His Dark Is Worse Than His Bite

The woman groaned when the streaming service on the TV paused, asking if she was still watching.

The Shadowman lingered outside her lounge window, waiting for his moment. It was never the same time – her sleeping schedule was all over the place – but he knew when roughly. It was coming soon. He had only to wait.

She ran a hand over her eyes and mumbled to herself. ‘You know you should call it a night when Netflix starts getting all judgemental. All right, all right. Time for bed.’

The Shadowman grinned.

She turned off the TV, got up, left the lounge, and switched off the lights.

Would tonight be the night of triumph? The Shadowman couldn’t be sure. He slipped through the lounge window, exiting the night and phasing into the home.

The lounge was dark, but in the doorway, golden light shone from the kitchen.

The Shadowman slunk through the room, like spilt ink staining a white shirt. He was the darkness, he was the shadows, he— He banged his shin on the coffee table, hidden in the gloom. ‘Ow! Bugger.’

From the kitchen came the running of water and the clink of cutlery.

He hovered behind the door, on the precipice where light cut into dark, unable to move further.

The woman bustled about in the kitchen. She hummed a pretty little ditty as she did her dishes.

The Shadowman twitched, impatient like a puppy waiting for a treat. The chase only happened once every 24 hours and lasted mere seconds. The wait was the worst part, a solid 90% of his existence. He tapped his toes and glanced at his wrist, wreathed in swirling tendrils of night, where a watch would go.

She turned the tap off and dried her hands on a tea towel. Her bare feet padded across the tiles, and the kitchen light went out.

The Shadowman pulled in a short breath. It was happening. He flooded through the kitchen, hot on her heels.

She shut the door to the hallway.

He thumped into the door, hitting his nose and bouncing off with a grunt. The woman was a cunning opponent. He sunk into the floor, squinting through the crack at the bottom.

The hallway light went out.

Fast, he needed to be fast. There was only one downstairs light remaining. He washed under the closed door, rolling down the hallway like the blob in that movie ‘The Blob’.

The hallway was cool and dark, the shadows dripping from the walls. Ahead, the woman’s silhouette swished through the night’s curtains. She picked up the pace, emitting a wounded fish’s electrical signals.

He smelled her worry beginning to bubble over, like pasta sauce you’d forgotten on the stove. Her old childhood fear bobbed to the surface. It was a corpse that an inept mafioso had equipped with rubber armbands instead of cement shoes. The Shadowman rippled along, not even disturbing the swirling motes of dust.

Now, at an almost jog, the woman reached the bottom of the stairs. She lifted her hand to the final light switch and paused, looking back. She gazed right through the Shadowman.

He froze. The woman couldn’t see him, she couldn’t. He belonged to the shades.

After a moment’s hesitation, she hit the light switch. Darkness swallowed all.

He inhaled, the seconds suspended as time itself died.

The woman bolted, rushing for the stairs.

A cat chasing a laser pointer, the Shadowman pounced.

The woman took the steps two at a time, one hand trailing the bannister. Her breaths came rough and ragged. Her feet thumped the stairs like a tap dancer performing an unwanted, impromptu solo.

A heartbeat behind, the Shadowman launched himself up the stairs. He could taste the stirred air. He soared upwards, Coke spraying from a bottle that had a Mento dropped into it. He reached for the back of her shirt, swiping at where she’d been a fractured second ago.

The woman scrambled, fear brimming in her throat and starting to spill over. Her quickening heartbeat made the air vibrate. She lunged and yanked herself along the railing, fighting to get to the upper landing.

The Shadowman’s smile kept growing wider. The chase, the chase, the chase. Oh, how he loved the chase! Why couldn’t this night go on forever?

The woman lurched up the following rise, hand hitching on the railing. But then her foot missed the step, and she slipped, crashing down, sliding backwards. She cried as she fell, thudding on the steps, bouncing like a bowling ball.

The Shadowman, who’d raced along – a bullet made of the night – caught her, much to his surprise.

She writhed and thrashed in his inky embrace, scrambling to get back on her feet again.

His mind scrambled to catch up. He’d done it – he’d won! He had the woman. He had her!

What now?

The Shadowman’s grin faded. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. All this time, he’d focused on the chase, never considering what to do if he succeeded. Deep in thought, he held onto her ankles and frowned like a child biting into a cookie only to realise it had raisins.

The woman snatched at the railing, pulling herself up.

He felt somewhat deflated. The Shadowman realised that the thrill came from the hunt, not the catch. The pursuit was what fulfilled him, not the end goal. He knew what he had to do. He loosened his grip. ‘Oh no,’ he cried, feigning surprise, ‘my grip is slipping! She’s getting away!’

She kicked and squirmed, the hummingbird in her chest fluttering against the walls. The woman broke free and crawled on all fours, scrambling up the stairs.

The Shadowman held his hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon. ‘My prey, she escapes! Alas, she has evaded me!’

Scuttling, the woman reached the landing and smacked the light switch open-handed. The upstairs lights bloomed on.

The Shadowman retreated with a flicker, back into the gloom that had birthed him.

The woman, panting, stared at the empty stairs. With a sag of her shoulders, she shook her head and sighed. ‘What’s gotten into you, woman?’

As the woman brushed her teeth, the Shadowman grinned out of the darkness and rubbed his banged shin.

‘Same time tomorrow?’