Shifter

Shifter

By John Sharp

Copyright 2015 John Ustaszewski

Editor Elizabeth Wiglesworth

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase a additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Ch 1 - The Mad Teenager

Ch 2 - Mother

Ch 3 - The Great Escape

Ch 4 - The Heist

Ch 5 - Dances With Watchers

Ch 6 - What Has Been Seen…

Ch 7 - The Unforeseen - Sarah’s Tale

Ch 8 - Getting Answers

Ch 9 - Shifters Inc

Ch 10 - Your Reality Or Mine?

Ch 11 - The Plan

Ch 12 - Into The Hive

Ch 13 - Surprise

Ch 14 - It’s A Trap!

Ch 15 - Brave New World

Ch 16 - The Dragon’s Graveyard

Ch17 - The Kiraten

Ch18- The City Of Babel

Ch19 - Judgment Of The Gods

Ch 20 - My Dream Girl

Ch21 - Stairway To Heaven

Ch22 - Its The End Of The World As You Know It

Ch23 - The Fallen Disciple

Epilogue - Its a Mad Mad World After All

Preview: Lilith Torrawind Saga Book I - Quest Of The Hellborne

Preview: Shifter Book II - The Corruption Within

Connect with John Sharp

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Scott Wiglesworth who believed in me, when I did not. I would also like to thank his daughter Liz who’s professional editing skills made this book a reality.

Shifter

Chapter 1 – The Mad Teenager

On October 18th at 12:30pm my neighbor, Mr. Sullivan, was discovered dead, and I was immediately sent into the Greenbroch Mental Institution …again. I can’t blame the police, not really. You find a grizzly crime scene and the local crazy boy is his neighbor. Crime solved. But the evidence will clear me in short order, if you consider a single severed foot evidence. I certainly don’t, but then again I’m mad, or so they tell me. I believe the term my doctor’s use is mentally unstable with an extreme case of schizophrenia and constant visual hallucinations. I’ve been on more medication than a life time drug addict, but nothing helps or even affects me. Everyone, and I mean everyone, thinks I’m utterly insane and some days I wonder if they aren’t right. When questioned by the police about the death I assured the good officers that I didn’t kill him but that he had been eaten by the wall. The conversation deteriorated from there.

I remember it vividly: Mr. Sullivan had just exited his apartment, the one adjacent to mine, wearing a rather heinous green Hawaiian shirt with pineapples all over it. A large sweaty man with a receding hairline, he had a belly that would make Santa jealous, and he avoids me like death itself. Most people do. Too bad this time it caused him to die…or it was the shirt? Anyways, that day he was edging along the far wall as I stared at him dispassionately. In all fairness I wasn’t looking at him but at the six inch pink elephant on his shoulder. I hadn’t seen one of those before. It was making cute trumpeting sounds as it danced around him in mid-air. Neat.

As he neared the exit for the stairwell a large face manifested out of the wall, grinning like a lunatic. This was not an uncommon occurrence for me. Often faces will appear out of structures or even roads and tell me what went on inside. But this time something was wrong. The face was immense, reaching from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. Large, fist sized teeth were visible in a mouth that was much too large, even for that face. Granite colored eyes stared at the approaching man, an eager, hungry expression dominating its features. I shouted a warning but all that did was make Mr. Sullivan turn directly toward his death. I don’t think he ever properly saw it, even as he was being eaten alive. A quick, startled scream and half of him was pulled into that mouth by a long thick black tongue the size of a python, wrapping around his feet and pulling him in. The first bite was the worst. Those teeth were not meant for piercing but for grinding. Sounds of shattering bones and urgent, pain-filled screams echoed in the narrow hall. He flailed uselessly, half of him already inside the mouth being steadily chewed and savored. Bloody hand prints decorated the wall at each wet slap of Mr. Sullivan’s hands like primitive cave paintings as he desperately tried to free himself. The smell of coppery blood quickly drove all else from my mind as I stood and watched, horrified. I wanted to help, but the blood told me it was too late, there was nothing I could do for him. Perhaps I should have ran but the sight of a two hundred fifty pound man being eaten like a tasty appetizer is one I don’t see often and a sick fascination held me in place. I did pale when the face’s cheeks puckered as it sucked off all the clothes and skin off the man like he was a piece of extra crispy KFC. Too bad the poor man was still alive when that happened. A few more bites and splashes of blood along with other fluids and it was over. With a final tug the rest of Mr. Sullivan disappeared into the mouth with all that remained was a single foot still in its expensive shoe that somehow fell out of the mouth during the meal along with a large puddle of blood.

