Hssssssssssssssss. Tails writhed. Tongues flicked. Eyes stared. Fangs dripped. Their
entire bodies were representations of evil. They were everywhere-on the floor, in my dresser, and
spilling like intestines out of the closet. The floor was a mass of hundreds of the vile ropes. The
air reeked of their loathsome stench.
Just then, the largest of the serpents, the length of my entire bed, slithered as smoothly
and swiftly as a stream of oil onto my bed. Its hooded head rose above the rest of its hideous
body. The mouth opened, revealing the hellish depths within. Lethal poison dripped from its
needle-sharp fangs, just longing to sink into the meaty flesh of its prey…me.
For some reason, I couldn’t see my body-I was just a floating head, trapped in a
paralyzing limbo. That didn’t stop my ability to see, and the eyes of my attacker were searing
pits of darkness that seemed to cause me physical pain.
As I lay, or perhaps floated, in my bed, I was engulfed by a tide of overwhelming, heartstopping, bone-chilling, teeth-chattering, blood-freezing fear that brought back all of my most
fearful memories. The stomach-flipping heights of the Grand Canyon, all of my encounters with
snakes and spiders, all of the small, dark, claustrophobic spaces I’ve ever been trapped in, all the
horror movies I had ever seen, and every single nightmare I had ever experienced. Finally, there
was April fourth in the year 1994 at 4:44 P.M., the day when Dad suddenly fell over on the
kitchen floor, clutching his stomach and not able to breathe. Then there was the trip to the
hospital, the wait, and, at last, the news that rocked and mercilessly tore my life apart at the age
of eight. With blank eyes, I looked out at my bedroom, and didn’t find the serpents’ physical
appearance frightening anymore, only the fears that they brought forward from my past.
I stared into the cold, empty eyes of the snake on my bed, and felt a sense of falling into
its eyes and a feeling of extreme nausea. Then the thrashing snakes disappeared, leaving me with
a few rays of moonlight shining on the blankets on my bed. Sweat soaked my blankets, making
me feel faint at how disgusting it was to sleep in your own slimy, smelly perspiration.
I let out a relieved sigh-despite the sweaty sheets-and was thankful to be in a scale-free
room once more. The once-precious photos hung on my walls-those of our numerous vacations
and of both my parents. My emotions were in turmoil from the shock that the nightmare had
caused, for I had never experienced a dream that felt so real, but I thought, and hoped, that it had
passed and wouldn’t leave any lasting effects.
I was wrong.
Just as I was closing my rock-heavy eyes, I caught sight of myself in the mirror that hung
above my dresser and saw a sleepy and blue-eyed, dark-brown-haired, and darkly tanned
teenager who was obviously of Native American Ancestry. And then a shadow in the shape of a
man shifted in the corner of the room. My eyes shot open, I was now wide awake once again.
I sprang out of bed, keeping my eyes focused on the very solid-looking shadow in the
corner of my room. It was just beyond the moonlight, so I could not catch a full glimpse of it. A
scent wafted into my nose, a hair-raising scent that made a nightmare come alive, or one
particular nightmare. It was the foul, musty, death-reminding stench of snakes-and it was even
stronger than it had been in the dream. A few moments passed without any movement and I just stood stock-still, my body
tensed with terror. Just as I decided I must have been hallucinating, the moonlight suddenly
dimmed till it was pitch-black and I was blind. It was as if someone had turned the moon off like
a bedside lamp, not a floating rock in gravitational orbit thousands of miles above Earth.
I didn’t move-I was waiting for a sign of whether this was real or fake, dream or reality.
Then I heard rustling, like scales sliding against each other-the sound of death approaching.
I panicked and ran in the direction of the door, hoping I wasn’t running straight into my
attackers. I must have aimed correctly, because when I reached a wall and felt around, I brushed
against a painting that hung in the hallway outside of my bedroom.
I stopped for a second, listening for a hint as to my assailant’s location. Creaking
footsteps on the floorboards and an odor of rotten and decaying flesh (like ground beef after
three weeks in the sun, ugh!) finally decided me and I hurried up the stairs, glad of the muted
light that was bright enough for me to see my surroundings. The faded, light green wallpaper was
older than me and the drab oil paintings of even drabber houses were remnants of a far older (and
more boring) age.
I knew that I couldn’t stay in my house any longer or whoever or whatever was inside it
with me would eventually get its chance to harm me.
I needed to find my mother.
I could almost see her long, straw-colored hair, her faded jeans and t-shirts, and her blue
eyes sparkling with humor like the surface of the ocean hiding its secret depths from those who
dwell on land. She was on a business trip in New York City that had sprung up quite suddenlybecause of the tragic crash of the two airplanes into the World Trade Center two weeks before
that has caused so many people to be shaken to their very hearts and souls. Our neighborhood, in
Black Creek, New York, was particularly struck because of our proximity to the city-meaning
many of our people were working there that day. My mother wasn’t going to be back for another
two days at least, long enough for anything to happen. My only hope was to reach her before the
creatures that were stalking me got to me. I usually go with her on her business trips anyway, so
it wouldn’t take much convincing to persuade her that I was just missing her presence.
