Dana Beehr

FROM THE SHADOWS

By

Dana Beehr

     “Uh-oh.  Does that look like the dishwasher’s leaking?”

     I squinted upward, following the beam from the plumber’s flashlight. A large, damp spot stained the basement ceiling, dripping beads of water.

     “Oh no.”  I scratched Teufel’s ears as the black cat cuddled, purring in my arms.  Another in a long string of frustrations.  Frustrations I couldn’t share with my husband anymore.  Not since --

     Teufel pressed his head against my chin.  I drew a deep breath, pushing back a sudden welling of tears; I covered it by brushing back my chin-length reddish-brown hair, badly in need of a trim. “How much is that going to run me do you think?”

     “Let’s see....”  The plumber -- the eponymous Bob of Bob’s Plumbing -- pulled out his phone and called up the calculator app, then tapped away a bit.  “I hate to say this, Mrs. Zimmerman -– “

My eyelids prickled and I blinked, hard.  “Just Laura, please.”

“Anyway -- We’re talking upwards of a thousand dollars.”

     I almost gasped.  “Did you say -- “

     “Yes ma’am, I’m sorry.”

     He launched into a long and detailed explanation of exactly why it would cost that much, and in the end there was nothing I could say.  But the thought still drifted through my mind that if John were here, I wouldn’t have to deal with this.

     I miss you so much.

     “When can you get to it?”

     “Earliest would be next Wednesday, ma’am. I have a cancellation.”

     “Well ... “ I sighed.  “Come upstairs, and I’ll write you a check for the deposit.”

###

     After I saw the plumber off, who promised to return next week, I made a cup of coffee from the Keurig and sat down at the table, then leaned my head into my hands.  Why can’t anything ever be easy?

     John had passed away -- what a strange way to say it, I mused, as if he’d just walked by me in the night -- about three months ago: shortly after his thirtieth birthday and just before mine.  We were one month apart.  A brain aneurysm, the doctors had said; no one could have seen it coming. 

     The funeral had been nothing more than a blur of exhaustion; I’d barely been able to hang on through it all.  But after the dust had settled and the condolences had all been given, I was almost surprised to find life just simply ... went on.

John hadn’t left much insurance; he hadn’t thought he’d needed any.  Neither had I, since we were both young and in good health.  Alone, my job as an administrative assistant at the local high school was barely enough to pay all the bills.  In addition, John had been the one who had looked after the house; without him, it seemed like there was always something breaking, running down, wearing out, or needing to be fixed.  I felt like I had hardly any time to think ... let alone to grieve. 

“Well,” I said to Teufel as I put him down on the floor and poured out his kibble, “Maybe tomorrow will go better, huh?”

Teufel looked up at me with those gorgeous, golden eyes; chirruped; and went to eat his dinner.  I’d seen those eyes looking at me out of the woodpile by the back door a few weeks ago and had immediately picked him up.  John had been allergic to cats, and so I hadn’t been able to have one all through our marriage.  Teufel had been my only consolation after John’s death ... and a pitiful consolation at that.

I blinked back a sudden rush of tears

“Tomorrow has to be better,” I said again, like a promise. I headed upstairs to the bathroom, planning on a shower and bed.

###

The first thing I noticed when I woke up the next morning was that my alarm hadn’t gone off; I must have forgotten to set it.  I scrambled out of bed, noting glumly the chill in the air; the furnace had gone out again.  I managed to light it after five minutes of fumbling with a match in the dark basement, but it had been going out too often lately.  I would have to have it cleaned soon.  Just one more thing to deal with. 

I bolted my breakfast with one eye on my watch and raced out the door.  Luckily the high school was just a few minutes away, and I managed to get my favorite parking spot, two down from the entrance.  I told Rhonda, the head secretary, that I would have to take a couple days off next week to deal with some house repairs.

 Rhonda gave me a sympathetic look, along with her okay, that made me wince. Everyone in the office had been treating me like spun glass since John’s death, as if I had a terminal illness and everyone knew it but me. It was meant kindly, I knew, but still grating.

