I’m lost. How did get here? Where am I? I have no map or compass. But, just then, I see it. It’s clouded by mist, but still I see it.

I’m back in October. October, a place and time of wonderful things- and horrible things. I’ve come home. My true home, October. Darker than before, but still, the only time, the only place, where I’ve ever truly belonged.

In honor of Holy Samhain, may I submit a sample from my third October book, October Dark, which I hope will be available this spring. As Shadows Loom

It was on Tuesday, October 11th, at exactly 11:19 A.M. when the strange day began.

I’ve often wondered if I saw it first. I’ve always had an eye and a special sensitivity to things- the odd things that most others overlook.

It started with a bush. An ordinary bush, about five feet high and about three feet away from my neighbor’s garage wall. It was directly behind the bush, the odd thing that I saw. From an angle it appeared to be a painting on the garage wall, an ink black painting of uncanny detail; an ink black painting of the bush.

Was it an illusion? A trompe l’oeil, tricking the eye of the beholder? Then, when I got directly in front of the bush I realized with some degree of shock that the enigmatic painting on the wall was in fact the bush’s shadow. I was mesmerized as I looked more closely. Not only was the shadow the same shape and dimensions of the bush, but every detail was clearly delineated; every leaf and branch of the bush, every break in the spaces within were not only contained within the shadow, but were in fact more delineated than they were in the bush itself.

I started walking about the neighborhood to examine other shadows. Perhaps some fluke aberration in the light breaking through the clouds made the bush’s shadow unique and singular. But all the shadows, the shadows of street lamps, trees, mailboxes were all like the shadow of the bush. The shadows, to my astonishment, appeared more real than the objects they reflected.

As I continued walking and observing I felt compelled to examine my own shadow. But a sense of dread overtook me. What might my own shadow look like? Before today, shadows of people seemed like amorphous silhouettes, vague but benign shapes that trail us, seen most often through the corner of the eye. Facing my own shadow would have to wait for another day, for I had lost track of time, and the shadows were beginning to disperse with the onset of twilight.

Gloom. The next two days were uncharacteristically gray and dark. This gave me time to reflect on what I had seen. Was it an illusion? Had my own imagination conjured something that wasn’t there? I’d know soon enough. The weather forecast for the following day was warm and sunny.

I awoke early, but waited until later in the day when shadows are thought to be longer. Thought to be? Are the shadows aware of this? When I first observed the bold shadows two days prior it was before noon. Do they obey the science, or have their own minds and wills? I decided 2:00 P.M. would be an appropriate time to investigate.

I stepped outside. The shadows were there but more elongated than before. Perhaps this would have a stretching effect and the delineation would be fainter.

I stared at the shadow as I had previously. No. The stark exaggeration in detail was still there, but there was something else. The shadow seemed looming and oppressive. I had the sense that the bush was now prey to the shadow and in danger of being absorbed.

I knew at some point I would have to confront my own shadow. But I was not quite yet ready. Was I alone in my perceptions? I looked around. There were two people walking about on either side of me on the street. One was an old man, the other a woman of middle age. I approached the woman first. How could I ask my question without sounding mad? I chose my words with delicate finesse, but they never got spoken. She looked straight into my eyes, and held a shaking finger to her quivering lips in gesture of caution and silence and moved on. I crossed the street where the old man was walking with faltering steps. He stopped as I asked the same question the woman refused to hear. He grew agitated and whispered, “In the name of sweet Jesus man, hold your tongue!”

I watched the two of them walk away, followed by their shadows. Was I becoming delusional? The footsteps of their shadows should have been in sync with their steps, but- was it possible? The shadows moved faster, walking slightly beyond the man and woman. There was again the sense that the shadows were exercising their will in an expression of dominance. Then, the shadows converged, blocking the progress of the man and woman. I could no longer watch the absurd spectacle and turned around, running back home.

I poured a glass of brandy and drank, trying to settle my nerves. As the drink calmed me somewhat, I began analyzing the possibilities: I had become hallucinatory due to some biological malady- a metabolic imbalance, or perhaps even a brain tumor or lesion; it was a test by the government to analyze the reactions of people to seemingly impossible phenomena; it was a prank, a protracted hoax, but perpetrated by whom? None of my friends or neighbors, with all due respect, would have the mental capacity to pull it off.

Then, a thought came to me. What are shadows? Do we really know? So much of what we assume to be true has never been questioned or tested. We believe shadows are produced when an opaque object is between the sun’s rays and a surface. What if that explanation is merely what the shadows want us to believe? Our shadows are cast in our image- who’s to say shadows are not sentient? Then, another thought. A horrifying thought. What if we have it backwards? What if we are imperfect images of them? Perhaps they’ve been observing us since the beginning, keeping silent- playing the fool. I had to make a decision. Either confront my own shadow directly, or descend into madness. I chose the former.

It was a clear October day. I decided 11:00 P.M. would be an appropriate time for my mano et shadow confrontation.

I found a wall without intrusive shrubs or objects nearby that would create additional shadows that would distract my attention. And there I stood, me alone, between the sun’s rays and the wall. And there it was- my doppelganger in silhouette.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It was an ordinary shadow of myself, no different from thousands of others I’ve seen. I raised my left arm to my side and my shadow did likewise, in perfect sync. Then I raised my right leg away from side, and was mimicked by the black outline on the wall. I saluted with my left hand and so did my new friend. I actually began to enjoy myself as I danced a jig and my shadow danced back, a perfect duet. Then, there was a change. Oh so subtle and surreptitious. I blinked my eyes several times in hope that they were deceiving me. But no. The face began to emerge.

Shadows should not have faces. Oh so slow, so insidious. First the eyes, then the nose. The mouth was last. It was like watching thick oil poured from a jar, oozing and inexorable. Then, the expression appeared. I gasped. That look- that mocking, insinuating look.

There was a commotion in the neighborhood. The screams were bloodcurdling. I looked about. My neighbors were in a state of frenzied hysteria, running for their lives, and in pursuit were their shadows; long legged, arms outstretched several yards, in furious pursuit. And those faces. Those leering faces, mouths wide like caverns. And then the horror.

My neighbors were enveloped by their own shadows; absorbed, devoured by them as if they were sustenance, placed on earth for the sole purpose of nourishing their masters.

I turned back to my own shadow. He winked, and wet his lips as his mouth expanded, wide and endless. His eyes. For a brief moment was there a glimmer of compassion?

His arms reached out to me, gently bringing my body to him, as one might with a distressed child who required his mother’s embrace.

Then, I was swallowed, as he and his brethren cast themselves wide across the land.