Geoff Cooper - Shades

For the first time in a very long while, Danny wished for the comfort of his mother. In the shadows, a black shape disengaged from the rest of the darkness and slid towards him. Danny tried to shout, but all that came out was a wheeze. The shadow stretched, reaching for him.

Danny pushed back against the boarded up door of the derelict building. A humming filled his ears, but it wasn’t a sound—it was a feeling. The shadow slunk closer. The door vibrated. For one instant, his body felt frozen and burned at the same time. Danny closed his eyes, screamed…

…and then slid .

He opened his eyes, gasping in surprise. The restaurant was gone. The shadow was gone. He was home, standing in his living room. He stood pressed up against the wall. His mother was asleep on the sofa, curled up in her nightgown. An empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table told him all he needed to know about her condition. The living room was dark, except for the glow of the television. A guy on Channel 11 was talking about a body found on the banks of the Hudson earlier in the day and how it had been identified as recent prison escapee Martin Bedrik.

Danny shivered from adrenaline rush. He closed his eyes again, trying to calm down. The shadow was gone, whatever it had been, and he was home. All he had to do was figure out how he’d gotten here. Slowly, he smiled. The crappy old restaurant he’d been standing against was six blocks away. It was like he’d been teleported, like on one of those old Star Trek shows.

Danny looked at his sleeping mother, and his smile grew wider.

“Magic,” he whispered. “Fucking magic.”

He checked the garage. His piece of shit bike, the Schwinn which he’d left along the Hudson at Gustav’s insistence, leaned against the wall.

Laughing, Danny wondered if he’d done that, too.

Then he wondered what he couldn’t do…

789

By three in the morning, Brackard’s Point slept soundly. Hook Mountain watched over the town, a dark and dour sentinel. Lightning flashed on its peak, but no thunder followed. There was no one to witness it anyway. The streets were silent and empty, the homes dark, their curtains drawn. The bell atop the Baptist church rang out with three solemn tolls. Even the hardest of the partiers and drunks were asleep.

But out in the graveyard, the dead were awake, and they talked for those who could listen. Most of it was a litany of pain and suffering, an endless sigh of desperate frustration.

Someone else was awake in the cemetery, too. Sam Oberman walked slowly, playing his flashlight over the tombstones. Sam’s philosophy was a nightstick to the head of anyone he caught fucking with the gravestones. He wasn’t just the caretaker, after all. His parents and several friends were buried here. The last case of vandalism had been one he’d stopped himself. He didn’t turn in the kids. Instead, Sam made sure they’d never try it again. Fear was a wonderful motivator and a few smashed fingers went a long way to changing a punk’s perspective on the fine art of graveyard desecration.

Gethsemane was quiet, except for the chirping crickets. Sam stifled a yawn. He was about to go back for coffee when motion between two headstones caught his attention. He pulled his nightstick and shined the flashlight beam over the graves, dispelling the shadows. There was nothing there, but he knew he’d seen something.

“You have ten seconds to show yourselves, assholes, or somebody’s going to be in for a world of hurt!”

The crickets fell silent.

Sam let the beam dance across the memorials. No trash or empty beer cans. No condoms. No signs that anyone had been fucking around.

And then the beam of light found darkness.

The shadows shifted, coiling like tendrils. One of them broke from the ground and rose up. It was human-shaped. The shadow stepped toward him. The flashlight beam disappeared into it. Gasping, Sam backed away. With a yelp, he tripped over a grave marker and sprawled in the wet grass. The flashlight rolled out of reach.

The shade rushed toward him. Sam opened his mouth to scream, and the darkness flowed into his mouth, filling him with coldness.

Sam closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was someone else.

Danny showed up early at Gustav’s house. The old man answered the door, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand. His eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing here, boy?”

“I ditched school again. Something happened last night. I need to study more.”

“Yes. Study is good. After school, you come here and study.”

“Screw that. I want to study now .”

“You must learn patience. That is important. Patience is one of the keys to magic. Go back to school and study there.”

“Why? If I can do magic—why do I need school?”

Gustav’s eyes glittered. Laughing, he sat the coffee mug down and swatted Danny across the back of his head. The blow was light, but sent Danny staggering.

“Hey,” Danny shouted. “What’d you do that for?”

“Do you want to argue or do you want answer to question?”

“Answer my question. Why should I go to school?”

“Why? To know magic, you need to know the world. They are the same thing, boy. I told you before, you need knowledge. Magic is no good without knowledge.”

Gustav picked up his coffee mug and Danny followed him inside. The old Russian collapsed into a sagging recliner. The springs groaned. The television droned in the background. Reagan was meeting with Gorbachev, and Bruce Springsteen had just announced a tour for Born in the USA . Gustav glanced at the TV and the sound muted. Then he turned his attention back to Danny.

“Something happened last night, yes?”

Danny nodded. “On my way home, I thought I heard something down by that old Greek restaurant that closed. You know where I mean?”

Gustav nodded. “Yes. I miss it. They had good food.”

“Well, I was there. I…I got scared. I leaned against the building and closed my eyes and…”

Gustav leaned forward, his gaze intent.

“When I opened my eyes again, I was home. It’s like I jumped or something.”

“You opened a door, traveled through the Labyrinth. How did you do that?”

“I don’t know.” Danny shrugged. “I read a little about it last night, but I don’t know how I did it.”

“But I know, because I went to school.”

“You’re also a sorcerer.”

“Nyet.” Gustav shook his head. “I study and practice, even still. That is all. I never stop learning.”

“Yeah, but you study here, not in school.”

Gustav lit a cigarette and threw the pack to Danny. “I study everything. The more I know, the more I can do. That is how I join the Kwan.”

“The what?”

Gustav shook his head. “Never mind. Is not important. What is important is that my knowledge makes my magic strong. Like shop class and geometry?”

“You lost me.”

“Geometry. It is class in school, no?”

“How does frigging geometry help me with magic?”

“If you know geometry, you know how much space is in a box. If you know the space in the box, you can fill it.”

Gustav handed him the lighter. Danny lit his cigarette, inhaled, and then passed the lighter and the cigarette pack back to him.

“Well,” Danny said, “I can fill the box by pouring water in the opening.”

Gustav scrunched up his face and imitated Danny’s words. If it was supposed to be a perfect impersonation, it failed. Danny glared at him.

“You have a good brain, boy. Use it.”

He opened the pack of cigarettes and dumped them out on the coffee table. Then he closed the pack again and handed it to Danny. “Here. How much does this hold?”