Death Watchers

Shadow Man

It wasn't until my fourteenth birthday that I saw him again.

We had held Mom's funeral a week after Clayton's birth, the entire family was devastated with the news. Clayton had cried the whole time but I hadn't. Mommy had been there with us, looking at everyone who had come and thanking them even though they couldn't hear her. Not like I could.

She would catch my eyes every now and then and give a tiny nod. I wondered what that meant.

Now, almost eleven years later, I wished she was still here. As I blew out my candles, Clayton and Dad clapped, Dad taking several pictures of me even though I was no longer smiling.

I had just started my menstrual cycles and I felt a little slow. The girls in my class said they had gotten theirs last year and I felt jealous, wanting to tell them my horror stories as well. Now that I had gotten it, I wished I could take it back and never have it at all. Mostly, I wished my mom was here.

Already, I've had (dead) people walking up to me asking for help, and I would talk to them. It was only at the end of the conversation I would see other people looking at me funny and I would look for the person only to realize they had gone.

It was the reason I had no friends. Dad said I would find someone eventually but even he didn't sound convinced. He reassured me by saying Mom was the same way when she was my age but even that ended up sounding flat. Clayton patted me awkwardly on the shoulder.

"So, Jocie, what piece do you want?" Dad asked, picking up the butter knife with a smile and effectively reminding me it was my birthday.

"The corner's fine, Dad," I said. "No need to keep asking me every year."

"All right, the corner it is! Plus, you get an extra scoop of ice cream because it's your birthday!" I could tell he was forcing out the excited tone, but it still made me smile at the effort.

"I want the middle middle," Clayton griped. "I hate the edge pieces and you always get the small cake where there's only enough for one middle piece."

"There's only three of us, Clay," I replied coldly. "It's not like we need a bigger cake. You just need to stop being so picky and be glad he doesn't get round cakes."

Dad grinned. "I'll start getting them round then."

Clayton groaned and accepted his piece of cake, scooping himself a giant spoonful of double chocolate mint ice cream. Dad glared at him but he just stuck out his tongue.

I slowly ate my cake, feeling something was amiss. The house didn't feel quite the same as it used to for the last decade. Something had settled here in the past week, and it didn't feel welcoming.

Pushing my plate aside, I said, "I'm feeling tired, Dad. Thanks for the birthday cake and ice cream. See you two tomorrow."

Clayton pounced, taking my ice cream before I had even stood up.

"Okay, Jocie," Dad replied, appearing concerned. "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head, knowing he wouldn't understand. He managed a small smile and wished me good night. I regretted going to my room the second I opened the door. It was cold—and when I say cold, I mean freezing. My breath puffed out in a plume and I immediately turned my light on. I jumped under my covers in the hopes of getting warm again when I realized my closet door was open.

I groaned, hating it when that happened, when I felt a cold draft coming from the open closet door. I shivered involuntarily.

"My sweet," a voice crooned, almost seductively, but sounding too creepy, "it is about time I find you again. I have been searching for many years."

I didn't want to look but I had to, like some force was making my eyes go to my closet. There, shrouded in the gray cloak I had seen him in eleven years ago, was the Shadow Man. His red eyes glared out at me despite the hood covering his face and his mouth was twisted into that grin I remembered.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, and pulled the covers up more. "What do you want?" I asked, my voice cracking.

He shook his head, the grin turning senile. "I think you already know the answer to that, sweet. I want you."

"Why?"

His laugh sounded like a choke. "For the same reason I wanted your mother, your grandmother, your great-grandmother, so on and so forth. Because," he paused, seeming like he was taking a breath, "you, dear Jocelynn Turner, can speak to me."

Oh God. The thing knew my name. My heart started slamming against my chest, fear fogging my mind. Was he going to take me now?

He took slow steps forward, the light flickering as he came out of the closet. "I have only met a few people who can speak to the dead in the many years I have existed and each time they slip between my fingers. But not this time, Jocelynn. This time, I will have a queen."

He was standing right next to my bed now, staring down at me. The light in my room was flickering like crazy, his cold radiating off of him and spreading throughout the room. When his hands reached out to touch me, I screamed.

Chairs scraped, footsteps ran down the stairs, and the Shadow Man let out a hiss before disappearing altogether. Dad and Clayton flew into my room, demanding to know what happened, but I couldn't speak. No words could describe the sheer terror I felt, lying in my bed with this creepy ghoul standing over me, telling me I was to be his queen.

"Jesus, Jocie, why is your room so cold?" Dad asked, rubbing his arms. "Are your windows open?" He looked at each one, ensuring they were safely closed.

Clayton looked confused. "Were you having a nightmare or something?"

I looked at my father and brother, standing protectively over me despite Clayton's age. I managed a brief smile before my body started trembling. Dad sat down on my bed and rubbed my arm, trying to console me. Clayton glanced around the room, looking for anything threatening that had caused me to scream.

After a while, Dad and Clayton left, turning the light off. I lay there, frozen with fear, silently begging one of them to come back and turn the light back on.

I didn't sleep that night at all. Every time I was nearly asleep, I would hear him again, telling me he was going to make me his queen, that he wouldn't let another one of us slip through his fingers. I shivered at the idea, horrified at what that entailed.

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