Shadows: The Stray

I

James saw it for the first time on the evening of March 7th, 2003.

It was a chilly night. He had just finished his forty-minute commute from work and pulled into his driveway. He turned off the ignition, grabbed his briefcase, stepped out and locked the car, then started for the front door of his house. He had done that sequence of actions thousands of times before and had never given it a second thought.

But on that night, something made him stop in his tracks.

He sensed something was off seconds before he noticed that one of the trash bins was tipped over and had spilled several trash bags onto the lawn. Some of them had been ripped open, their contents picked at. The wind couldn’t have tipped that thing over, and neither could a small animal. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his muscles tensed. He had the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

He inched towards the front door while looking around, all the while feeling like something was right behind him. The only illumination he had to go on was the faint moonlight and the light seeping out from the living room windows. But the eyes caught the light just so, and their glimmer shone to him like a beacon in that darkness.

Those eyes!

They stared at him from the neighbor’s bushes. He squinted, trying to discern what they belonged to, but the darkness and distance made it hard to tell. They were dark but shone with a lavender tint, like a purple orb drowning in an abyss. They clearly didn’t belong to any animal he was familiar with, but he somehow knew there was some kind of intelligence in them for they seemed almost curious as they peered at him. And yet beneath the curiosity he sensed repressed hostility, like a coiled serpent prepared to strike at a moment’s notice, if it so wished.

Suddenly, with very little sound, the eyes were gone. The bushes had rustled as the thing moved away, and the degree to which they rustled told him it was larger than any ordinary dog.

Shaken, he entered his home.

—

“Welcome home, honey,” Mary called out as she came to greet him at the door. She was smiling until she moved close to kiss him and saw the expression on his face. “Honey, what’s the matter? You look pale.”

“Yeah, I saw something out there. By the bushes.”

“Saw what?”

“I… I don’t know, it was like a dog or something, I guess. But it looked big.”

“A stray?” Mary asked. “I haven’t seen any posters around the neighborhood. Maybe we should call animal services and let them know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

—

Mary let the town’s animal services know the very next day, but in the following weeks not a single person in the neighborhood reported seeing the mysterious stray.

Mary suggested to James that it had migrated to a different area, or that it had actually just been someone’s wandering cat, and that he shouldn’t worry about it. He knew she was probably right, and yet he couldn’t get the encounter out of his mind. Those eyes haunted him. He even had a nightmare where an overgrown pit bull leaped out of the bush and attacked him after he arrived home from work one night, and he woke up screaming.

From that point forward, he stopped parking outside of the garage.

II

The second time James saw it was a little over a month later, on the evening of April 13th.

He came out of the house holding two trash bags, which he deposited inside the trash bin in the driveway. He looked up at the cloudless sky and took a moment to just enjoy a breath of fresh air and the clear view of the stars.

He heard a soft pat a little ways off which made him look down, and then there it was, standing in the middle of the street, looking at him. He knew at once that it was the same creature that had stared at him from the bushes. Despite the light from the nearby streetlights, it was like the thing had a coat of dripping shadow around it. He could discern its silhouette and the almost translucent nature of its fur. More immediately disturbing was that as far as he knew, animals of this kind should only have 4 limbs!

His legs felt rooted to the ground for interminable seconds. Icy cold fear dripped down his spine. He felt the urge to scream, but couldn’t open his mouth.

The creature took a step forward, and that broke the spell. James turned and sprinted to the front door, bursting through and slamming the door shut behind him. He locked the door and barricaded it with a chair from the living room.

Mary, hearing the noise, emerged from the kitchen.

“James, what’s wrong?”

“I saw it again!” James said, sneaking a peek from the edges of the curtains, “Jesus, it was right there.”

“You saw what again? The stray?”

“Yeah, the stray, but it’s not a dog. Definitely not a dog.”

“What is it, then?” Mary asked, stepping forward and pulling the curtains aside. After a few moments, she said: “I don’t see anything.”

James was still pale when Mary turned away from the window. Smiling, she walked forward and massaged his shoulders.

“Honey, you’re getting too worked up over this.”

Her smile faded when James shook his head and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“You didn’t see it,” he whispered. His pupils were dilated. “It was like—like a living shadow or something. Had things coming out of its back— It was terrifying, Mary!”

