Christopher Golden - The Shadow Men

And now she was the intruder.

She followed Jim out onto the landing and wondered if this was how that unknown man had felt as he’d worked his way through her house-breath held, feet settling lightly in case of creaking floorboards, heart thumping. But she thought not. She had not chosen to be an intruder, and she took no delight in it at all.

The layout of this house was different from Veronica’s home. Something about it felt the same-occupying the same space, perhaps, or maybe the general shape and substance echoed the building back in the world they’d just left. But if it had once been the same building, someone had spent a lot of time and effort expanding and enlarging it.

The landing cornered around the gallery staircase, and as they reached the head of the stairs Trix paused, listening. She touched Jim’s shoulder and he stopped, too, glancing back at her, then down into the hallway below once again. She could see the silvery flicker of a TV screen spilling from one of the rooms down there, and she heard the gentle laughter of someone relaxed at home.

She leaned to her right and looked through a partially open doorway, then froze when she saw the girl-a teenager, maybe fifteen years old, lying back on her bed with one hand behind her head, the other resting on her stomach, fingers tapping gently. Trix saw the wire snaking across the bed to the small device on the table. In the halflight, she could not make out the headphones.

Jim put his finger to his lips and started down the stairs. Trix followed, and as they descended she felt a curious weight growing around them. At first she thought it was caused by her shallow breathing and thumping heart, or the darkness, or the reality of where they were-somewhere different. But as Jim stepped down into the hallway and the girl upstairs started shouting, she realized what it was. The fear of impending discovery was solidifying all around them.

“I’ll never… see the likes… of you… again!” the girl screamed from behind them, and as Trix glanced back and up she thought for a surreal moment that the girl meant them. She sees our strangeness, the fact that we’re from somewhere else and don’t belong here, and -But the landing was empty. The teenager was singing.

Jim clasped Trix’s arm and squeezed, calling her attention. She looked back at him. He was nodding to the front door, five paces away across the oak-floored hallway. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, and she could almost smell the fear coming off him. Not scared of being caught, she thought, but frightened of what that would mean for Jenny and Holly.

At that moment, Trix vowed that they would not be caught here. Whether or not they slipped out without being seen, they would not be caught. She clenched her fists and pressed her lips tight together, and then a voice came from the TV room. “What’s the point of a personal stereo if you don’t keep your voice to yourself?” the man said, not unkindly. It sounded as if he was smiling as he spoke.

“They call them iPods now, dear.”

“Well, forgive me for-”

The girl shouted again, tone-deaf and enjoying every line of whatever she was listening to.

“Go,” Jim whispered.

“Jim, we could”-Trix pointed back beneath the gallery staircase. It was dark back there, two doors half-closed on shadowy rooms.

“No,” he interrupted. “We need to get out of here.”

Somewhere in one of those rooms, a dog growled. Oh, fuck, Trix thought, that’s just what we need.

“Go and ask her to turn it down, sweetness,” the man’s voice said.

“You go! Lazy bastard.”

“I’m watching the game!”

More shouting from upstairs. It was so out of tune that Trix smiled to herself, but then Jim pulled at her, taking his first step across the hallway.

The dog’s growls became louder. Soon it would start barking.

Come on! Jim mouthed, taking another step.

The dog barked, the teenager shouted the first line of a new song, and a woman appeared in the living room doorway before them, smiling softly.

Trix wanted to say something to her. Tell her they weren’t a threat, they didn’t mean any harm, they’d just come through and only wanted to leave the family in peace. But she felt her own jaw drop open in stunned shock, and these words lived only in her mind. Jim’s fingers closed tighter on her arm, and she leaned forward, ready to dash to the front door and escape out onto the street.

“Conor!” the woman shouted. “There’s someone in the house.” Her eyes flickered to the left, and Trix followed her gaze. A dog was emerging from one of the back rooms, still in shadows but glittering eyes and wet, bared teeth visible. It was a terrier, compact and coiled, and she knew she should not let its size deceive her.

The woman looked back at Trix, caught her attention. Trix smiled.

“Otis, sic!” the woman shouted, and the dog came for them.

Jim ran for the door and flipped the catch, and Trix went with him. As he was hauling on the door she turned and lifted her foot, an unconscious defensive gesture, because in her mind’s eye the dog was already leaping through the air, teeth bared and ready to sink into her shin.

“What the fuck are you doing in here!” a man shouted, and a shadow suddenly filled the doorway behind the woman. Holy shit, he’s seven feet tall! Trix thought, and though perhaps panic made him seem taller than he actually was, he was certainly big enough to do them both a lot of damage.

The dog had not pounced. It was hunkered down, hackles bristling, teeth still bared.

“We’re not here to cause a problem!” Trix said, and behind her Jim opened the door at last.

The man was stepping past the woman, moving her gently to one side with a protective arm pressed across her chest. His other arm hung at his side, hand fisted into something resembling the head of a sledgehammer.

“Trix,” Jim said softly.

“What?” another voice said. The girl stood at the head of the stairs, headphones still on and the music player clasped in her hand. Her mouth hung open in surprise, eyes flickering from Trix and Jim to the dog to her parents, then back again.

“We’re leaving,” Jim said.

“Damn right you are!” the man shouted, and he darted across the hallway. The dog leapt then, tangling in the man’s feet and sending him stumbling toward them, hands outstretched, eyebrows rising in surprise as momentum threw him forward.

Jim tugged Trix through the doorway, and the man’s left hand closed around its edge, clasping tight to prevent himself from falling over. Trix saw the dog cowering back against the lowest stair, ears flat against its head, head lowered, eyes staring up at the big man. Behind and above them, the teenager seemed frozen in place.

“Trix, run!” Jim said, and he pulled her out into the dark. She turned her attention from the shocked and angry family behind them to the ground beneath her feet, startled by the three steps down to the street that had not been there before. Jim’s Mercedes was no longer parked at the curb-of course not-and in its place stood a big station wagon, glittering with droplets of rain.

They hit the sidewalk and turned right, running along the street, listening for sounds of pursuit, and Trix wondered whether Jim was feeling as dislocated as she. There were no obvious differences around them, at least not immediately. But she felt not only that she had not been here before, but never could have been. She glanced back at the home they had just left-Veronica’s house, in another world-and it was nowhere near the same. The front door still stood open but no one looked out, and she wondered at the scene taking place in there right now. The wife calling the police, perhaps, husband bristling, dog slinking back into one of those dark rooms, the teenager watching from above with a kind of detached surprise. At least they weren’t following. At least-