Shadow Games Read online

  “What’s going on?” Jane asked.

  “Shut the door,” Sean and Brett said in unison.

  What had started off as a light drizzle had escalated into a full-blown rainstorm. The rain came in at a right-angle through the opened the door, and outside, the wind howled through the narrow, cobbled backstreet.

  Malcom leaned against the door to shut it, the rain sliding off his face. His black t-shirt and shorts were plastered to his chunky frame and he shook himself like a dog.

  Jane, sensible as always, was wearing a bright green mac with the hood pulled up over her head. Sean’s gaze shifted to her legs, which were bare beneath the mac and ended in flipflops, which she proceeded to kick off. Her legs were deeply tanned and a little plump, but still shapely.

  He became aware of Amber staring at him with raised eyebrows and a little smirk on her lips. Embarrassed to be caught ogling Jane’s legs, he looked down at his lap. Whenever he saw female flesh, he just had to look. This compulsion shamed him, but he could no more stop it that he could stop himself from drawing breath.

  “So,” Jane said, removing the mac to reveal mid-thigh length shorts and a t-shirt with a faded Cookie Monster stretched across her small breasts. “What’s going on? What’s that you got there? Christ, is that a Ouija board? Where the hell did you get that?”

  “Don’t know,” Sean said. “Brett just found it on his doorstep before we got here.”

  “It was the old lady. The witch. We ran over her cat and now she’s cursed us.”

  Everyone turned to look at Malcom.

  “The witch?” Jane said, slowly shaking her head, looking very much like a disapproving mother rather than a twelve-year-old girl. “My God, Malcom, you are the last person I’d expect to come out with such rubbish. She’s a lonely old lady, she’s not a witch.”

  A strange look passed over Malcom’s face, one which Sean couldn’t quite fathom. “I’ve changed my mind, okay? She’s a witch, and I don’t think we should play that game.”

  “Well, I do,” Brett said. “Come on, guys, it’ll be fun. Besides, this is my house, so anyone that doesn’t want to play can just leave.”

  Not wanting to look like a wuss in front of Amber, Sean all too readily agreed, despite his misgivings about the frankly plain bloody weird game that stirred up so many frightening – and entirely irrational – emotions within him. “Yeah. I’m with Brett. So let’s say that the old biddy did leave this on the doorstep to try and scare us. I’d say that’s even more reason to play it.”

  “Yeah,” Brett added. “I didn’t mean to run over her stupid cat, it was an accident. And I don’t like being bullied.”

  A crack of thunder accompanied his words and he tried not to flinch.

  “Well, I’m not playing,” Malcom said.

  “I am,” Amber piped up. “What the hell else are we going to do today? It’s pissing it down and who knows, it might even be fun. You know what that is, right, Malcom?”

  Sean watched the way in which Jane seemed to unconsciously move closer towards Malcom, as if to protect him. A fresh wave of jealousy roiled in his guts as he wished that Amber would be that way with him. Gently, Jane touched Malcom on the arm.

  “Maybe they’re right,” she said softly. “Maybe it will be fun, scaring ourselves silly, and everything.”

  Sean snorted laughter. “Who’s scared? Let’s just play the bloody game already.”

  “Yeah,” Amber said, kneeling down and picking up the box and board. “Let’s take this to the kitchen table.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1990

  The five of them sat round the kitchen table with the rain lashing against the small window over the sink. Sean’s arms had broken out in goose-bumps, despite the warmth of the air. They sat there in silence for a moment, almost reverent in their stillness. The board was laid out in the middle of the small, square wooden table, with the clear plastic pot and dice on top of it.

  Amber still had the instructions clenched in her hand. Sean noticed that her knuckles were white, despite the tan.

  “I’ll read the instructions, then, shall I?” she said to the silent group.

  “Yeah,” Sean squeaked, then coughed as if to clear his throat.

  Amber began to read, her immature voice as clear as bell and somehow sounding much older:

  “You are invited to play The Game of Shadows. There must be between three and eight players. Within this box, you will find the board, the dice, the plastic cup, and the instructions which you are now reading. In order to play, you will also need a pen and one piece of A4 paper. You must rip the paper into the same amount of pieces as there are players, plus one extra for the magic word you will write down during the game.”

  Amber stopped reading and looked at them all over the sheet of paper. The freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed darker than usual as the colour was drained from her face.

  “Brett? Are you going to get a piece of paper, then?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, scraping back his chair across the terracotta tiling of the kitchen floor. He looked as dazed as the rest of them.

  We shouldn’t be doing this, Sean thought with utter certainty.

  He glanced over at Malcom, hoping that he would get to his feet and put an end to this – whatever this was. Sadly, he didn’t, and the four of them sat there in silence waiting for Brett’s return.

  All too soon he was back, a sheet of ordinary copy paper and pen in hand.

  “Are you going to do the honours?” Amber said. “Rip the paper into six pieces.”

