The Shadow Men

The shadow men come out each year when the wind turns cold and the snow’s in the air. The sun is leaving sooner; if it were here they wouldn’t dare to creep out of their little shadowed holes. They wait until you’re all alone but not asleep at night. Then they begin their little game to see if they can fright you out of what little sleep you may earn when you turn out the light.

You might be reading peacefully, but then you feel that prickle. The raising of your hairs - that’s the telltalle tickle warning you that they’re watching.

The window. Was the curtain closed before? That little crack of black that when you look you know they’re looking back. You quickly look away - maybe they didn’t see. But in your deepest soul, you know.

They’re watching me.

I’m sure you’ve been told that the best thing to do is just ignore - they’ll leave you be, I’m sure that’s what you’ll do. You may even read a word or three and decide it must be true.

But.

That feeling. You know the one. That little tightness telling you to run. The eyes. Haven’t. Gone.

And then.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Can you pretend you didn’t hear the knocking? It’s night outside and all is still except for that tiny… little… tapping. Is it the wind? A piece of trash? The drying leaves on the front yard tree?

It’s not the cat. He’s standing in the corner staring. At nothing?

Perhaps. If you look now then you might see the fingers on the window sash.

The curtain moved. The wind, of course. It must be.

A scritch. A tiny scratch at the door. The latch? You slowly close your book and quickly turn your head to look. No fear. There is nothing but the shadows here. Nothing but the dark, dark world and the wind. Whispering.

Your skin. Crawling.

Nope. Nope, nope, you think. It’s hard to turn your back to that black, that crack, when your cat slinks away, hissing.
You scurry to the stairs. Don’t turn around. Up one, up two, take three. Don’t brush your teeth, don’t brush your hair, no time to wash. Dive into your bed. Aaaah.

Safe. From monsters’ grasping fingers and glistening teeth. Thick winter blankets - they can’t lay hand on me.

It’s several hours before you sleep.

Of course you do eventually. Warm in your bed, shadows vanquished, begone with dread. You close your eyes and think no more.

I know. Because I’m watching.




422 words

Confession time. I totally got spooked by my own curtains.