So here I am two weeks later in a straight jacket, being drilled by a licensed medical professional who knows I’m a lost cause. I’ve been coming here on and off my entire life, ever since I could speak and reveal that I see disturbing things. In fact, I’ve spent more time here than at school or home. My mother doesn’t mind, it’s a relief to her when I’m away. She’s far more interested in her social life and keeping me away from any potential boyfriends before I can scare them away. My father disappeared shortly after my conception. I have no idea who he was or if he’s even still alive, and my mother never talks about him.

My attention comes back to the professionally dressed man in front of me as he starts up his line of questioning; the same repetitive questions they ask me every few days, expecting reason and logic to change my response.

How are you today Jerry? He asks, making small marks on his notepad.

Fine. A snug straight jacket always improves my self-esteem.

I would like to talk about what happened to your neighbor. He says in a dispassionate tone, dismissing anything I might say.

I was watching the pink elephant dancing around Mr. Sullivan’s head when the wall ate him like a slim jim.

Uh huh, he replies, making more notes. He continues like he hears that every day, and perhaps he does. Maybe there are no crazies in the world, just people who see things like I do. Did anyone else see this happen?

Just my shadow. I reply, looking over his shoulder at my shadow, who leans against the corner wall smiling wickedly at me. It’s odd how no one notices I don’t have a shadow like they do. They explain this away by the angle of lights or conflicting shadows around them. The simple truth is that my shadow isn’t attached to me and can go where he wishes, but he never travels too far.

You should just kill him and leave. I’m bored, my shadow says, glaring at the man in front of him. My shadow always suggests violence and dark deeds, like my own personal devil following me around.

Relax, we’ll leave soon enough, I say over the doctor’s shoulder. He instinctively turns around, looking to see who I am talking to. A slight frown crosses his face as he notices the extra darkness in the corner. Turning back to me, he takes off his thick rimmed spectacles, wiping them on his shirt and dismissing the strange phenomenon like everyone else does.

He gives me a patronizing smile and says, Its ok Jerry, no one is there. He gestures toward a large mirror so I could see that we are alone, but of course I see things differently. I pause, studying my reflection. I have reddish-brown hair that could be best described as a burnished copper. My odd hair color is offset by my vivid, forest green eyes which are more cat-like than human with slit pupils. I was told it was some kind of genetic defect. With the complexion of a lifetime heroin addict, I have large, purple bags under my eyes and a wiry frame. I don’t do drugs of course; I’m already crazy enough. I also don’t tolerate patronizing assholes like the doctor here.

I decide that I’ve been here long enough to satisfy any law enforcement and that it’s time to go home. I really want to see Whisper, my best friend. I’ve had plenty of practice getting out of these places. I’m sure I can be back on the streets in an hour.

But doctor, there is someone there and he’s getting anxious that I’m still stuck here when the police have no proof that I did anything. If he gets annoyed things might start happening. The doctor gives me a wary look. There are a lot of not-so-nice rumors floating around about me. Of course, I didn’t do any of the things they think I’ve done, but then again, I didn’t have too. Madness can be rather infectious.

Now Jerry, I want to finish my examination and file my report. You can stay here for a few more days. For your own safety, of course, the doctor says, making a few more marks on his clip board. Focusing my gaze directly on my shadow still lounging in the corner, I deliberately squeeze both of my eyes tightly shut. He grins. This is our agreed upon signal for him to screw around as much as he wants. He slides along the wall to his left, as if light was shifting away from the door, casting the room into unearthly dark shadows and he flicks off the lights.

Startled the doctor looks up at the door. The light switch is far away from me, now bathed in a soft red light by the always present dim emergency lights. Confused, he stands up to turn the lights back on when my shadow does it for him.

Holy shit! He cries out, backing away from the table.