“James, calm down,” Mary said. “It’s just an animal. It can’t hurt us, okay? If it looked rabid, then I can contact animal services again and let them know so—”

“Yeah, right,” James said with a scoff, shaking his head. “A lot of good that did last time! They probably won’t even find it again.”

“Honey, you’re overreacting. It’s just an animal.”

“It’s not,” James said, “and I’ll prove it to you.”

—

James took shooting lessons, got a license, and bought a gun. Mary wasn’t thrilled with the whole thing, but it seemed to bring him a measure of calm so she accepted it.

It became a habit of his to spend hours on the roof of the house, gun in one hand and binoculars in the other, waiting for another sighting of the creature. Eventually, a beer bottle began to take the binocular’s place. Then, as the weeks went on with no sight of the creature, James began to take long walks around the neighborhood, with the gun tucked in his belt. ‘Doing my part for the neighborhood watch,’ he would tell Mary.

There were two things that nagged at him.

First, why did the creature show up again after a whole month? If it was truly a random stray animal, or even a stray monster, why did it come back? Why didn’t it just move on to somewhere else?

Second, why couldn’t he get it out of his mind? He just couldn’t erase the image of those eyes, that shadowy silhouette. And did it, perhaps, have to do with why it came back? Did it know something about him? Did they share some kind of bond?

The nights on which he pondered these questions more deeply tended to be the nights on which he made his rounds with a beer in hand.

—

One night at the dinner table, Mary looked over at James and said: “James, Angela and Robert invited us over for dinner this weekend.”

Barely looking up from his plate, James shrugged.

“I can’t, Mary. You know that.”

Mary frowned. “Honey, this obsession of yours is consuming you.”

“It’s going to show up again,” he said, “and when it does, I’m putting it down.”

Mary reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

“James, listen to yourself,” she said. “You sound like a vigilante from a movie. I’m afraid you’re going to get yourself hurt, or into trouble.”

“Mary, you didn’t see what I saw. That thing is a monster. I’m just trying to keep us safe.”

“And what about keeping us happy? It feels like I never see you anymore.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, “I’m home all the time. We see each other every day.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like you’re present.”

James sighed, shaking his head. “Just let me catch it. It’ll all be over when I catch it, then we can go back to normal. Okay?”

Mary took her fork and knife in hand again but found she had lost her appetite, and so just idly moved her food around her plate as James ate in silence. When he was finished eating and about to get up, she finally spoke again.

“James,” she started hesitantly, “you told me once that you used to see things when you were a kid—”

“This is not the same thing, damn it! I know what I saw!”

“Please don’t yell. I’m just thinking that, I don’t know, maybe you were tired and stressed out and—”

“I’m done talking about this, Mary.”

James got up, roughly shoving the chair back. He deposited the dishes in the dishwasher and stormed upstairs. Mary sighed, covering her face with her hands.

III

James saw it for the third and last time on May 23rd.

He was finishing one of his rounds around the neighborhood. He had just turned onto his street and begun walking back to his home when he saw a shadowy form dash across the street towards his driveway. A second later he heard a wooden gate slam in the distance.

His hand immediately flew to the gun at his belt. With his heart thundering in his chest, he hurried forward. He knew he shouldn’t make too much noise to not risk scaring it off, but after such a long time stalking this thing, his eagerness overrode his caution.

When he reached his driveway, he saw that the gate leading to the backyard was ajar. The thing was only locked with a simple latch and there was no reason for it to be open at this time. The thing had bashed its way through.

James drew out the gun and held it firmly in his hands. He thought back to the shooting instruction classes he’d taken. Just in case, he checked that the magazine was in and the safety was off. Drops of sweat were already rolling down his face.

With slow steps, he advanced towards the backyard. The wooden gate creaked as he gently pushed it open with his foot. There was light coming from the windows of the house, enough to see any potential nightmare creatures, but the narrow corridor between his house and the neighbor’s fence was empty.

