As the young family went untouched, Samuel told stories to tenants while theyslept. Notably Jennifer, but others, too, like the politician on thefourth-floor penthouse. A good man, fighting establishments that continuouslybuy out other members of his ilk. Samuel would have loved to talk with him inlife, so he made sure to do so in death.
Alively, old woman, Mrs. Potter, startled Samuel into action by screaming in thestairwell on the first floor. Samuel made the mistake of traveling down thestairwell instead of floating through the floors, and in doing so became stuckin that incessant loop, helpless to hear her screams echo on and on.
“Staywith me, please,” a man shouted as Mrs. Potter moaned.
“Theywere smiling the wrong way…” Samuel heard Mrs. Potter whisper and choke. By thetime he was free of the endless maze of stairwells that seemed to go on and onin Samuel’s mind, Mrs. Potter was dead and an EMT was loading her onto astretcher, her body shrouded by a white sheet.
“Ithink she saw some type of animal,” Samuel heard a man who turned out to be hernephew say, before wondering what type of beast that shadow truly was.
Samueldidn’t like the television when he first saw it. In fact, he downright hatedit. Hated the way it captured people, the way they moved and laughed. Pictureand radio recordings were one thing but people? Moving around in that littlebox? To think that a ghost was disturbing…. What if television recordings madeghosts of everyone? Samuel began to feel silly, as he hovered over hiswould-be-friend of a politician night after night, watching that make-believeworld.
Hefound the shadow through nothing more than dumb luck. Something wasn’t rightabout the family with the two young children on the third floor. Samuel had nodoubts that the infant was in danger, despite its rapid growth. Old ladies andinfants, they fit together. Samuel was surprised to find the shadow slitheringalong the ceiling above the father, as he drank.
Theshadow was the father’s own personal black cloud and Samuel watched it, in awe,for so long that he didn’t realize just how the man was drinking. Staring atthe can, tilting it back, placing it back on the table without releasing hisgrip before launching it back again. Like a machine, drinking without thought,his eyes blank, his lips grim. The eyes weren’t entirely blank, Samuelrealized. He could see it, a part of the shadow dancing next to each of hispupils.
“Why?”Samuel asked. What manner of devil gained from death? Samuel always imaginedhell as being in suffering.
“Youdon’t know what pain is,” the father said, finishing his beer and standing up.Was he talking to Samuel?
“Ilost my wife, my daughters, years before I passed,” Samuel said. There’s noworse a person than one that measures you by your tragedies. The father ignoredhim, retrieved another beer from the fridge, and sat back down. The mother andthe children remained in their rooms unaware.
Thefather, faster than before, finished his beer and then stood, walked rightthrough Samuel and made his way toward his kids’ room. Before opening the door,he turned, looked right at Samuel and said, “it gets easier, after a while,”and then he strolled into his children’s room and slammed the door loud enoughto shake the apartment. Samuel made to follow him before a wall of shadowblocked his path.
Ripplingand crackling like fire, the wall of black seemed to mock him, chuckling in anever-ending cascade like rainfall. Samuel raised a hand to the wall and thefingers on his left hand began to melt, his skin flaking off to reveal pulpyflesh and bone as he reeled back in horror. “Why?” he shouted again, hopingagainst half-logic that if one somehow caused evil to question itself, it’dcollapse under the weight of its own intent.
Samuelrose from the floor, floating and flying without any sense of pleasure. Screamswere coming from within the children’s room. It was too easy to imagine whatthe fists of a two-hundred-and-ten-pound man could do to any adversary of fleshand bone, let alone children. Samuel began to scream, and as he did so, thelight bulbs on either side of him flickered before shattering in an eruption ofsparks and glass. He wasn’t spared a moment to consider this new way ofinteracting with the world, as he was thrust into the total darkness, at themercy of the shadow’s intentions.
“Carloswhat’s happening? Carlos?” an unfortunate mother cried her mind-sappedhusband’s name. The chuckling flames of shadow surrounded Samuel. “What haveyou done? What have you done?” Samuel heard the mother’s screams and realizedtwo things. One, the shadow had been waiting a long time to use a man to do itsdirty work. It had been salivating over the kind of horror it could create andit was pleased it now had an audience to its evolution. Two, Samuel was utterlyhelpless and incapable of saving a single person in the unit. He tried tovanish through the floor, but the shadow wouldn’t let him. It had him. It wasfinally paying attention.
Timefor Samuel became a grandfather clock dumped over the side of a steamship andsunk to the muddy bottom of the Mississippi. When he got a hold of himself, theworld was reborn. The century had turned again. The television and itsminiature companions ruled. People held themselves to a different standard. AsSamuel shifted through the floorboards, he wondered where the shadow had takenhim. How had it snuffed out valuable moments from his afterlife? He wasn’trobbed of much, but something all the same. He found that everyone he had cometo know as tenants within the building were dead, or moved out. So much forSarah and Jennifer and Samuel’s own easing into the advancements of the world.The shadow wanted him further
