out across its face, and then the reflection finally settled into a twenty-something-year-old Asher.

“It’s me,” young Asher whispered. “Am I… older?” He reached for his face, but his own was smooth. He got up and checked his height against the line etched in the wall, but he hadn’t grown. Nothing about him had changed at all. As he walked back to the mirror, he noticed his reflection hadn’t moved the entire time.

The reflected room was nearly identical. The furniture looked more aged, the posters taken down. A small stool sat in the center of the room, and a length of rope hung from the ceiling above it. The window had a larger crack running through it. A picture frame laid on its side, the glass shattered and a photo of Asher and Mallory torn in half. Daylight crept in as the sun peeked out from above a cloudy sky.

Asher’s eyes shifted to the window in his room. The black void remained, but the outline of the sun didn’t seem as dim. He smiled.

When he turned back, he found his older self staring back at him. His eyes were wet and swollen. His bottom lip trembled uncontrollably, and the skin around his neck was red. Still, he smiled back.

“Thank you,” he said, as tears rolled into his beard. “For saving my life.”

Young Asher’s head tilted as he stared back, and though unsure of what he meant, he felt at peace.

It can always get better. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.