I called Hometown Furnace on my lunch break but they were booked solid two weeks out. The receptionist said she’d put me on the waiting list but she couldn’t make any promises.  I’d just have to cross my fingers until then.

Stopping for groceries on the way home, I picked up some brownie mix to try and cheer myself up.  John had always made brownies for us every weekend.  But as I bundled my shopping bags out of the car and struggled up the stairs onto the deck, I stepped on a weak board and my foot went right through.  I fell up to my knee and the grocery bags went flying.

I wanted to sit right down there and cry.  But crying was stupid, it never did any good.  I pulled myself together, ignoring my throbbing ankle, and surveyed the damage.  Soy sauce bottle broken, eggs smashed, gallon jug of milk split -- just great.  I looked down at my now-stained clothes and added a dry-cleaning bill on top of that. 

A quick glance at the deck upped the tally. Several boards needed repair, but I had thought they could wait.

“I guess I’ll have to call a handyman tomorrow,” I said aloud.

Speaking the words brought tears to my eyes, and I barely made it inside with all my stuff before I burst into sobs. Why is all this happening now?  Why isn’t John here to help me?  Why did he leave me?

“Goddamn you for leaving me!” I said aloud and then almost screamed it, suddenly furious -- at him, at myself, at the world for taking him away.  “Goddamn you!  Goddamn you!” 

I sank down on the floor, still weeping.  “How can I go on without you?”

The house, my life -- it felt like everything was falling apart.

Teufel came winding around my feet, meowing, and I picked him up and cuddled him, drying my tears on his soft fur.  “At least I have you, huh, Teufel?  At least I still have you.”

Teufel gave a little chirp and purred contentedly, rubbing his head against my chin.  I breathed in his scent and somehow it helped; I was able to put him down and go back to putting the groceries away.  My tears had passed, leaving me feeling empty and numb, with a painful ache in my chest.

I had planned to do some more sorting of John’s stuff to take to Goodwill but even thinking about it made my eyes start leaking again; instead I had a couple of granola bars for dinner – I was too tired to make anything more.  Then I went upstairs.

###

It was still early, but all I wanted was a hot shower and to crawl into bed.  I went into the bathroom, turned on the water and waited for it to warm up.  The water looked murky coming out of the faucet.  The water softener is going too?  I wanted to scream. 

Sticking my hand under the shower head, I tested the temperature; it was warm enough.  Wearily I peeled off my clothes and piled them on the closed toilet lid, went to step into the shower, and almost tripped over Teufel.

“Damn it!” I blurted out.  I thought I had shut the bathroom door, but Teufel had nudged it open; it must not have been latched all the way.  He looked up at me, blinking those big yellow eyes.

“Meow?”

“Yeah, don’t act all innocent with me, Mister, I know exactly what’s going on in that little head of yours.  You think you belong everywhere, don’t you?”

“Mrrt,” Teufel agreed, purring and winding around my legs.  I shoved him away with my foot, then stepped into the shower and quickly slid the door shut.

     The water was steaming hot now, and I just stood under it for a long while.  I could feel all the grief pouring out of me.  I breathed in the steam, breathed out, and willed all the tension out of my body.  Yes, it had been a rough day -- week – month, but I could leave it all behind, just for a moment, and relax.

Finally, I summoned the energy to soap myself down and run shampoo and conditioner through my hair.  After squeezing out the last of the suds, I reached to turn off the water -- and the glass knob broke in my hand.

     Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

     I stood there stupidly holding the pieces of the knob and staring at the faucet post.  The water was still hot, hot enough that steam was fogging the inside of the door.  It took a moment for me to come to my senses. 

     “Okay.”  Speaking aloud helped.  “I’ll get out of the shower, go get the pliers, and use them to turn off the water.”  And call the plumber tomorrow. I wanted to hit something.  I grabbed the glass door to the shower, meaning to pull it back, but the door was stuck.

     No.  No, this can’t be.  The water seemed to be getting hotter by the second, staining my skin red with heat, prickling on my shoulders and back.

     “Come on, come on!” I yanked at the door with all my strength, but it didn’t move.  Steam filled the inside of the shower; I could barely see.  The water was hot enough to hurt.  Fear blossomed in my mind.