Everyone is easy to persuade if you’re fatherless.
The creaking footsteps increased in volume, the rustling seemed closer than before, and
both scents-that of snakes and that of rotting flesh-grew in potency, making my nose hurt and my
head spin. Dread crept into my mind, my knees turned to jelly and my legs turned to stone. I tried
to move and found that my limbs didn’t obey my commands. I started to panic.
Concentrate, Jay, or you’ll never make it out of here! I thought to myself, trying to
overcome the numbness creeping into my veins. My brain was the only thing that seemed to
work. Just make it out of the house. After that it will be simple. Just get to the front door. Ignore
the fear, you’ve done that before. All the phobias, of heights, snakes, the dark and closed spacesthis fear can’t be as difficult to overcome as all of those! You’ve had to deal with this since dad-
My trail of thought was interrupted by a sound that I thought was a door closing shut. I
gathered my bravery and, overcoming the immobility, started at a sprint straight down the
hallway, turned the corner, opened the peeling, green-painted front door-its rusty handle lightly
scratching my palm-and rushed out into the street. The fresh air momentarily revitalized me and I
was relieved that the stenches that pervaded my house did not penetrate into the neighborhood. Ipaused at the edge of the road and peered back over my shoulder at the house that was the only
home I had ever known.
At first all seemed normal, but suddenly the windows burst open a fire spewed forth into
the night. The flames greedily licked, no, devoured the walls and roof like they were crackers in
a giant’s mouth. Only a blackened structure, a skeleton of its former beauty, remained after a few
seconds. The smoky stink stung my eyes and they started to water, the tears a welcome reprieve
from the horrific image. As suddenly as it came, the vision went, leaving a normal house on a
normal street in a normal neighborhood, but not such a normal family dwelled inside.
I turned away, afraid that, if I looked on, more frightening visions would haunt me. The
usual white and light brown houses greeted me. Wet laundry that someone forgot to bring in
hung on lines across the street and the occasional howl or bark erupted from the muzzles of the
raggedy dogs that lived in almost every yard. I spotted many more American flags than usual, as
well as many posters and memorials built of just about anything anyone could possibly find to
show their state mourning for those who had lost loved ones only a few weeks before to some
crazy, suicidal terrorists. I asked myself, Why do the choices of so few affect so many? Even
more frightening than what I had just seen (Is that even possible?) was the fact that everything
about the surrounding houses looked normal, as if they were unaware of my plight…or just
didn’t care.
As I walked away and caught sight of the house, with a well-trimmed garden and lawn
that never, ever looked anything other than the most neat and cared-for garden in the whole
neighborhood, that belonged to my neighbor, Mrs. Vern-a friendly, gray-haired old widow in her
late eighties-I remembered that this was not the only queer thing happening lately. The weekbefore, Mrs. Vern had slipped and fallen on a patch of ice on her driveway. She had then been
carried away in a blaring ambulance and taken to the hospital because of her injuries. It seemed
that many terrible things were happening with increasing fervor in this past month.
The possibility that I was still in a dream occurred to me several times, but I disregarded
it on the fact that this felt nothing like a dream-and, of course, the fact that you never think
you’re having a dream while in a dream.
I quickened my pace, trying to dispel the disturbing and troubling thoughts that filled my
head like helium in a balloon, except these weighed me down instead of dragging me up. I was
heading in the direction of the nearest bus stop, which was just two blocks away and wouldn’t
take even ten minutes to walk to. The trees were dark silhouettes of phantom-like sentinels,
lining the street like soldiers in a war parade. I wanted to run, but I felt that would only cause
those who I suspected were following me to attack sooner. Luckily, there were enough stars to
guide me on my walk. The tiny holes in the fabric that holds heaven were revealing a peak at its
glowing beauty-so I had no trouble finding my way and reading the street signs.
When I reached the bus stop at what I assumed was around two a.m., no one was there
(obviously!) and so I had the whole bench to myself. The whole area was lit by the warm glow of
the streetlight, creating a fragile bubble of light in a sea of darkness that ended within a ten meter
radius around me. The bench was painted in a dark blue color that was slowly chipping off and
was surrounded by tall Japanese Stilt Grass, which poked through the spaces of the bench and
tickled any person that sat on it.
As I sat, waiting for the next bus, I breathed in the light breeze that carried the scents of
fresh-cut grass, old paint, trees, and air freshener, it was hard to believe that, moments before, I As soon as I clumsily crashed through a couple yards of underbrush and saplings, I
reached a clearing and stopped short. There, in front of me, was a wall of shadow-figures barring
my way. I looked and saw the other line of figures gliding like a train (a grim one at that) on
well-oiled tracks through the trees, some passing right through them as if they weren’t even
there.
I was trapped.