Smiling like a loon, I say, Don’t worry doctor, it’s only my shadow. It happens all the time. You’re just as sane as I am. I don’t think that comforts him. The lights flick on and off several more times as the frightened man watches, not believing his own eyes. With a final act of mischief the doctor’s clip board spontaneously flies off the table. He’s finally had enough.

Thirty minutes later I stroll toward the security desk with the doctor whose name I never bothered learning. My ever present shadow trails behind us, poking at the doctor’s inanimate shadow. Stopping at the front desk my doctor holds out a clip board with an unsteady hand to the guard, safe behind a metal cage.

What? He’s being discharged? The guard asks, blinking in disbelief.

I finished my examination. He’s no danger to himself or others. The doctor says in a shaky voice. The police can question him at home if they need too. I don’t need to see him again. He’s very careful not to look at me.

You ok, doc? Did the kid do something to you? The guard asks, cracking his knuckles.

I didn’t do anything. It was just my shadow, I reply. My shadow lets out a deep, evil laugh; the kind of laugh that raises your hackles. It affects the men too. Although they can’t hear it, the sheer malevolence is heavy in the air.

The doctor shudders. We can’t help him here. Send him home! Without waiting for a reply, he turns and does a stiff, fast walk away, obviously resisting the urge to run.

Grumbling, the guard comes forward and unlocks the door. With an impatient gesture, he signals me forward and helps me out of my straight jacket.

****

That was fun, my shadow says, blending into the various shades of darkness around me as I exit the asylum. I smile but don’t respond. Although annoying, my shadow can be helpful if it suits him, or if he’s bored. Only partially existing on this plane of reality, like myself, he can manipulate a few small objects before tiring. More often than not he will just ignore me and do whatever he wants.

I really wish I could drive, but despite being seventeen and passing every test they throw at me, the state simply won’t allow a person with my mental condition to drive. They are probably afraid that I’ll see a large bug or something and swerve into an oncoming car. A valid concern. Well, at least there is plenty of entertainment as I walk home.

As I continue a terrified orange and white puff ball zooms past me as my shadow chases a cat up a large willow tree. Bad choice there, kitty. A rough patch of bark rapidly moves on the trunk, intercepting the cat. With the speed of a mongoose the cat is sucked into the tree, leaving only enough time for a quick yowl of pain and a single tuft of orange fur floating in the wind. My shadow finds the cat’s death hilarious, laughing as the tree belches. I give the tree a wide birth.

A rumbling fills the street as a horde of creatures pursue a large stick like man who stands nearly ten feet tall, yet is skinnier than I am. Naked with strangely long limbs and no outward signs of gender, it races down the street with long frantic strides, trying to escape its pursuers. The creatures chasing him are ones I’ve seen before, lots in times in fact. They seem to be prodigious hunters in one of the other worlds. Moving more swiftly than most natural land animals, they have four strong legs, allowing incredible bursts of speed as they weave in and out of obstacles in the other world, cutting off the stick man’s escape routes. They have a large upraised hump of tan, hairless flesh on their backs like an immense shark fin that wobbles slightly as they run. It appears to be more cartilage than bone, with hundreds of gold rimmed eyes along its surface. This must give them a complete field of vision and from the speed that those eyes dart around they must be excellent at tracking prey. Covered in soft gray fur, except the ridge on their backs they have no eyes on their bony heads, but who needs them when your back is covered in them? But they do have large mouths filled with several rows of sharp, hook-like teeth, more for seizing prey than scissoring flesh. These vicious traits are offset by the long, fluffy gray squirrel tail each of them have. I call them watchers.

I watch as they speed past me, moving through cars and trees like they aren’t even there. Luckily for me they don’t exist on my plane of reality but somewhere else altogether, in a secret place I can see partially into. They do avoid the willow tree though, it must exist both here and there.

Having closed the distance between them and the stick man, the nearest one leaps in a single great bound, its neck and head snaps out and clamps onto the man’s leg. With a guttural cry of pain the stick man falls to his knees and is quickly covered in watchers. Vicious sounds of tearing flesh and splashes of crimson blood dominate the scene. The stick man is dead within seconds. Only the feasting remains, their tails swishing in excitement. I just keep on walking and try not to think about it. I’ve seen the show before.