What if I can’t get the door open?  What if I can never get out?  They’d find me boiled to death like a giant lobster....

     “Get hold of yourself, this is ridiculous!” The spray was stinging my exposed skin mercilessly as I wrenched at the door.  Steam clouds roiled, parting long enough for me to get an indistinct glimpse: a black shape with two yellow lights.

     “Teufel!” I cried.  Teufel was sitting, watching me through the door.  I started to call out to Teufel to get John, then realized how stupid that was.  Instead I braced my feet against the wall and threw all my weight against the door.  It shot back on its track so hard I lost my grip, falling and bruising my ribs.  Steam billowed out into the blessedly cool bathroom air.  I scrambled out from under the scalding spray onto cold and slippery tiles.  I snatched up my robe from the hook on the back of the door, ignoring Teufel’s plaintive meows and belted it around my waist, breathing hard. 

     Had I really been in danger? It seemed ridiculous to contemplate.  But the stinging skin on my back and shoulders told a different story.  And John -- I had wanted to call for him, but he wasn’t here.  I was all alone.  No one could have helped me.

     The spray still hissed against the shower floor.  I was tempted to just leave the damn thing running and get into bed, but instead I trudged downstairs to get the pliers.  After all, there’s no one else to do it now.  Only me.

###

That night I dreamed that I was lost in my house.  I knew it was my house, though it was completely unlike my actual home: a vast, rambling structure that would not have been out of place in a gothic novel.  Dark corners; endless hallways; doors that opened onto other doors; strange, creaky staircases that led to dusty, spider-webbed passages.  Huge, ornate furniture lurked in the shadows.  Indistinct shapes flickered at the edge of my vision; I would turn suddenly to see that there was nothing there. My steps echoed down the hallways. 

The dream was so incredibly vivid.  It felt realer than real.  I wandered through the dark rooms, hoping to find something I knew.  I saw wallpaper peeling, paint and plaster flaking off the walls.  Stairs creaked and swayed.  And ... something was stalking me. 

I caught the sound of stealthy footsteps; I felt an oppressive presence hanging in the air; and I knew that whatever it was, it was after me.

I started to run.

I fled down a long hallway with ragged wallpaper and a tattered carpet.  The hall was endless, and grew more dilapidated, more decrepit around me.  Lights -- too dim to pierce the darkness -- flickered faintly overhead.  Large chunks of plaster were missing from the walls; the floor boards began to show gaps; and leaks dripped from the roof. 

At last I stumbled to a halt, panting and out of breath.  The hall ahead of me had descended into the darkest gloom, shadow upon shadow upon shadow.  I stood rooted, feeling the air breathe around me, the unknown presence lurking.  My blood pounded in my ears, a steady, rhythmic drumming ... and suddenly it seemed as if that weren’t quite all.

A whoosh and a rumbling sigh; tendrils of air whispered past me, lifting my hair, brushing my face.

Breathing.

Surely only a gigantic creature could make such a sound.  As I stared blindly into the darkness, I sensed it -- a giant, brooding presence -- waiting for me to take just one more step before it pounced on me and carried me away to my doom.

Looking up, I saw lights: glowing golden, as broad and bright as the moon.

Vast, yellow eyes.

They were high above my head, focused on the distance.  Maybe if I stay very, very quiet down here, it won’t notice me. If I can just sneak back the way I came...

I eased a foot back, and the yellow eyes moved. 

It sees me!

###

I woke with a gasp.  There was nothing but darkness.  My thoughts were filled with fog and mist.

I sat up, still disoriented.  My hand touched softness --  my bed?  I looked down, but saw only shadow.  Shades of black draped themselves across my sight.  I had gone to sleep in my own room, so I must be there now, right?

I raised one hand to my head, startled to feel my own touch.  Nothing seemed real; it felt like the world was moving around me, gently swaying. I glanced to where the window should be, but saw nothing.  Where am I?

     Yellow eyes looked back at me out of the darkness.

     My heart skipped a beat; then I placed them. “Teufel,” I said with a sigh of relief.