A primal instinct within me urged me to sprint as fast as I possibly could, but there was
nowhere to run. Sweat trickled down my spine, and then it and my blood turned to ice. The hairs
on the back of my neck stood up straight and I started hyperventilating like a fish out of water…a
puffer fish.
It’s all going to end here, I thought forlornly as the shadows advanced. All that running
was for nothing. I hope I get to see dad again, I added with a little, very faint, hope.
“LEAVE AND GO BACK TO YOUR MASTER!” bellowed a thunderous voice whose
source I could not identify. But, surprisingly, the plethora of shadow-figures froze, and then
disappeared. Gone. Just like that. I was left standing in the center of the clearing, alone.
After a few seconds of silence I asked, “Who’s there?”
There was a pause before the reply, which was much quieter now, “My name is Jared.
What have you done to anger the Shades? They are usually never active.”
I answered, getting nervous as to why I could not see the person I was talking to, “Where
are you? What are you? What’s a shade? Why can’t I see you?” All of the questions came
pouring out as if a dam had broken and released its waters. “I am here, in front of you. Do you wish to see me?” the unseen person responded.
“Yes, it would be easier if you weren’t invisible,” I replied and stared in shock as the air
in front of me wavered, and then solidified into a man! Not a shadow-figure, a real person! He
was a couple heads taller than me and had rusty red hair that came down to his shoulders. His
eyes were bright blue, the exact same color as mine. I suppose you could call him handsome, in a
rugged kind of way-since his clothes were slightly worn out, (and quite modern too) but he
didn’t seem to care.
“Thank you for saving me from those shadows…but why did you?” I asked after I got
over the shock.
“Well, I couldn’t very well leave a child to die or be put in a coma when it would have
been easy for me to save you, now could I?” he spoke in a slight accent that was familiar but I
couldn’t quite place.
“Who are you, may I ask?” he inquired.
“I’m Jayden Barker, and can you tell me what on Earth is happening to me? I’ve been
nearly scared to death three times, have been chased out of my own house, and now I’m seeing
invisible men!” I cried, desperate for at least some answers. I was about to get them.
“It appears that a Fallen Angel had a grudge on you, because nothing else would have
made them that riled up at you,” he stated knowingly.
“What, may I ask, is a Fallen Angel?” I asked, getting frustrated at his carefree manner.
“I am,” he said simply. “Any person who loves another so much that they think, no,
believe that they can’t live without their loved one. When that person dies, like I did, their lovewill keep them on Earth until their loved one passes. They’ll be pretty much a ghost, since they
can’t communicate with the living. It’s sad, really-I should know.”
That was quite a lot of information to absorb at one time (especially the fact that I was
speaking to a dead person!), so I didn’t say anything for a while, and then asked, “Then what’s a
Shade? I think that’s what you called those shadow things back there.”
“Oh, those. They’re people who were so scared of dying-so scared that they cause fear in
the others around them and sometimes make them go into a coma or go loony-that they were
kept here on Earth until they could be willing to pass on, which is almost always never,” Jared
explained.
“So, why were they chasing me? What did I do wrong?” I questioned, confused.
“Well, since we Angels can control the Shades, it must have been one of the others, and
there aren’t many around anywhere who interfere with the living anymore,” he replied.
“Wait a second, if Fallen Angels and Shades can’t interact with the living, why can I see
you and why could the Shades cause fear on me?” I asked, revealing my confusion.
“Well, the only people we can communicate with are those who have come in touch with
death,” Jared said, increasing my bewilderment.
“But I didn’t kill anyone!” I replied, indignant. “Never in my life!”
Jared continued in a soothing tone, “It could have been an accident, and maybe so
complicated that just by cutting your lawn could have inadvertently caused the death of any
sentient being!” “But why would any Fallen Angel be angry at me for accidentally killing someone?” I
asked.
“Then you must have killed their loved one,” he said in a glum tone, as if realizing that I
was doomed no matter what I did.
“What is it, what’s wrong?” I asked, worried.
“Usually, when their loved one dies, the Fallen Angel leaves Earth as well. The only way
for a Fallen Angel to not leave is for it to become convinced that it is still living, and there’s only
one Fallen Angel that had ever accomplished that-Max Vern,” Jared said darkly.
I gasped, “Did you say Vern?”
“Yes, why?” he asked.
“Because my neighbor, who recently went to the hospital, is named Janie Vern!” I
exclaimed.
Jared was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “How did she get put into the hospital?”
I explained, “She walked out of her house last week and slipped on a patch of ice and hit
her head. We didn’t actually know she died though!”
There was a pause before, “Did you happen to light a fire in your house’s fireplace that
night?” he asked quietly, seemingly pulling out these quite reasonable suggestions out of thin air
that seem to piece the mystery together.
I gulped, “Yes.” “Does that fireplace happen to be on the side of the house next to Mrs. Vern’s and do you
have a badly insulated roof?”
The idea was that the fire could melt the snow on the roof and pool into the neighbor’s
nearby driveway and freeze into a solid, very slippery patch of ice in the night air. I let loose a
single word that was all he had to hear, “Yes.”