As I start to move away something new happens as one of the Watchers pauses, looking directly at me. I can sense a change as a vast intelligence fills its features, like a vicious dog spontaneously developing Einstein’s IQ. I freeze …Can it see me?

I’m usually invisible to creatures so far removed from my reality. They shouldn’t be aware of me at all. It takes a single step toward me and I feel real fear for the first time. What is going on?

My shadow suddenly rears up behind the looming watcher, smothering it like an inky blanket woven from the darkness of the void. A few frantic struggles and then my shadow stands upright. The watcher is simply gone, as if it had never been there. Growling, the other watchers regard my shadow warily, and back away slowly, their eyes darting around as if unsure of what to do. With a lunge my shadow covers two more watchers in his darkness and the others flee. Well, that was new. I’ve never seen my shadow kill before. I’ll have to ask him about it later.

I make it home by six and my mom is still out; getting wasted, no doubt. I walk in the door and am immediately bombarded by a rancid odor. It smells like the aftermath of an all-night kegger. House cleaning has never been high on my mother’s to-do list, but this is bad even for her. The entire place, minus my bedroom, looks like a dumping ground. Empty pizza boxes and crumpled beer cans litter the floor and I have a hard time not stepping in anything sticky. The only thing not covered in garbage is the worn cloth couch and that has other unmentionables on it. Stains of various bodily fluids decorate the entire surface like a Jackson Pollack painting.

My stomach grumbling, I carefully wade through the debris to the refrigerator hoping to find something edible. Small chance of that, but miracles do happen. A large, freshly-dried puddle of vomit is in front of the stove. Chunks of partially digested food could be seen and it reminded me of spilled split pea soup. Strangely it looks like someone had dug through it to collect certain pieces. Was it Whisper?

At that moment Whisper comes trotting up to me, a large struggling cockroach clamped in his mouth. Whisper is a pure white ferret, sleek and beautiful. He’s the size of a large cat and has startling deep blue eyes. Crunching down on the bug Whisper drops it at my feet, his long whiskers twitching as he pushes the bug toward me with his small pink nose and then rubs against my leg.

Welcome home, Shifter. I have tried to keep the vermin at bay in your absence, Whisper says in a soft, purring tone. He’s always called me that, ever since I rescued him.

Two years ago I was walking home from school and I stumbled across a ghastly sight. A massive white ferret, easily the size of a fully loaded semi truck was being swarmed by a group of watchers. Its bright, snow white fur was stained with crimson in at least a dozen different spots as it continued to fend off the pack. Curling in on himself the ferret lashed out with lighting quick strikes to any watcher that was too slow to evade. Yet for every watcher killed another one took its place, taking bites out of the ferret. Chewing on their bits of stolen flesh, blood soaking into the gray fur around their mouths they circled around the ferret looking for another tasty bite.

Even as I watched, the ferret’s movements became slower as it grew weaker from blood loss and pain. My shadow was content to watch, laughing and clapping at every new splash of blood and growl of pain. Saddened by this beautiful creature’s impending demise, I strode through the watchers, who didn’t even feel my passage, laying my hand on the ferret’s bloody flank. The act was instinctive with no real thought on my part. At first I was surprised that my hand didn’t just pass through the ferret since he was so far into that other world, but I could feel his soft fur beneath my palm. As the watchers closed in for the kill, I tried something I’ve never attempted before. Getting an iron grip on his fur, I pulled him. I didn’t physically pull him like pulling a child out of harm’s way, instead I dragged him across realities. It took less than a second for me to drag the ferret from his reality into mine and as I did so he changed. Instead of a dying massive white ferret that easily outweighed me by several tons, I held a small cat size ferret dying in my arms. The watchers snarled and snapped at each other, confused about where the big ass dying ferret went.

I took him to a nearby vet, which refused to help until I reminded them who I was. They rightly decided that treating a ferret was better than dealing with the local nut job. All patched up they told me to take my rodent and get the hell out. Over the next few weeks I nursed him back to health and named him Whisper. My shadow wanted to flush him down the toilet or stick in him in the microwave, but I decided to keep him as a pet. After several weeks of nonstop chitterling from Whisper, I thought he might be trying to communicate, but I had completely pulled him into human reality so his abilities were limited, like my shadow. Experimenting I pushed him slightly out of sync with the human world, more to my level of reality. To my surprise he really could talk! He was still close enough to the human world for everyone to see but only I could hear him. Everyone thought he was just a dumb animal instead of becoming my only friend.