  Silently, Brett did so as his friends watched quietly on, placing the shredded paper on top of the board next to the clear plastic beaker. When he was done, Amber continued to read:

  “Each player must take a piece of ripped paper, and take it in turns to write down a physical characteristic of a monster or of a person that scares them the most. This can be anything the player wants, from an item of clothing, to the shape of a nose. It can be size, or height, or a hairstyle. The only thing it cannot be is a colour. When each player has written down their chosen, physical attribute, they must hold it hidden in the palm of their left hand. The players must then recite the poem in unison at the bottom of this page. During the recital, they must all read off the same sheet of paper. After the players have recited the poem, they must then take it in turns to read out to the group what they have written down on their piece of paper.

  “The player who first shared what was written on their piece of paper, must roll the dice first. Whatever the number on the dice is, represents the amount of times the beaker must move over the letters. All players must place their forefinger on the upturned beaker. They must relax their minds and let the board guide them.

  “All players must take it in turn to roll the dice. As the letters are read out, so the designated writer must write down the word on the final piece of paper.

  “Just remember. Whichever way the dice rolls, the word will be the same. Intrabit. The players are forbidden from reading the following poem aloud, unless it is in context of the game.”

  Amber lowered the instructions, her hands visibly trembling.

  “Well,” Sean said eventually to the stunned group, breaking the silence that had befallen them. “Are we going to do this thing, or not?”

  “What does intrabit mean?” Amber asked, looking directly at Jane.

  Jane was the swot, and the only one of them likely to know. Instead, she shrugged.

  “I have no idea.”

  Brett clapped his hands together, making them all jump. “Come on then, people, let’s do this thing. Let’s have some fun.”

  Sean watched as Brett solemnly proceeded to dish out a piece of torn paper to each of them. “Ladies first,” he said, pushing the pen across the table in Amber’s direction.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, a small frown creasing her flawless brow.

  She scribbled something down, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth. Fleetingly, Sean wondered what i
t would feel like against his, how wet and smooth it would be. What she would taste like.

  Honey. She would taste like honey.

  Amber stopped writing and her gaze snapped upwards, her deep blue eyes locking with his. He blushed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. The way she was looking at him, it was like she knew what he was thinking.

  “My turn,” Brett said, an angry note creeping into his voice.

  Sean’s heart swelled with happiness.

  I didn’t imagine it. He saw the way Amber was looking at me too.

  Quickly, and maybe a little angrily, he wrote something down on the scrap of paper and clenched it in his left fist. He handed the pen to Sean with a scowl:

  “Your turn.”

  Sean stared down at the blank bit of paper on the table before him, his mind a big, fat blank.

  And then it came to him. A few weeks ago, he had seen his first ever horror movie and it had scared the shit out of him. It had been about this horrible, burned guy who appeared in teenager’s dreams. On his right hand, he had worn a glove that had knives for fingers…

  On his piece of paper he wrote, he has knives for fingers, then passed the pen to Jane, who was sitting next to him.

  Jane stared at the offered pen for a second as if it might bite her, before gingerly taking it from him. It seemed to take her an age before she finally wrote something down. When it was Malcom’s turn, he took even longer than Jane.

  Silently, Sean willed him to refuse to do it, but he too succumbed and wrote something down on his scrap of paper.

  “I guess we read the poem now, then,” Brett said.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea,” Malcom said.

  Yes, Sean thought. At bloody last.

  “Are you a baby, Malcom? Surely you’re not scared of some dumb board-game?” Brett asked.

  “I’m not scared,” he said, and Sean’s heart sank.

  Shit, we’re really going to do this.

  Without discussing it, they all got to their feet, apart from Amber, who remained sitting in her chair. They clustered around the back of her chair, and together, they read the poem:

  “We call upon the shadows,

  To make our vision flesh,

  We are asking of the darkness,

  To make our terrors mesh.

  And with our fears combined,

  The creature shall be born,

  A child of the shadows,

  Abomination of the Lord.

  Come to us, oh creature,

  Grant us our every wish,

  And in return we give to you,

  Our blood and dreams to flourish.”

  When they were done, they silently took their seats once more.

  What’s the matter with us? Sean wondered. We’re acting like zombies.

  The strange thought was immediately pushed to one side, but that strange, dreamlike feeling clung to him. It felt like they had just done something really, really bad.

  But everything still looked the same. The fiery pits of hell had not erupted up through the kitchen floor and claimed their immortal souls.

  “So, who’s going to read what they’ve written first?” Sean asked, breaking the silence.

  “I’ll go first,” Amber said, smoothing out the scrap of paper that she had been holding so tightly in her palm. She cleared her throat. “He wears an Undertaker’s hat.”

  Despite himself, Sean laughed. “An Undertaker’s hat? What’s so scary about that?”

  Amber didn’t return his smile. “When my gran died when I was six, I remember being terrified of the Undertaker that came to see my parents to talk about the funeral arrangements. And he wore this stupid hat when he left the house. I remember thinking that he was the devil.”

  Immediately, Sean felt bad for being so insensitive. How was he to have known that she had a phobia of bloody Undertakers? “Sorry,” he mumbled, his face flaming.

  She managed a small smile for him and his heart leapt in relief. “That’s okay. Your turn, Brett.”

  Brett cleared his throat. “He has pointy teeth, like a shark.”

