I've never had a lot of friends. And have kept pretty much to myself. Especially when I was a child. Oh sure, I had your ordinary "imaginary" friend every child had. But no real friends. The closest thing to a real friend I ever had, was my shadow. It would go with me everywhere. Do whatever I did. It was a blast! But it only came out during the day. Leaving me alone during the night. But that was then, and now I'm grown up.
Things are really no different now, as far as relating to others. Except that instead of playing with my imaginations, I busy myself with work. Besides, if I'm not going to have a personal life, I may as well make as much money as possible. So I can buy whatever I want. So that's what I do. Make money.
Or at least that's what I use to do. You see, about a month ago, strange things started to happen. Some wacko started killing and mutilating people. He would disembowel them. And do, God knows what, with the removed items. Never found. I think the freak ate them or something. I don't know, but they're gone.
Anyway, not long after, this detective comes snooping around. His name was John Carpetti. And he started asking me questions about the murders. Like I would know anybody remotely like that animal. Soon I would find that his interest was in me. Not who I knew.
Soon, Detective Carpetti became a thorn in my side. Why? Well, it seems they missed something initially in there investigation. A name. My name. Dave Linval. Carved inside each victims chest cavity. Shocked? You can't imagine what I felt. It wasn't me! But try explaining that to Carpetti. I told him I was being framed. That I was home in bed during the time frame of each of the murders. But I had no one to confirm my whereabouts. And they had no physical evidence aside from the carved name. But my luck was about to change.
It was a couple of nights ago. And like every night, I went to bed around nine. I was restless. Carpetti seemed to hound me more and more. But around two in the morning, I heard a strange noise. A clattering against the hallway wall, followed by an almost childlike chuckle. I grabbed my gun from the nightstand. Maybe, just maybe, the freak who was tryin to frame me, had broken in.
I slowly edged out into the hallway. I couldn't see anything. There was nothing there. I began to search all the rooms adjoining the hall. Slowly, and cautiously venturing into each of them. Nothing. Then I heard the clatter and chuckle again. This time in my bedroom.
Moving quickly this time, with gun poised and fixed on the doorway. I headed towards my room. Stopping at the door jam, I slowly peered into the room. I couldn't see anything. So I moved into the room, still poised and ready for trouble. Then I noticed something strange. It looked like writing on the wall above my headboard. A little closer look, and my blood began to chill. On the wall was written, in blood, "Why did you leave me?" What?! Leave who?!
I quickly looked under the bed. Nope. Then checked the closet. Still nobody. The room was empty. How? How could this have been written, and why? I walked over to the light switch, and flicked it on. I've got to clean this up. A few steps away, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Turning quickly, bringing my gun up, I saw it! And my blood run cold. It was black and featureless. And it was my size and shape. And it seemed to mirror me except for the pile of bowels it "held". It was my shadow! I couldn't believe my eyes. There before me was my shadow, holding a gruesome bloddy mess.
Just then, I heard a police car come up, sirens wailing. I looked away only for a moment, but my shadow was gone. But not its gift it had brought for me. There, on the floor, was a huge pile of bowels. I dropped to my knees. I vomitted, simutaneously breaking out into tears. I could hear the police beating on the front door. Here's they're evidence they wanted. Here it lies, piled right before me.
My lawyer says they're trying for the death sentence. He says he'll try to plead insanity. I'm not insane! I told them the truth. I've passed their lie detector. What don't they get? And now you know the truth. I didn't do it! It wasn't me! I don't care what you threaten me with. Again, I tell you, it was my shadow!
Where does my shadow go,
When the lights go out?
Does it lie with me,
Or walk about?
This thing troubles me,
Each night as I pray.
Because of the horrors,
Found by light of day.
© copyright By Scott L. McPherson
1/22/2002