The encounter with Whisper taught me much about the other world and mine. I envision the world of humans as the surface of a vast, endless ocean. The other worlds are distinct, yet intertwined levels going all the way down to the sea floor. I stand ankle deep in the water while the rest of mankind walks on the surface without even getting their shoes wet. Those on the surface have no idea that there are hidden depths just below their feet. Those below are just as oblivious to the existence of humans, except for a few that exist across multiple worlds like that murderous willow tree. Some can even shift through the worlds, staying for a brief time in different realities like the face that ate my neighbor. I seem to be able to permanently bring others across like Whisper, and stabilize them in any level of reality I wish. I’m guessing that’s why Whisper calls me Shifter.

How nice, says my shadow, melding into the dark areas around us so even I can’t locate him. Tell me rat, did you chase down that fearsome beast before or after you spent all day licking your balls?

Silence, corrupt shade of a horse’s ass! I need no lecture form the likes of you! Whisper hisses back.

I smile. My shadow and Whisper often get into some really amusing slang matches. My smile fades as I look down at the puddle of vomit again.

Whisper, did you eat something from this? I ask, gesturing toward the puddle. Although intelligent, he still retains some animal behavior, and he looks malnourished.

My shadow cackles, Yes rat, perhaps as an after afternoon snack? Did all those bugs make you thirsty? Did you drink from the toilet as well?

We both ignore my shadow. No Shifter, it was your mother.

What happened? I ask.

More annoying men came about the dead man and you. So she rushed in here and took a bag full of round bugs and swallowed them all. After they left she brought them back up and collected them, Whisper says, obviously confused by this strange behavior. No doubt the bugs he is referring to were some type of drug. She has been taking some hard-core street drugs for a while now. I really need to leave this place.

Scooping up Whisper I place him on my shoulder. He curls around my neck nuzzling his face against mine, his soft fur giving me comfort. Grabbing a jar of pickles and some sandwich meat I head to my room, locking the door behind me. My shadow follows us in, sliding under the door like insubstantial nothingness. My room, unlike the rest of the apartment, is spotlessly clean. Perhaps in some strange type of rebellion I feel the need to keep my living area pristine since I spend so much time in here. The walls are covered in posters from all my favorite bands ranging from Metallica to the Beatles. I love all music. The only spot with nothing on it is the white ceiling, and even then, model airplanes and a reconstruction of the solar system dangle above me. I have a small, single bed in the corner and a computer desk with an old but functional laptop on it. Connected to the computer is an equally old stereo system to play my music. Besides the enjoyment I get from it, it also helps to drown out my mother’s less savory activities. A single worn dresser near the door along with a closet filled with various trinkets comprises my worldly belongings.

Flopping down on the bed I open the package of meat, giving the first slice to Whisper. No doubt this is the best meal he has had since I was taken. Tomorrow is Saturday it might be nice to take him to the park. That thought reminds me of the walk home. What about those watchers? And more importantly, what about my shadow?

Looking for him I find him on the ceiling, hiding in the shadow of the planets above. I am about to ask him about the watchers, when a loud bang interrupts my thought process. Jerry! Get out here you crazy little shit!

Oh great, Mother is home.

Chapter 2 – Mother

Dreading the coming encounter, I scoop up Whisper and place him on my shoulder once more. I briefly consider pretending I’m not home, but my closed door is an obvious sign to the contrary. Opening it I confront my mother. The feeling of a western showdown fills me rather than a tender reuniting with my mother after two weeks apart. She stands before me, an island of misery in a sea of garbage, with a look of utter loathing dominating her features. The look is one she keeps in reserve just for me. In her late-thirties she could easily pass for fifty, with thinning, straw blonde hair and a layer of belly fat from her drug habit and her waning career. If you even consider prostitution a career. In my youth she called them her ‘boyfriends.’ She still does, in fact. But back then my shadow found that hilarious and I was too innocent at the time to understand. Any innocence I had was lost long ago. Now looking at her I feel both disgusted and sad, like great potential was thrown away for a moment’s pleasure. The funny thing is that she feels the same way. She often blames me and my birth as the event of her life that sent her into ruination. Whisper shows me more love than the used woman in front of me ever has.

