Between Shine and Shadow

Lionel brushed his hands on his keyboard, having typed not a key in the hours that had passed since lunch. The sun shone brightly. November afternoons in Western Massachusetts were getting warmer every year. He thought about his prospects after work. He debated whether he would go for a walk or visit the library, perhaps read awhile on its front lawn like he used to. Most likely, he thought, he would go home, crawl into bed, and turn up the TV really loud. Cold Case Files. And he needed beer.

Cheryl and John’s voices drifted over the cubicle wall.

“You coming to the Fat Cat tonight for Benny’s birthday?” John asked.

“Of course! Last year was a riot” Cheryl replied. “Remember when Jack sang Shoobadoobie Nights?”

Their laughter was grit in Lionel’s system. He didn’t remember. He hadn’t been invited last year—or this year. As far as they were concerned, Lionel didn’t exist.

At four o’clock sharp, Lionel slipped out without a word. The sun was already setting as he drove through town, past the neon glow of the Fat Cat. He didn’t glance twice. Instead, he pulled into the parking lot of the local bodega, the only place to grab a six-pack. Beer in hand, he noticed the house across the street. Typically dark and uninviting, tonight it was illuminated. A sign above the large wooden door read: OPEN.

Curiosity tugged at him. Leaving the beer on the car seat, Lionel crossed the road and climbed the mossy stone steps. A small sign on the golden handle read: Push. He obeyed.

Inside, the space was crammed with knick-knacks—stone statues, glass animals, picture frames, crystals, and books. Junk, mostly. Still, Lionel wandered, touching objects lightly, imagining their value as gifts. If only he had someone to buy a gift for, he could imbue one of these items with meaning. His fingers brushed a pair of pearl earrings. They were delicate and familiar. His mother had worn earrings like them.

“Those have been in my family for generations,” a voice said.

Lionel turned sharply to see a gaunt man with a long nose and a smile that stretched unnaturally across his face. “A fortune for those,” the man added, stepping closer.

“Uh, just looking,” Lionel stammered, withdrawing his hand. Interactions like this always unsettled him, leaving him hyper aware of his social inadequacies.

“Perhaps I can help,” the man said, nodding toward Lionel’s hand. Startled, Lionel realized he’d rested it on a pendant—a greenish-silver oval dangling from a leather string.

“That piece,” the man continued, “is for someone who craves connection.

Lionel lifted the pendant. It seemed to glow faintly. “Try it on,” the man urged.

Lionel lifted it over his head. Strange, electric warmth surged through him. When the man gestured toward a nearby mirror, Lionel hesitated, then approached. The pendant gleamed as it reflected shards of light. It felt like magic—ridiculous, Lionel thought, but undeniable.

That night, Lionel dreamed of shadows and voices swirling around him, a chaos of light and dark. He awoke refreshed, the pendant warm against his chest. On his way into work, Cynthia, the receptionist, greeted him brightly for the first time in years.

“Good morning, Lionel!” she said, beaming.

Lionel’s confidence swelled. He returned her smile and greeted others as he walked to his desk. To his astonishment, they smiled back. Even Cheryl leaned over the cubicle wall flirtatiously.

“You know, sometimes we get together at the Fat Cat after work. You should totally come with us sometime.”

Lionel tried to play it cool. Inside, his heart was hammering. For the first time, he felt seen.

By the end of the day, Cheryl handed him her number with a playful slap on his arm. “Text me,” she said. Lionel floated out of the office, drunk on the attention.

At home, a mourning dove lay on his stoop. Lionel knelt beside it. Carefully, he picked up the fragile creature. A strange certainty filled him. He closed his hands over the bird and felt warmth radiating from the pendant. Light seeped through his fingers as he breathed deeply. Suddenly in a flash of light, the dove burst free, fluttering into the twilight, apparently unharmed. 

Lionel stared after it, calm but exhilarated. There’s something magical about the pendant after all, he thought. That night, he stood before his bathroom mirror. His acne scars seemed fainter. His bald spot—was it smaller? He decided to test the pendant’s power. He focused, willing his hair to grow. Heat pulsed through him, followed by an a great burning sensation. When he opened his eyes, he possessed a full head of shiny, thick hair.

He blinked, unbelieving. Then he laughed and threw his glasses over his shoulder. The possibilities were endless. He could heal others. He could change the world.

But first he would make himself so beautiful that no one could ever ignore him again.

He didn’t sleep that night. He began making subtle changes here and there. Cleaner skin. Straighter teeth. A more confident gait. By the next day, he was unrecognizable—not to others, but to himself. At work, his newfound charisma opened every door. People laughed at his jokes, lingered by his desk, and invited him out. Even Suzie, whose beauty had always left him tongue tied, smiled at him.

When John asked for help on a major project, Lionel felt the pendant’s heat surge as he leaned closer.

“John, are you sure this is the data Breckenridge wanted?” Lionel said.

“Well…” John hesitated, scratching his beard.

Lionel’s voice softened. “Why don’t you let me take a look? I can fix it for you.”

Within hours, the project was Lionel’s. Breckenridge promoted him on the spot, praising his brilliance and, oddly, his hair.

Weeks passed. Lionel rose through the ranks, manipulating memories, bending reality. Everyone adored him, but the constant attention grated. Invitations piled up, meaningless. Smiles felt empty. He began to wonder: Were they real? Did anyone genuinely like him?

One evening, desperate for company, he went to the Fat Cat. He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. A wave of warm air, tinged with the smell of beer and fried food, hit him. The chatter of the crowd faltered, then fell silent. Heads turned, and all eyes fixed on him.

