House of Shadows

The cool morning breeze wafts in through the slightly ajar window, interrupting the stagnant bedroom. The shades drawn almost all the way down impede the brilliant sunshine from entering. Therefore, the room remains shrouded in darkness. It is the way he prefers it. Thomas Patrick groans throatily as he gradually registers that he is still alive. Another morning awoken to his miserable surroundings. The emptiness of the bedroom hides any sign of character. Grey walls, a twin-sized bed with faded blue sheets, a single dresser. No photos, no books, no lamp. No memories to display. No reminders of the past.

Tom feels the coarse, repetitive tongue of the black cat on his rough, old man arm and looks down upon his companion. 

           “Good Morning, Cat,” he grumbles. As he reaches to pet her, the cat rises and leaps from the bed, darting out of the room. “Damn cat,” he mumbles to himself. He slowly rises himself to a seating position. Back aching and joints stiff, he comes to a forward seating position and rests his hands on his knees. With a slight groan, he then rises to standing and follows the path of Cat out into the hallway. The dim hallway leads out to a modest living room and small kitchen. As with the bedroom, the kitchen and living room are vastly empty. Only the furniture signifies the presence of life. The cat is sitting on the windowsill in the kitchen, again with blinds largely blocking out any illumination from outside.

 The old man makes his way to the kitchen and begins his morning routine, preparing for himself a single poached egg and toast. At the same time, he opens a can of Budweiser and takes a generous glug. He sits down at the aged oak round table in the middle of the kitchen. Munching away on his toast, his eyes take in the hardwood: stained and etched with the imprint of generations. His eyes wander along the grainy surface until they rest on a marble sized dent to his right. He wills himself to look away before it is too late, but he reaches out his right index finger and ever so lightly traces the dent with his finger. He closes his eyes and he can hear it; the vase. He can see it; the slow-motion descent as it careens down, hits the table, bounces off and smashes upon the floor. The echo of the image playing in his head is ear-splitting. He wills himself to open his eyes, to look upon his surroundings. No vase. Nothing is broken. Only the tiny, insignificant dent remains to remind him. 

He clears away the remains of his breakfast and opens another can of beer. His mind settles with each swallow. He continues with his daily regimen as he walks over to the couch and turns on the tv. He flips through the few working channels the antennae still receives and finds the news. Simultaneously, he grabs the book of crosswords off the table to begin today’s puzzle. He keeps his mind engaged; current events switch after an hour to a daily soap opera. He doesn’t mind. The actors are familiar now as background characters in his daily life. He recognizes the old evil patriarch of the family and his cheating wife. After another hour, he has completed a quarter of the crossword. 22 down is causing him grief: “The Waste Land” author. 

As his frustration grows, he slams the crossword book back onto the side table and heads back to the kitchen to refresh his beverage. He goes to open the fridge door but notices a tiny ladybug crawling along the fridge door. He swats at it with his hand. The bug drifts down to the floor, out of sight. But the damage is done. The shadows lurking in is brain are overwhelming. They overtake his willpower. He can see her. He can see her dressed up in her bright red, polka dot dress, twirling on the grass, staining her bright white dress shoes. He can hear himself, exclaim, “My ladybug!” The sunlight beams off her golden tresses, pulled back in expert braids. He can hear her cry out gleefully, “Daddy! Twirl me, Daddy! Twirl me.”

“Dammit!” he shouts as he has crushed his beer can with his fist and the carbonated suds drip down his hand and shirt. He grabs another and drinks desperately, praying that the third beverage of the day will keep him foggy. Keep the shadows locked up and filed away. 

The afternoon creeps on, wearily. Can after can piles up on the side table. A sudden, unexpected knocking spurs Tom out of his buzzed stupor. He looks up at Cat slumbering peacefully on the carpet, “Who the hell is that?” he gripes. Begrudgingly, he gets up and opens the door. His eyes slowly adjust to the sudden brightness of the outside world. A thin woman, mid-thirties is standing in front of his door, wearing a bright yellow tank top and blue jean capris. She is holding hands with a young girl, golden-blonde braids resting over her shoulders. Tom takes a deep breath, wills himself to keep it together. He can’t break down in front of complete strangers. He averts his eyes from the young girl.

“Hello!” the woman addresses him. “I’m Daisy Finley and this is my daughter, Ava. We actually just moved in down the road. The yellow farmhouse, a couple miles from here. We are just popping around to the neighbours as last week my daughter’s cat, Lily, has wandered off. We have searched the property and can’t find her so we are just coming round to see if anyone has seen her and passing around some flyers so people can be on the lookout”. She reaches out her hand with a paper flyer in his direction. Tom knows before looking that he will recognize Cat on the flyer and sure enough, there she is. Same black coat with the small white markings. Same bright green eyes, speckled with yellow. He desperately wants to shut the door. He can’t lose anyone else. He can’t let them take Cat away from him. In just a week, she has become his friend, his only companion.

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen your cat,” he lies. “Sorry, I’ll take a flyer though.” He grabs the paper roughly and shoves it in his pocket. “Have a good day now!” He begins to retreat. He wants to close the door, keep Cat safe, and return to his beer.

           “Oh, okay. Well, thankyou. It was nice to meet you,” the lady continues. Just as Tom is closing the door, so close to escape, Cat begins to meow, purring softly but loud enough for him to hear. He eyes the woman who is looking at him in confusion.

As he stands there awkwardly, the little girl runs past him crying out, “Lily? Lily?”

“Hey now,” he belts out. “I said I didn’t see no cat”. But it is too late.

“Lily!” the girl exclaims, her voice ringing out in excitement, piercing his heart. Her joy radiates and perturbs his dark, empty house. He watches the girl and Cat entwined together as she hugs and pets her cat.

The mother steps forward and glares at him, rage and disgust written on her face. “How dare you? You evil old man! Come here, Ava. Bring Lily and let’s get out of here. I cannot believe you would try to keep a little girl’s cat from her. Of all the wicked things…” she lectured, each word stabbing him.

Tom stands there. Stunned. How had he just lost her? Shame and regret build up with each passing moment. He looks at the little girl’s radiant face, brimming with happiness, glistening with tears. He can see the image of the girl he had loved and lost so clearly in her face. He can feel the tears welling up inside him. He can feel the pangs growing. He needs to be alone. He just wants them all to leave now. Leave him alone. That is what is best. That is what he deserves.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers out, just barely above a whisper.

Girl, mother, and cat are now together beginning to walk away from his door. “Well, you should be!” the mother shouts, angrily.

And with that, Tom closes the door on them and retreats back into his house of shadows. He staggers to the couch, grabs his beer, and cries.

As afternoon gives way to evening, he continues the ritual. He drinks and drinks. And then he drinks some more. He continues until the fog within him overtakes the shadows. No memories of Cat, wife, or daughter can haunt him now, in his hazy bliss. He slowly falls into a deep, dark, slumber. He dreams of nothing but the possibility that this is the end. No more cruel mornings. Only darkness and maybe peace.