He moved towards the backyard proper. As soon as he cleared the corner, he could feel those eyes on him. It took him just a moment to locate them, as like the first time they seemed to shine at him from the darkness. The thing was crouched in the far corner of the backyard, with its back against the fence. He had long since ripped out all the shrubbery in his backyard to leave the thing nowhere to hide in just such an occasion. And yet it was if it didn’t need a hiding place. It seemed to be made of darkness itself.

James could feel his hands shaking and tried to steady them. He was sure the thing saw him, and that it knew he saw it. Stealth wasn’t an option.

Summoning courage he’d never been quite sure he had, James moved forward for a better angle. Perhaps sensing his intention, the thing charged at him. James brought up his gun and fired. Despite having fired a gun before, the loudness of it still surprised him, but adrenaline and fear made him press the trigger over and over until he was sure the thing had stopped moving.

His ears were ringing and his hand ached, but none of that mattered. The thing was still. Those terrible eyes were closed for good. He walked over, and though the sight of it filled him with revulsion, he forced himself to bend down and hoist the still-warm body into his arms.

He carried the thing into the house. The dark blood covered his arms and stained his shirt and dripped on the carpet, but he didn’t care. He marched into the kitchen and plopped the thing onto the kitchen table. Then he took a step back and bellowed Mary’s name.

—

Mary had almost dropped her book when she’d heard the shots. At first, she wasn’t sure what to make of them, but then she remembered that James always had that gun on him. Trembling, the woman got off the bed and walked over to the window just in time to see James heading back into the house.

“Mary!”

She slipped into her sandals and headed downstairs, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. Reaching the bottom she noticed that James had left the back door open, and she gasped and covered her mouth when she saw what looked to be drops of blood on the carpet.

“James?” Her voice quivered.

“I’m in the kitchen.”

With slow steps she turned the corner into the kitchen. Her eyes widened in horror.

“This!” James said, pointing to the table. He was smirking. “This is what I told you about. See? Right here. I wasn’t lying.”

Mary slowly shook her head, searching for words. She felt nauseous.

“James,” she whispered, “why is there a dead dog on our kitchen table?”

James looked at her with a blank look, then turned to the dog.

“Dog?”

“James,” Mary said, bracing against the wall, “did you kill that dog?”

James looked back at Mary, exasperated.

“It’s not a dog, Mary. Don’t you see it? Look!” He pointed at its head, then at its long ears. “Look at this thing. This is not a dog!”

Mary took a step back.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Mary, please.” He looked alternatively at Mary and the dog, his brow furrowed. He stepped towards Mary and offered a hand. “Maybe if you take a closer look. I mean, it’s—it’s clearly not a dog.”

Mary covered her nose and mouth and took a deep breath. For long moments she said nothing, just slowly shook her head.

“Oh God, the whole neighborhood probably heard the shots,” she said. “Someone’s going to call the police.”

James shook his head.

“No, look, that doesn’t matter. I can explain everything to them if that happens. Just, please, I need you to understand.” He held out his hand again, but Mary didn’t budge. James slammed his fist on the table. “Come here!”

“James, I’ve tried to be supportive,” she finally said, “but it’s clear you have some issues that you need to work out. This—” She motioned to the table. “I mean, it’s just too much.”

She turned and started for the stairs. James followed.

“Mary, please! Just look at it. That’s all I ask. Look at it, then you’ll see!”

She turned on him.

“For God’s sake, why would I want to look at a dead dog, James? It’s bad enough that it’s on our kitchen table, for God’s sake.”

“It’s not a dog!”

Mary turned and walked away.

“I’m going to spend some time at my mom’s.”

—

James was left alone in the living room, utterly confused and frustrated, while Mary packed upstairs. He returned to the kitchen with slumped shoulders.

He did not understand what had just transpired. It was there, right in front of him. A creature that was clearly not a dog. And yet Mary had looked straight at it, and declared it a dog.

He shook his head. Could his eyes be deceiving him? Was he insane?

The body was beginning to stink. He would have to dispose of it soon. But he wanted proof for posterity, so he fished his phone out of his pants pocket. He pointed the camera at the thing, but what he saw made his heart skip a beat. He still forced himself to take several pictures, from different angles. Afterwards, with trembling fingers, he checked the picture gallery. Then the phone slipped out of his limp hands and fell to the floor.

Because all of the pictures had shown an empty kitchen table.