     Once I had the eyes, I could make out a vaguely cat-like shape perched on a darker shadow that might have been the trunk across the room -- or might have been my imagination.  Everything still held that distant, dream-like feel of unreality.  Not being able to see anything but Teufel’s yellow eyes didn’t help. 

     The cat blinked at me, and then the eyes flickered.  He had bent to wash himself; I could hear him licking his tail. 

     “Teufel,” I said.  “I ... I had the strangest dream.“

     The sounds of him taking a bath paused, and the yellow eyes looked up.

     “How do you know you are not dreaming now?”  The voice was the kind of voice a cat should have: a light, clear tenor.

     That’s crazy.  I knew I should panic. Either a stranger had slipped into my house -- my room -- while I slept, or my cat had just spoken to me; but everything was still so unreal that I felt no fear. 

     “Well, I ... I guess I don’t,” I admitted.

     “There, you see?” Teufel finished bathing his tail and stretched, his whiskers twitching in a consummately feline version of self-satisfaction.

     Of course.  This must be a dream.  What else could it be?  I thought I might as well play along.

     “You can talk?”

     Teufel purred.  “Most cats can.  It’s just that you humans never stop talking yourselves to ask them.”

A chill ran down my spine.  “Teufel,” I said, “Are you really a cat?”

     He made a short chirp. “What else would I be?”

     To be fair, I thought, a cat would answer a question with a question.  “You tell me.”

     “You know me as a cat.  Is that not good enough for you?”

     No, I thought.  No, it isn’t.

     I thought back to when I had first found Teufel.  It had been less than a week after John’s death; I had been numbed by grief, all alone in a house filled with memories.  I had gone out to the back deck, close to tears, yet sick and tired of crying, when I had seen two golden eyes glimmer at me out of the night.  I called out, and the little black cat had come walking out of the night toward me, twitching its long tail.  Almost as if I had summoned him.

     “I’ll give you a hint,” the cat said. “Why did you name me Teufel?”

     “Teufel was the name of the family cat we had when I was a kid.”

     “Was it?  Well, I’m sure you know best...” Teufel responded, licking one paw and rubbing it over his face.

     Of course it was, I started to tell him -- then stopped. I tried to remember playing with the other Teufel as a child; but when I reached for an image, it slipped away, leaving only the impression of two golden, glowing eyes. Had we had a cat named Teufel?  Had we had a cat at all?

My skin prickled. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that Teufel meant “Devil.” Then an icy feeling hit me, and a line from an old horror movie sounded in my head: This is no dream. This is really happening.

I groped convulsively for the lamp at the bedside.  The switch clicked on and light filled the room, but the scene did not change.  The lamp shone on the familiar, pale-blue bedspread, the walls, the braided rug, and darkness in the shape of a cat, crouched on the trunk across the room, watching me with golden eyes.

     “Teufel -- what are you?”

     “So ... many ... questions.”  Teufel purred.  He jumped to the bed beside me, rubbing his cheek against my arm.  He felt like just a normal cat. 

     He bathed his tail a bit more, then looked up at me with those big, gleaming eyes.  “Teufel isn’t really my name, you know.  Although it’s good enough for ordinary use.  But if you want more, I suppose you could call me an umbra.”

     “Shadow.”

     “Shadow,” Teufel agreed.  “You see, when your husband -- “

     “John.”

     “John.” Teufel stretched luxuriously. “When John left the world so suddenly, that created a ... I suppose you could say a crack.  Normally, any crack in reality heals before one of us has the chance to slip in.  This time, though ... “  Teufel’s tail twitched.  “A man ripped away from life in his prime, without a moment to reflect on his choices -- “ 

A knife twisted in my heart.  “Stop it!”   

“Well,” Teufel replied equably. “But all that and a widow keeping the wound open with unhealed grief? You’ll forgive me if I found it the perfect invitation to walk right in.” 

The cat -- the umbra -- rubbed his -- its? head against me again, and I snatched my hand back.  Now I saw that his proportions were subtly wrong: his fur too dark, his eyes too broad, too bright, too golden.

What has been living in this house with me all this time? 

“Scared, aren’t you?  I can feel it.”  And its pink tongue shot out and licked its lips. 

