James Swain: Shadow People

The rules governing the spirit world were vague. She shrugged.

“Homer, what do you think?” Peter asked.

Homer was bundled up from head to toe, ready to brave the elements, the tip of his cane tapping the floor as he spoke. “I talk to ghosts regularly, and am visited by poltergeists. Our visitor tonight was neither. It came from the darkest of places. I heard its silent scream.”

Peter had no earthly idea what Homer was talking about. “What’s that?”

“A silent scream is a life force begging to be heard. I started hearing them soon after I lost my sight. There is no sound, just the pain. It cuts through the air like a sharp knife.”

“How many times have you heard this?” Milly asked.

“Enough times to last a lifetime. I have a theory about their origin. I believe there is a place which exists between the spirit world and our world. A buffer zone, so to speak. These life forces exist there.”

Spirits were like lightning, and rarely struck in the same place twice. Peter had seen the dark spirit twice in the same evening, which was not normal. “This thing made itself known to me twice tonight. Should I be worried?”

“To worry is to poison oneself,” Homer replied. “I would advise caution. I think we should say good night before Milly throws us out.”

“Perish the thought,” their hostess said.

Milly walked them out of her apartment to the elevators at the hallway’s end. She kissed them both affectionately on the cheek. “Be safe,” she said.

“And you as well,” they both replied.

Peter and Homer descended to the lobby. A uniformed attendant opened the front door for them while tipping his cap good night.

A cold wind slapped their faces as they stepped outside. Two weeks from May, and the city was still locked in winter’s grasp. Peter’s limo idled at the curb, his driver buried in the sports section of the Post. “Let me give you a lift home,” he offered.

“No offense, but I’ll take the subway,” Homer replied.

“Are you sure? It’s late.”

“I realize that. There is something perversely pleasurable in the feeling of passing subways rumbling beneath my feet. Don’t ask me to explain, because I can’t.”

“Well, then let’s talk here.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

“You’re holding back. I want to know why.”

A frown creased Homer’s face. “You’re right. Did you read my mind upstairs?”

“I didn’t have to. Your cane gave you away.”

“My cane? How so?”

“You tap your cane whenever you talk. The tapping accelerates when you start bending the truth. I’ve noticed it before.”

“So you can hear when I’m lying.”

“Afraid so.”

Homer’s frown became a scowl. “Well, I’ll be damned. I’d throw my cane away, only then I’d be in a real bind. You should have become a detective, Peter. You’re very observant.”

Peter had been told this before. He caught things that other people missed. It had as much to do with his perceptive skills from being a magician as it did from his psychic ability.

“I was holding back-to use your expression-because I was sworn to secrecy by a psychic named Selena about the very thing you saw tonight,” Homer explained.

Peter had heard of but had never met the legendary Selena, who was consulted by the most powerful people in the city for her celestial advice.

“You’ve actually met Selena?” Peter asked.

“I most certainly have. Years ago, a dark spirit visited my apartment, and scared the daylights out of my family. My family described this spirit to me in detail. It was not like any ghost I’d ever heard of. I needed help, and a mutual friend arranged a meeting.”

“Was she helpful?”

“She most certainly was. Selena told me that the dark spirit that visited my apartment was a shadow person. Shadow people are evil apparitions that attach themselves to humans, and refuse to let go. They are usually seen out of the corner of the eye for a split second before disappearing. When a person sees one fully-like you did tonight-it’s because the shadow person is seeking him out.”

“What do they want?”

“I asked Selena that very question, and she did not reply. But she did tell me this: Shadow people can destroy your life. They’ll attach themselves to you, and scare away your family, friends, and everyone else. Your existence will become a living hell.”

Peter understood the gravity of what Homer was saying. Most psychics could deal with ghosts and spirits, but their friends and families could not. More than one psychic had seen his personal life destroyed by the intrusion of unwanted visitors.

“Did you rid the shadow person from your apartment?” Peter asked.

“Eventually, I did,” Homer said. “At Selena’s urging, I began to wear a five-pointed star to ward it off. I’ve worn one ever since, and so have my wife and children. I also keep them hanging on the walls. You can never be too careful about these things.”

“Did the shadow person return?”

“No. My family has not seen it since.”

“Did you ever wonder why it picked you?”

“Sometimes. But I quickly pushed the thought out of my mind. If I thought about it too much, I was afraid it might return.”

Peter understood this as well. Often, ghosts and spirits became tuned in to a person’s thought waves, and knew when their subject was thinking about them. It was at these times that a ghost often chose to pay its subject a visit.

Peter touched Homer’s arm. “How about that lift home?”

“Thanks, but no. I’m looking forward to that subway ride. It’s where I do some of my best thinking. If you’ll point me in the right direction, I’ll be on my way.”

“At least let me walk you to the station.”

“By all means. I would enjoy your company.”

The subway station was a half block away. As they walked down the street, Peter’s limo crawled behind them, its headlights turned low. Reaching the station’s entrance, Peter stopped to shake the blind psychic’s hand. Thank you for confiding in me,” he said.

“You are more than welcome,” Homer replied. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going to purchase a rubber tip for my cane. Good night, Peter. Be safe.”

“And you as well.”

Peter climbed into the backseat of his limo. Herbie spun the wheel and headed toward the 65th Street transverse through Central Park without being told. “Want some music?” he asked.

“I’m good,” Peter said.

“That blind guy you were talking to, I’ve seen him before. He tells fortunes down in the Village. Why you hanging out with him?”

Herbie did not know of his employer’s psychic talents. One day, Peter planned to tell his driver about his unusual talents, but it wasn’t going to be today.

“We’re old friends,” Peter said.

“You don’t say. He’s a strange one, that’s for sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Another limo driver told me that guy can make himself disappear while standing beneath the arch in Washington Square Park.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I’m just telling you what the other driver told me. He said it was some kind of trick.”

“The man is blind, Herbie. He doesn’t do tricks.”

“I know he’s blind. But that’s what this driver told me. Swore on a stack of Bibles he was telling me the truth. Said he saw it with his own eyes.”

“Even I can’t do that.”

“Maybe he can teach you.”

Peter leaned back in his seat. He tried to put Homer and the shadow person out of his mind. There were more important matters to deal with, like the serial killer he’d seen during the séance. A woman named Rachael was going to die if he didn’t solve this thing.