** Shadows In The Night **
As nightfall cast its dark shadow over the land, a slither of moonlight broke through the parted blinds to illuminate the face of a young boy. Alex Graham still slept, his restless breathing the only noise in an otherwise silent room. The room itself was spacious, with a desk below the window, and a TV mounted onto the far wall. Clothes scattered the floor, converging into a pile in one corner; Alex had never been good at putting them away. The sound of a creaking door from downstairs made him start, sitting bolt upright and opening his light green eyes. They stung as he tried to adjust to the darkness, heart pounding in his chest.
“Oh, it’s only mother,” he whispered to himself, relieved as he heard her soft footsteps coming up the stairs.
Running a hand through his dishevelled brown hair, Alex returned to the welcome embrace of his pillow, determined to sleep once more. It was late, and tomorrow was the first day of a new school year. After an hour of tossing and turning though, he gave up, accepting that he would be tired in the morning. Another noise put his senses on alert, coming from the room once occupied by his grandmother. It reminded him of the scary stories his father used to tell, of demons and ghosts that lurked in the shadows of their four bedroom, two story house. The family home had originally been owned by Alex’s great-great grandfather, and then passed down the generations since. There were also rumours that the house contained hidden rooms and secret passageways, yet in 15 years, Alex had never found one. It wasn’t for a lack of trying; his father had been searching for twenty years, since inheriting the house from his mother. Both Alex’s parents had lived in Hellraite most of their lives, growing up in the town and only leaving briefly to live in Chicago. Mrs Graham had been in labour with Sam, Alex’s older brother, when his father had received a call from their lawyer, explaining that the house was theirs. They had left their tiny one-bedroom apartment immediately, and moved back without a moments hesitation. In truth, they didn’t have a choice. The apartment paled into insignificance against the house.
Sitting up and lifting his arms aloft, Alex stretched the slumber from his muscles. The alarm clock bedside his bed read 4am, far too early to be getting up. _I’ll get a drink, _he thought casually, _just to stretch my legs. _Standing, he opened his door slightly and crept out, tiptoeing across the landing and down the stairs. The house was generous in size, with two bathrooms, one on each floor, a huge kitchen, and large garden where he and his brother could play. It was as Alex reached the bottom step of the stairs that he cursed himself; he’d forgotten his slippers, and the cold tiles of he kitchen floor would turn his feet to ice. Reaching the fridge was no easy task, hopping three tiles at a time to avoid cold feet. A white glow lit the room as he pulled it open, a bright contract against pitch black. A flicker of movement from outside drew his attention, the big bay windows to his left offering a perfect view of the front garden. Although he couldn’t see anyone, the feeling of being watched wouldn’t leave, and then he saw it. In the darkest part of Crowver Street, stood beside a post box with the number 27 painted on it, was a broad shadow, outlined against the night. Whatever it was, it felt dangerous. Alex took a step back, oblivious to the tiles against his feet as he felt the heat of the shadow’s stare.
“Alex,” called someone from upstairs, “Alex, is that you downstairs?”.
“Ye...Yes.” he replied shakily, tearing his eyes away from the window.
When he grew the courage to look again, the shadow was gone. Sprinting through the kitchen, he leaped up the stairs and into the open arms of his mother. She had been leaving the bedroom down from his, his grandmothers’ old room.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern etched across her face.
“Oh, nothing mum; I... I needed a drink. That’s all”.
It was only as his mother ruffled his hair and sent him off to his room that Alex realised he’d left the drink in the open door of the fridge. He was thankful that she had been working late, not sure how long he’d have stood staring out of the window if she hadn’t called his name. As a Chief Physician at the local hospital, she worked late often, and would arrive home in the early hours of the morning. Despite the long hours though, she loved her job, remarking how useful it was working in a hospital when she had two boys at home that loved fighting each other. Alex’s father, many years before, had met Mrs Graham on route to the Hellraite hospital, but she was only a nurse at the time. He had fallen at the building site his firm were working on and been impaled by a large iron rod. Three Centimetres to the left and the iron would have pierced his heart. Having no choice but to remove it, or risk infection, she had pulled it free in the back of a speeding ambulance. So overcome with emotion and adrenalin, he had asked her to marry him right then, the curved scar on his chest a constant reminder of their first encounter. At least, that was the story he told friends around the dinner table.
When Alex awoke the next morning, it was with puffy red eyes and something furry sat on his pillow. He didn’t remember falling asleep again, only getting back into bed after giving his mother a cuddle. The sun was still low in the sky, but a beautiful orange hue was visible through a split in the window blinds.
“Ah, get off!” he snapped, shoving an old looking tabby cat off his pillow and onto the duvet.
The family had inherited three of them from his grandmother, and also a dog that was on its last legs too. The cats, especially, loved playing tricks on Alex. They’d make all kinds of noise running around the house, scaring him into believing his father’s spooky stories. When Alex was ten, one even managed to convince him that a ghost inhabited his grandmothers old wheelchair. He’d heard the squeaking wheels whilst walking upstairs, and saw the bedroom light flicker on, but when his parents pushed open the door, the room was dark. The only movement at all came from the smug little cat as it pranced out of the room and into another.
“Go on, shoo”.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons. Any unsourced images and writing are my own.