She takes two stumbling steps forward, kicking off her high heels. Wearing tight clothes that might look attractive on a slim twenty-something, she staggers closer to me, reeking of alcohol. She looks awful, the worst I’ve ever seen her and it wasn’t just the state of her dress. Torn leggings coated with stains that I’d rather remain ignorant of led up to a way too short black miniskirt. It’s the kind of skirt that you don’t even have to move to get busy. Blue veins crisscrossed up her legs, looking like fat worms just beneath her sickly pale skin. Squeezed into a white t-shirt that would take a surgical team to get off, her sagging breasts are forced into something that resembles their original shape. The shirt has pink letters on it spelling the word JUICY. I can’t imagine anything less appealing. With plenty of wrinkles and prodigious crow’s feet she looks like life had flushed her far too many times. Deep black and blue bags hang beneath her light blue eyes, just above narrow, dry lips coated in far too much red lipstick. She carries a large black purse that seems stuffed full, making it ready to burst at its seams. Every time I see her I just feel an empty pit in my stomach. I often wonder why I can’t have a mother who loves me. Such a simple thing, one that many have and take for granted, yet I desired it more than a mountain of gold.

It takes her an abnormally long time to focus on me. Finally, her eyes rest on me. Immediately, an angry expression crosses her face, like I had just done called her a filthy name.

You crazy little shit! She screams. Why did you have to go bring the cops here, you fucking bastard? I had to hide my stash.

I say nothing as Whisper hisses angrily at her. The sudden sound draws her attention and she squints, furrowing her brow in concentration. Just how wasted is she? Seconds pass and at last her eyes narrow in recognition.

I thought I told you to get rid of that rat, she says, stumbling a bit and tossing her purse on the couch. It lands with a solid thunk.

It’s not a rat, I say calmly. It’s a ferret and he’s my friend.

It’s a rat, you crazy little shit! Throw the fucking thing out the window! She demands and I bite back a harsh reply. There is no talking to her when she’s like this. My shadow, who must have followed me out, laughs at her idea and urges me to obey. I continue to ignore him.

Just how stoned are you? I ask in a quiet tone, fearing the answer.

Shut up, you crazy little shit, she slurs. I got a sweet gig going and I don’t want you messing things up. As she says this, a well-dressed man strolls through the still open door, holding a professional black briefcase. It’s the kind of accessory one would expect from an expensive lawyer, and thus looks distinctly out of place in the trash heap that is my home. The man wears a cheap suit that nonetheless looks good, with a gun holster openly on display. He has broad shoulders with a large, clean-shaven head, marked by an interlinked series of bright red tattoos starting at his temple and running down to his chin. To complete the look he has dark unfriendly eyes; killer’s eyes. Wordlessly he hands the briefcase over to my mother, who clutches it to her chest as if it were her child instead of me.

Is he going to be a problem? He says, gesturing toward me.

No, declares my mother, disregarding my existence altogether with practiced ease. He’s just a crazy little shit. I’ll complete the deal tomorrow.

Fine, he says, turning to go. Suddenly he stops in the doorway and looks back, regarding my mother closely. Don’t use it.

An angry, red flush fills my mother’s face but her tone remains respectful and even a little scared. I won’t, and I know in that moment she most definitely will. With a nod that promised terrible things he leaves our messy home, closing the door behind him. The loud click reverberates in the silence as the latch slides into position like a coffin lid sealing. How bad is this going to be?

Go to your room, you creepy little shit. And stay out of my way, mother says, looking greedily down at the briefcase. I wish the abortion had worked on you. The last part was a mutter but she always says it just loud enough for me to hear. I go. She once told me in an alcoholic fit that she kept trying to abort me early on. Yet for some odd reason nothing she tried worked. She cursed me, saying that I planned to destroy her life even then.

Returning to the sanctity of my room, I lock the door and move my dresser in front of it. I’ve found that securing my room is the best practice when this type of thing happens. Jumping off my shoulder Whisper lands on the dresser, glaring at the door toward the person still muttering on the other side.