He paused, suddenly aware of how suffocating their stares felt. Lionel forced himself to walk to the bar, pretending not to notice the quiet. As he moved, the room seemed to part for him. People shuffled to make way, smiling too broadly, their faces stretched with unnatural delight.

At the bar, the bartender—a woman with graying roots peeking through her red-dyed hair—greeted him eagerly. Her voice dripped with excessive warmth, like she’d been waiting all night just for him.

“What can I get you, honey?” she asked, leaning in too close.

“Just an amber beer,” Lionel muttered, trying to ignore the growing tension in the room. The bartender had the beer in front of him in seconds, her smile unwavering. Lionel turned and scanning the crowd. Everyone was still watching him, faces plastered with stiff, cheerful expressions. He shuddered and took a long drink.

As he moved toward the jukebox, the room’s energy grew heavier, the forced smiles oppressive. He stopped scrolling through the tracklist when he sensed someone behind him. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with a man in a brown hat and trench coat. The man’s grin mirrored the others, but his eyes held something darker—fear, desperation, and anger.

“I know what you did,” the man said, his voice trembling but resolute.

“What?” Lionel replied, startled. He could feel the pendant heating against his chest.

“I know what you’re doing,” the man said, leaning in closer. “You think you can just… play with us? Make us… whatever this is? Smiling like idiots all the time?” His voice cracked, and the grin on his face twitched, as if it took great effort to hold.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lionel said quickly, his chest tightening. The pendant burned hotter.

The man’s voice rose, sharp and erratic. “You think there are no consequences? You think it’s a game? I don’t want to play anymore! I don’t want to smile anymore! I DON’T WANT TO SMILE ANYMORE!” His voice turned into a scream.

Every pair of eyes and unnatural grin was turned on Lionel and the man. Lionel’s heart pounded. The pendant seared against his skin like fire. He tried to take control.

“Stop,” Lionel said, his voice shaking. He focused all his energy on the man, willing him to calm down, to forget, to leave him alone. The pendant vibrated violently, the heat unbearable.

The man’s body began to glow faintly, the edges of his trench coat shimmering with a golden light. The light grew brighter, pulsing like a heartbeat, enveloping him entirely. The pendant’s heat surged through Lionel, filling him with equal parts power and dread. He could feel the man resisting, but Lionel’s will was stronger.

“I said STOP!” Lionel shouted, clenching his fists.

The light exploded in a blinding flash. Lionel stumbled back, shielding his eyes. When the room came back into focus, the man was gone. Only his hat and trench coat remained on the floor, steaming as if burned. A collective gasp rippled through the room, but the smiles on everyone’s faces stayed intact.

Lionel stood frozen, staring at the empty spot where the man had been. Around him, the crowd’s smiles seemed to stretch even wider, grotesque in their artificial cheer. No one said a word, but their eyes bore into Lionel, silently screaming.

Dizzy, Lionel dropped his beer bottle and the glass shattered at his feet. The bartender appeared, still smiling. Her voice was sweet and unnerving.

“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll clean it up.” There was terror behind her grin.

Lionel turned and bolted for the door. He tripped on the steps as he fled into the cold night. His chest heaved. The pendant’s heat was fading, but its weight was heavier than ever. He didn’t look back.

The cold air gnawed at his face as he pushed down the middle of the street. Cars honked and swerved to avoid him but he paid them no mind. His feet carried him without thought, pulling him toward the house—the antique shop.

The house was dark, the sign no longer illuminated. Lionel pushed through the heavy door, which creaked open as if expecting him. Inside, the shop was eerily silent. The clutter of objects cast strange, distorted shadows in the dim light. The tall man stood behind the counter, his grin as fixed as ever.

“You lied to me,” Lionel gasped. His voice was raw. He yanked the pendant from his chest and slammed it onto the counter. “Take it back!”

The man’s smile didn’t falter. “I gave you what you wanted,” he said. “You wanted to be seen, to be loved. And you are. You’ve never been more connected.”

“This isn’t connection!” Lionel shouted. “It’s control. It’s—” He stopped. His chest heaved. He could still feel the phantom heat of the pendant, like it was burned into his skin.

The man tilted his head. His expression was that of pity. “You fed it too much, Lionel. The pendant isn’t just something you wear. It’s part of you now.”

“No.” Lionel shook his head and backed away. “You’re lying. I can still fix this.”

The man gestured toward the mirror hanging on the wall. “See for yourself.”

Lionel turned reluctantly, his heart pounding. The reflection staring back was unrecognizable. His face was warped, his eyes squished together and his nose turned sideways. Patches of hair from the top of his head had moved down the side and down his neck. His mouth was stretched into a surreal grin from ear-to-ear like a strange painting. He staggered back, clutching his face.

“You used it selfishly,” the man said as he stepped closer. “You could have healed, connected, given. Instead, you took. And now it’s taken you.”

Lionel clawed at his chest, desperate to rip the pendant free, but his hands found only smooth skin. It was gone—or rather, it was everywhere, fused with him. He looked back at the man, his voice breaking. “Please, I’ll do better. I’ll fix it, I swear.”

The man shook his head. “It’s not up to you anymore.”

The shop grew dark. The objects around him faded into shadow. Lionel crawled toward the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The man’s calm, cold voice followed him.

“You’re not the first, Lionel. You won’t be the last.”

The pendant’s heat surged again, consuming Lionel in a blinding light. He screamed, the sound echoing until it was swallowed by silence. 

Days later, the antique shop’s lights flickered back on. The sign above the door was illuminated: OPEN. Inside, amidst the clutter of forgotten objects, a pendant rested in a glass case. Its greenish-silver surface glimmered faintly, waiting for its next wearer.