“What are you doing here?”

Teufel tipped his head.

“I catch mice. I purr.  I sleep in the sun.  You’ve seen me do these things, every day.”

“You know what I mean.  What does an umbra do?”  Horrible ideas swirled -- of Teufel eating my soul, attracting all sorts of evil, stealing my life force .... Then it struck me.

“It’s you, isn’t it?  Everything that’s been going wrong: the deck -- the dishwasher -- the shower ... “ I felt the echo of panic, remembering those yellow eyes shining through steam.  “It’s you.  It’s YOU!”

Teufel twitched his whiskers delicately.  “We creatures of the other side do tend to bring entropy with us.  Or, as you would call it, disorder.  I’m not doing it on purpose, you understand,” he added.  “It’s just a natural part of me being in this world.”

“And as long as you’re here, it will continue?”

“I don’t make the rules.” Teufel purred.

My mind was spinning.  All the misfortunes of the past few weeks: the costs, the hassles, the way I could have been killed -- all brought on by this creature, whatever it was, living in my house.

I seized Teufel around the middle, leaping up from the bed. 

Teufel squalled in protest.  “Put me down! What are you doing?!”

 “Throwing you out!” He wriggled wildly, but I held on, barely feeling his claws tearing at my arms.  I hurried him through the hall and the darkened living room to the kitchen.

“Wait, wait!” Teufel cried as I reached to unlock the back door.   “John is part of me!”

My hand fell away from the doorknob.  “What?”

Teufel seemed to know he’d gotten my attention; he stopped struggling and looked up at me with those big, golden eyes.

“Think about it,” he said. “I came to you through the crack opened up in reality by John’s death.  Is it so strange to think I brought a little bit of him with me?”

“You’re lying -- “

“Maybe I’m lying, maybe I’m not.  But if you throw me out -- you’ll never know.” 

Images of John filled my mind -- our first meeting, our wedding day -- I could see him, standing in the doorway looking at me: a memory so powerful it felt real.

“No, I don’t believe you.  I can’t believe you.”  Something tickled my cheek; I realized it was tears.

Or else it was Teufel’s tail.  The black cat’s pink mouth opened in a soundless meow.  Needle-sharp, white fangs gleamed.  “But you want to, don’t you?”

“This was going to be our future,” I whispered.  “He’d work from home, and I could bike to the school.  We’d raise our kids here, watch them grow -- “

“I know, honey.”

It was John.  I nearly dropped the cat.  “What? ... Who? ... Where? -- “

“It’s me, honey.  I’m right here.”  The cat was speaking in my husband’s voice!

“Stop it!”  My muscles tensed: while I had never hurt an animal in my life, I was ready -- so ready -- to smash Teufel into the ground.  “Stop it!  You’re not John, you’re not -- “

“Laura-ly, darling, it’s me.  It really is me.”

Laura-ly.  John’s pet name for me.  The one only he called me, the one no one else knew.  It stopped me like nothing else could have.

     My voice shook. “This is a trick.” 

     “It’s not.”  Still John.  “I’m here. I love you and always will.  I’m so sorry I left. I wanted to come back so badly, and this was the only way.”

     “John -- “

     “There, you see?” It was Teufel again, that high, meowing cat voice.  “Your husband is with me.  And so he is with you too -- as long as I’m here.”

     “You bastard,” I said, but there was no force behind it.

     “So will you keep me now?”

     “If I keep you, will things keep going wrong?”

     “That’s right,” he replied, his golden eyes shining.

     I wanted to throw him out.  More than anything, I wanted to throw him out right then. 

     “If you stay -- “

     Teufel’s tail twitched.  “Then I stay with you, Laura-ly.” John, again.

     I felt the cat’s soft fur on my arms, thought of all the troubles I’d had since John’s death.  I thought of the sound of his voice.  Of hearing him, of talking to him, again.

     I meant to open the door, to throw Teufel back into the night.  Instead I put him down on the floor.

     “Talk to me again,” I said, swallowing hard.  “In John’s voice.” 

     “You know I will, Laura-ly,” John said.

     It began to rain outside, and water was dripping from the ceiling.

END

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