She flipped it open and was struck by something unexpected. A drawing spread over the first page, the paper thick and yellowed. She touched the page and her finger came back clean, though the drawing appeared to have been made with charcoal.
“What is it?” Brent asked, pressing closer to Taylor. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek.
Taylor could instantly tell what it was. The shadow man. The dark drawing showed a figure cloaked in black, with long fingers, and what could only be mist pouring off its shoulders and hands. The head was petite, dark congealed red eyes stared at her, and Taylor wondered for a moment if it was real blood used for emphasis.
“What the hell is that?” Brent asked with a slight tremor to his voice. Taylor understood the fear only too well.
“I don’t know,” Taylor lied. Isabelle gulped and grabbed her bottle of water, taking a deep swig.
Taylor flipped to the next page to see a few words she didn’t understand, written in pencil and underlined heavily.
“Schattenmann. Is that German?” Brent asked, reading the written word.
Taylor’s heartbeat picked up, and she felt a drip of sweat run down her side. With her phone, she typed the words into the translation program. The answer came to her in a flash.
“‘Shadow man’.” Brent took the journal and stared at it, trying to read the rest of the harshly-scribbled words. His accent was terrible, but Taylor typed the entire page into her phone.
Taylor saw the translation and passed it over to her cousin with a shaky hand. One German phrase repeated in her mind. Hüte dich vor dem Schattenmann.
Isabelle spoke softly. “‘My son is gone, taken in the dead of the night. I fear he will not be the last to go missing. Hans is beside himself. He and my brother seek the creature tonight, when the moon is high. I only wish we’d never made the bargain. Without Otto, I do not want to continue. Beware the shadow man. It is full of trickery, deceit, and death only. Beware the shadow man’.”
“Holy shit. Why was this in your dad’s old house? No wonder that old lady neighbor thought the place was haunted.” Brent’s normally-colored cheeks were pale, matching the way Taylor felt. Her eyes fluttered as she considered the journal.
“Is there a name on it?” Taylor asked Brent, who still held the book.
“It’s small. Elisabeth Schmidt, I think,” Brent said.
Isabelle sank in her chair, her knees pulled up to her chest. “That’s my mom’s first name, just spelled differently,” she said, looking at the upturned page held in Brent’s hand.
“Maybe it’s a family name,” Taylor whispered, and for a second wondered if either of them had even heard her.
“Schmidt. Wait, I remember something. Smith was English, right? Didn’t immigrants often change their last names to fit in at some point?” Taylor was typing on her phone again, and found what she was looking for. “See? Smith is a common English variation of Schmidt. That means…” She glanced over at Brent, who was listening with rapt attention.
“I don’t get it. Are you saying you’re related to… whoever did this journal? And to the Smiths?” Brent asked, his eyes exaggeratedly wide.
Taylor didn’t feel like she had much choice in the matter. He was there with her, and he was going to learn a lot of tough things over the next few days.
Isabelle shook her head slightly, but Taylor couldn’t help herself. “Yes and yes.”
“But how? Why would they abduct you, then?” he asked, his voice a little too loud.
Taylor saw it was after eleven, Friday night. Footsteps clunked on the floor above them, and she waited to make sure no one was coming down the stairs. “Keep quiet, B. Is it really that surprising? Why do you think I’ve been so obsessed with all this?” she asked her boyfriend.
“I really didn’t know you were. I mean, you wouldn’t watch the documentary with me after you told me about being taken by the Smiths when you were a kid, then you clammed up about it all. You never want to talk about it, and when I brought up Red Creek, you almost ripped my head off. Why do you think I wanted to come here with you? It wasn’t so I could have a romantic weekend away. It was to protect you.” Brent ran his hands through his hair, a gesture he did when he was frustrated.
“I know. You’re right, and I’m sorry, but if you want to know everything, you have to be open-minded. It’s going to sound crazy, B. Really insane.” Taylor hoped this didn’t backfire.
“Crazier than the old lady telling us your grandma’s house has run three tenants out in four years, and that they all saw things while living there? Or maybe crazier than me finding a box with a Schattenmann drawn inside by your great-great-grandma in Germany somewhere? Just tell me, babe. I can handle it.” Brent’s eyes were bright, and Taylor finally got the nod from Isabelle, not that she needed her younger cousin’s approval.
“There’s a dark shadow over Red Creek,” Taylor started.
“It’s just clouds, Tay, they come and go,” Brent said with a smirk.
Taylor set her hand on his knee. “That’s what my dad used to always say, and he’s right.”
“What do you mean? A shadow like this?” he asked, flipping back to the first page where the crude drawing sat on the page.
Taylor nodded. “Just like that.”
“Let me get this straight. You guys think there’s a real monster living in Red Creek that looks like this?” he asked, his voice quiet.
Isabelle took this one. “That’s what we’re saying.”
“And what drove you to that conclusion?” Brent asked.
Taylor grimaced, holding her arm where she could still feel its misty tendrils wrap around her wrist. “Because it was the one that brought me to the Smiths.”
Nine
Tom’s car’s interior light turned on as he opened the driver’s side door, and he flopped down into the seat.