I don’t like her, Shifter. She doesn’t treat you well, Whisper says. We should leave here soon. She smells of sickness and of corruption. I’m tired of hiding from her when you aren’t around.

Privately I agree with him but I want to finish school up first and find a job. With my reputation and medical history it will be tricky to get someone to hire me. I might have to move away and lie on any application just to stand a chance.

We’ll leave soon, I assure him. Just two more months and I’ll graduate high school. Despite all my absences from school I’ve managed to pass every test and do enough make up work to graduate on time. It wasn’t easy but once I am gone from here it will be worth it.

School is boring, my shadow says, resting on the ceiling once again. Let’s just take what we want. No one could stop us. Perhaps we could sell the talking rat.

Mindless spawn of a worm’s ass! Hisses Whisper, craning his neck to look at my shadow.

Flea infested, inbred cousin of a weasel and naked mole rat, my shadow laughs as Whisper bobs his head up and down in rage. Being reduced to chitterling madness, Whisper leaps off the dresser onto my bed. He bounces up and down, trying hopelessly to reach the ceiling and his tormentor. My shadow just laughs at him, throwing bits of the flaking ceiling in his general direction. Despite the noise they are making it does make me feel a bit better. Funny how these two give me more comfort than my own mother ever has.

Sitting down at the computer, I fire it up to browse my music list. Feeling the need for some culture I find a folder of Mozart and load it into my media player. Just in time too. As the first note plays my mother’s company arrives. Whenever she gets a large stash of drugs she invariabley invites a lot of her fellow consumers over. For most of the night they will party, getting so high they will be in danger of bumping into satellites. Sure enough, even over the sound of my music I hear them digging in. It’s going to be a long night. I just hope that she doesn’t go through too much of the goods and gets killed for it. Despite everything she’s done, she is still my mother and that bond isn’t easily discarded… at least not for me.

With Whisper curled up on my pillow and my shadow lingering in the darkness above, I lie on my bed trying to ignore the sounds leaking into my room over roar of my music. Feeling sad and dejected I pull Whisper closer to me, snuggling into his fur. He doesn’t smell musky like most ferrets do. Instead he has an odor of warmth and love, like fresh bread still warm from the oven and dew in the morning. Finally, in the early morning I manage to fall asleep.

A loud shriek of pain wakes me up less than an hour later. My head is pounding with a headache and at first I think the cry of pain is my own. A loud thump against the wall and a fresh cry of pain brings me to full wakefulness. Sitting bolt upright in my bed I stare at the door, listening intently. My music must have exhausted its playlist because all I hear is an odd creaking as someone moves in the outer room. Usually by this time I would find a large group of semi-naked people strewn throughout the apartment, but this is something else, something ominous. The world feels wrong… distorted, as if realty were collapsing. I immediately feel nauseated.

Raising his furry white head, Whisper sniffs the air, his soft pink tongue darting back and forth. Shifter, I smell blood. Lots of blood.

Oh? My shadow says, raising himself out of the ceiling. Finally things are getting interesting.

Sliding toward the door, my shadow exits my bedroom between the door and its frame. A few seconds pass and I am debating on calling out to him when I hear his diabolical laughter ringing out in large, uncontrolled gusts. My heart sinks. Anything that amuses my shadow that much is bad, very bad. One time he described a fatal automobile accidently as a most excellent physics demonstration. I throw back the covers, silently getting out of bed. Moving on stealthy feet I slowly creep to the door with Whisper on my heels. Since my dresser still blocks the door, I lean my head against the wall trying to hear something besides my shadow. I think I hear a chewing sound, like a dog with a raw steak. Suddenly a low, inhuman growl echoes in the room, sending a chill down my spine. Needing to see what’s happening I grab both sides of my dresser, trying to silently move it just enough to peer out.

