The Shades That Prowl

Chapter 6: June '82: Grave Desperate

Dut's Aunt's house looked homey as we pulled into the gravel driveway. Dut parked in the car port and I parked him in. We passed a ground level door. Somehow, its placement, the shrubs, the shadow of the carport, all struck me as familiar.

"Can't we use that door, Dut?"

"I don't have a key for that one." He gestured straight up with the key.

I felt more tired than I should have. The dust and grit from the manor attic ground between my neck and collar. We slouched in the slightly sour smelling breakfast nook eating cheese crackers and drinking coffee.

"How long has your Aunt lived here?"

"Oh, it's been about 25 years. My dad owned it and rented it to her, or sold it to her then rented an office in the basement. All of his architecture stuff is downstairs."

Dut rarely talked about his dad so I nodded my head.

"I need a shower, but I've got to nap for just a few minutes first."

"Go on up," Dut said. "I'll keep watch; let you know if anything happens."

"No thanks. I don't want to be that far from the cars. I'll take the couch."

"There's a bedroom behind the kitchen. But you're out of luck with the shower; the only other one is through dad's office downstairs."

"Does it work?"

"Far as I know, but I don't like being down there."

"Why not?"

"It's all my dad's stuff. I just don't like it."

I nodded my reply, walking through the living room-dining room combo.

"Hey, Matt."

I drew up short.

"Where's the necklace?"

My shoulders dropped. "My pocket."

"Mind if I take a look at it?"

I thought through his motivations. What's to see? It's beads on a cord. "Yeah, sure. Here." I handed it to him and left the room.

The narrow walls reminded me of the valley leading to the Indian burial mounds. Dust clung to the dark paneling like velvet fur. Collapsing on a bed, I wished I'd kept the necklace. Dust settled around me.

I woke in darkness but immediately closed my eyes in case something was there. The smell of the room told me I wasn't home. I sifted through memories; nothing fit, nothing came up, but I was glad that I was in a place where the shades couldn't reach me. I dozed. In my fuzzy weariness I wondered why it was safe here. I knew it was safe, yet, I questioned. My curiosity forced me to understand even as my brain tried to convince me to sleep. I pulled at layers of consciousness, stepping from image to image: school, Dut, car, necklace. I opened my eyes to darkness.

"His Aunt's." I sat up. "They're coming." I ran toward the light in the kitchen. "Dut, they're coming!"

Dut jumped awake from the kitchen table. "What?" His arm swept a fork and knife to the floor and a dishtowel spread out flat near them. He looked passed the walls, then focused. "Matt?"

"Yeah, it's me." It was still daylight, but diming. Votive candles stretched a dotted line across the back door. "What are those?"

"Votive candles."

"Okay, what are they for?"

"My Aunt's a devout Catholic. I thought they might keep ghosts from getting in."