  This time, Sean didn’t laugh. Somehow, it didn’t seem so funny anymore. Not that what Amber had said had been funny either, he guessed that his sudden rush of laughter was born of nervousness more than anything. He didn’t pass comment on Brett’s chosen ‘physical characteristic’ but the ‘fish’ thing was not lost on him. Sean was too young to properly formulate the thought, but he got that it was something to do with his dad being a fisherman, and perhaps having the coldness of a shark.

  Now it was his turn and he un-scrunched the piece of paper in his hand. He stared at his palm, noticing how the edges of the paper had left red indents in his skin.

  “He has knives for fingers,” he said.

  Now it was Amber’s turn to laugh. “Knives for fingers? Please, that is so lame. You’ve been watching that dumb horror movie again, haven’t you?”

  Brett laughed too, although Jane and Malcom remained po-faced and silent, as they had done throughout the entire game.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like I said a glove. I said it was his actual fingers that were knives, so that’s different.”

  “Whatever,” Amber said, still smiling. “And if anyone else has put something so dumb, like, he has pins all over his head, I swear to God, I’ll die laughing.”

  Sean couldn’t help but smile back, despite the fact that she was taking the piss out of him. Brett, however, was no longer laughing.

  “It’s still really fucking dumb,” he said sulkily. “Jane? What did you put?”

  Jane didn’t look at all happy. “I just said he was seven foot tall, and thin.”

  No one laughed at that, and then it was Malcom’s turn.

  “I put, he can stretch out his arms as long as he wants.”

  “He can stretch out his arms?” Brett scoffed. “What is he? Mr Tickle?”

  Malcom scowled at him. “I never wanted to play this stupid game anyway.”

  “Leave him alone,” Jane said. “Everything we’ve written is pretty dumb, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, but Mr Tickles?” Amber grinned.

  Sean laughed along with Brett and Amber, although a great uneasiness continued to churn in his guts. When he would come to look back on ‘The Game’ a few days later, he would be swamped with guilt that he bullied Malcom and Jane into playing. Because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate. Malcom and Jane hadn’t wanted to play, but they had done so anyway. In his darker moments, he would come to think that it wasn’t his fault at all, that it was the game’s fault. The game had wanted them to play; an unseen force had been guiding them, urging them on to play.

  But in the moment, none of that occurred to him. So long as he ignored his misgivings, it was all still so innocent. Just friends, larking around.

  “It’s funny, isn’t it, the way we all started the sentence the same way. He is this, he is that. Why would we all refer to it as he, anyway?” Jane said softly.

  “Because all boys are the stuff of nightmares. Even boys think so.”

  This time Jane cracked a small smile, and Amber giggled.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Sean said. “Shall we get on with it?”

  A flash of lightening caught his eye out of the window, swiftly followed by a loud roll of thunder.

  Jesus, what was with this rainstorm?

  If anything, the sky seemed to be getting blacker with every passing second. Sean shivered.

  “I guess I’m rolling first, then, seeing as I read first,” Amber said, picking up the dice and dropping it into the plastic pot. She gave it a good shake, and rolled a one. “Alrighty, then. You guys ready?”

  She turned over the pot and placed it upside-down in the centre of the board. Everyone leaned over and placed their forefinger on the upturned glass.

  Sean let out a small gasp when the beaker lurched under his fingers and shot over to the letter ‘I’ on the top row.

  Everyone else looked as sh
ocked as he was.

  “Which one of you bastards did that?” Brett said.

  “I bet it was Sean,” Jane said.

  Sean bridled in indignation. “It wasn’t me.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you? Always the joker.”

  “Hey, why am I getting the blame for this? I ain’t done nothing!”

  “Who cares,” Brett shrugged. “It’s my go.”

  He too, rolled a one.

  Without further chat, they placed their fingers atop the beaker once more. Like before, the beaker immediately and violently skidded over to the letter ‘N’.

  “Intrabit.” Amber said softly, writing down Brett’s letter.

  The hush that fell over them made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Then he realised that it wasn’t the quiet that was making him feel so uneasy, but that it felt like someone was watching them.

  Instinctively, he craned his neck towards the kitchen door, half expecting to see Brett’s dad standing there, having come home early from the pub…

  But there was no one there. Shrugging off the feeling that they were being watched, he picked up the dice and beaker for his turn to roll.

  He got a two. That bad feeling in his gut intensified, and outside, the thunderstorm raged. His guts felt cold and squirmy, like there was ice-water sloshing around in his insides.

  We shouldn’t be doing this, he thought, far from the first time.

  Silently, everyone put their finger on the beaker. As soon as they did, the beaker whizzed over the letters, landing on ‘T’ and ‘R’ in quick succession.

  Whichever way the dice rolls, the word will be the same.

  He couldn’t remember the word, because in his head it was gobbledygook, but he knew that they were spelling It. They were summoning something evil that they had no business summoning.

  “No,” he said, scraping back his chair and getting to his feet. “This has to stop.”

  His own assertiveness surprised even him. Everyone’s heads were tilted back, looking up at him.

  “Don’t be a dick,” Brett said.

  Sean wavered, torn between what he knew was inherently right, and looking like an idiot.