No such luck. A raw scraping sound echoes in the silence. I curse softly as all noise abruptly ceases in the other room. Silence fills the air, thick and stifling. Unable to think of what else to do I open my door a crack, all that is allowed by my dresser, scanning the room beyond. I have a hard time seeing anything. All the lights have been extinguished and the thick, black curtains are drawn, keeping out the predawn light. Squinting, I lean even closer to the crack, trying to see anything. Suddenly a bloody, unrecognizable face fills my vision, nearly close enough to give me a kiss. Falling backwards, I land painfully on my ass but my eyes never leave that terrifying visage peering through the narrow opening. Even as it looks at me, I try to convince myself that I’m not really seeing it, something like can’t be here in my world. With a cry of hunger worthy of a starving rat the face withdraws. For a heartbeat I allow myself the delusion that it is gone and that I am safe. How childish of me.

A powerful blow slams up against my door, fracturing wood and nearly toppling the dresser over. Rushing forward I pressed my back against the dresser, pushing for all I am worth. Another blow hits, jostling me as the unknown entity tries to force its way in. Whisper runs in a frightened circle, unable to do anything to help. I am rocked forward a second time as the thing on the other side crashes powerfully against the door. I know I can’t hold on much longer. Either the door will give way or I will.

Whisper, get my gun! I yell over the noise of the creature’s howls and splintering wood. I have a small pistol I managed to steal awhile back from one of my mom’s boyfriends. I keep it well hidden along with a box of ammo, just in case.

Yes, Shifter, Whisper says, sprinting to my open closet, his tail swishing back and forth as he digs through my meager belongings. Digging my heels in, I brace the door as best as I can. The next hit lands, sending my top drawer flying out, smacking my head. Underwear and socks spill around me as I throw the drawer aside, ignoring the pain. Whisper pulls my gun out of the closet and runs it over to me. I keep a fully loaded clip taped to the side of the gun for emergencies.

Another crash against the door nearly throws me out of the way as the wood above me splinters. Debris and a few drops of blood rain down on my head as I hear a frantic scrabbling. Ripping the tape off the clip I slam it home and load a round in into the chamber. The cool metal and heavy weight in my hand is a reassuring presence, steadying my nerves. The scraping above me vanishes and I imagine the unknown creature backing up to get another running start. Instead of bracing the door I scramble to my feet, jumping on my bed. I level the gun at the door, waiting. My heart thuds so loudly that I am certain it will give my position away.

Whisper, get behind me. If anything happens to me, I want you to run, I say softly, waiting for the door to explode. I swallow with difficulty.

Before Whisper can reply the door bursts open in a shower of wood fragments, the dresser crashing to the floor. I search for my target in the doorway only to find the creature stuck part-way through with only its head and left arm inside the room. It is hard to tell who or what it is. It has eyes that are far too large and completely black, lifeless. Its nose recedes up into its skull leaving two small holes that whistle loudly with each breath. The creature’s blank eyes travel quickly around the room, resting on me. It opens its impossibly wide mouth to reveal jagged, broken teeth with bits of red gore wedged between them. I can tell it’s wearing some type of clothes but they are covered in so much blood that they are unrecognizable. A three-fingered, boney claw swipes back and forth in the air trying to reach me. It makes no move to shift the debris out of its path, it just reaches blindly toward me, mewling hungrily. Taking steady aim I pull the trigger. The gun jerks in my hand as a loud bang thunders in my ears. The kickback knocks me down, but glancing up I see that my shot had penetrated the thing’s skull, splattering the surrounding area with chunks of brain and bone.

Staggering backwards with blood gushing from the open wound, the creature collapses in the doorway with a resounding thud. The rancid smell of hot smoke quickly fills my room and my ears ring from the shot as I slowly get to my feet.

What marvelous fun! My shadow declares as he re-enters my room, looking down at the body.

Fun? Whisper says angrily. What if it had killed Shifter?

My shadow shrugs as if he doesn’t care the least bit and he probably doesn’t. Then I might finally be free to go where I please.

Or you might vanish as if you never been, counters Whisper. This give my shadow pause. He has obviously never considered the possibility and looks alarmed at the prospect.

I begin to lay the gun down on my bed when my shadow speaks again. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. There is another one out there. It’s preoccupied with feeding at the moment.

I freeze. Another one? I am already starting to tremble all over and there’s another one out there! Taking another difficult swallow I edge closer to the door, a death grip on my gun. Sure enough, I hear furious chewing and tearing sounds despite the ringing in my ears. Feeling the distinct need to relieve my bladder I peer through