Melanie Goodwin
“Kristophe,” the mighty voice boomed. “You have failed to fulfill your vow to create terror and chaos wherever you be. In failing to do this you have caused great shame to befall the Brothers of All the Night, who never, since the beginning of time, have been humiliated in such a manner!”
Kristophe cowered at the aura of power, black power, that arose from the cloaked form, and wondered how Sarando could have known, could have guessed? For Kristophe had kept his sinful secret hidden carefully from his peers, never betraying what was on the surface of his thoughts: HER. He’d discovered her in a dark alley, crying helplessly as a group of fierce-looking gang members surrounded her, jesting with each other as they emptied the contents of her small, white purse. She looked up and he saw frightened, blue eyes and tearful streaks of mascara running down her face before she hung her head in defeat, her long brown hair cascading downward to hide her pale face. Anger swelled red-hot inside Kristophe, and before he realized the wrongness of his actions, he had transformed from his shadowy form into mist, and circled rapidly around the woman, giving the rogues the illusion of her shape transforming into a monstrous, scaly dragon, orange fire flaming from her nostrils as she impatiently snorted. Like a litter of kittens being chased by a vicious dog, they turned to flee, the blood draining from their faces.
A look of puzzlement, and then relief, slowly replaced the fear, and she bent down to pick up her abandoned purse. Allowing the image of the dragon to vanish, he still swirled around her, gently guiding her to the brightness of the street lights. Then he slipped back into the shadows, his natural element, and he watched, mesmerized, as she scurried to a nearby apartment building. Satisfied that she was safe from harm, he turned to continue on with his nightly duties of terrorizing all unfortunate enough to chance upon him under the black velvet mask of night. He chuckled, amused, remembering the look on the fiends’ faces as they had scampered off, losing their tough demeanor. Only then did he realize the horror of his hasty actions. To have helped a human was the second most forbidden act according to the doctrines of the order of the Brothers of All the Night, subordinate only to the crime of falling in love with a human. Inwardly shuddering, Kristophe hurriedly slipped through the shadows, determined that many innocents should suffer his wrath tonight, as though that could somehow undo his misdeed.
Four days after that fateful night, a snake slithered stealthily behind three apparently college-age youths who were laughing, innocently carefree, not knowing of the terror that lurked behind them. The scaly serpent slipped closer and closer behind them, waiting for the right moment to strike. Suddenly the shorter of the two young women turned around and screamed in horror at the lurking transparent form, and quickly bolted in the opposite direction of the creature, dragging the stunned guy and the puzzled woman with her. As she led them in their desperate flight, her short blond hair bobbing under the light of the street lamps. Kristophe laughed and quickly followed pursuit, blending in with the darkened buildings. Reaching them, he approached on their lefts, forcing them to turn sharply to the right, a blind alley. Abruptly halting when they reached the brick wall the blond and the young man turned to face their pursuer, while the other wept into her hands, her thick flame hair hiding her face. Laughing to himself, Kristophe coiled, preparing to strike, and their petrified shrieks pierced through the night air. Then Kristophe vanished, once again resuming his shadowy form. Infantile humans! Fleeing from a mere illusion! He, a shadow-walker, did not possess the power to inflict damage upon mortals. His skill lay in preying upon their weak minds through his various forms, filling them with terror, causing them to rightfully dread the night.
Turning to search for his next victims to horrify, Kristophe realized that he was in the same alley where he had stumbled upon the brown-haired woman a few nights before. As it was still quite early, having only been dark an hour, Kristophe decided to wait and see if she might appear. After all, what harm could come from his merely watching to see if she might chance to walk by? There were no laws against that in his order. After only a few moments she did hurry by, sticking closely to the light of the streetlamps, obviously still mindful of recent trouble.
“Kristophe!” Sarando’s accusing voice broke through Kristophe’s thoughts. “Did you not only aid this human, but continue to watch her, waiting near her residence for her to return? Indeed, you have even become fond of her?!”
Kristophe reflected upon this for a moment. It was true that in the weeks that had followed, he had loitered near her apartment, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. In that time he had come to see her as not some human vermin, but as some mystical creature, whose aura spoke of something of which he had never known: goodness. It seemed that there was a figurative light surrounding her as she walked in the moonlight, and Kristophe had even begun to wonder what life could be like outside of the shadows, what sort of existence he could have if he were not a servant of evil. But these traitorous thoughts he had kept silent, afraid of what might befall him if Sarando were to hear of them. It was rumored that a horrendous and mysterious fate came upon any Brother of All the Night who dared desire the world of daylight.
Kristophe regarded Sarando’s domineering evil form for a moment, reflecting upon his own past as a shadow-walker under his leader’s control, and how Sarando inflicted terror into the very beings of his followers, as a shadow-walker did humans. Then his thoughts traversed, bringing him to imagine an infinity of such an existence. Then he raised his head.
“Yes, I did aid this her when she was in danger. I did watch her in the following weeks, until my summons here tonight. Yes, I did become fond of her, and yes, I wondered, and wonder now, what it would be like to walk under the sun, to laugh, to know goodness!” declared Kristophe courageously, as he stared into Sarando’s reproachful, fathomless black eyes and returned his glare with one of his own.
Sarando savagely snarled, “You dare stand before me and utter such malarkey?! You are no better than one of those despiseable, witless humans! Do you not understand that the filth which you are uttering goes against our most significant laws? That you will be severely punished for your outburst just now?”
“I do realize that Sarando.” Kristophe’s calm voice pierced the cloud of hatred surrounding Sarando. “However, whatever punishment you bestow upon me is far better than to continue on as if I had never been awakened to the wrongness of our epoch of terror.”
“You fool!” shouted Sarando, infuriated. “Only the worst punishment of all is fitting for you! You shall be turned into one of these vermin with which you sympathize!” With that Kristophe saw only blackness, as a wave of dark power struck him, causing him to lose consciousness.
When Kristophe awoke on the steps of an abandoned apartment building, it was dawn, the first rays of sun peering above the clouds. He stretched, then hesitated. Shadow-walkers had no form, and therefore did not need to stretch their limbs. He glanced down at his side. Sure enough, flesh met his eye, until his eyes traveled upward to view the white cloth of a shirt, and down again at jeans and a pair of black sneakers, common human apparel. He stood carefully, almost falling over at his first attempt to walk. He stumbled to the nearby street corner and was startled to find that one of the adjoining roads was the one the woman lived on. Pausing for a moment, he debated the wisdom in venturing onwards, to the place where all this had started. Following his abrupt stop, something large slammed into his back.
“Oh! I am so sorry! I hadn’t noticed you stop,” exclaimed a feminine voice. Turning, Kristophe was amazed to come face to face with the brown-haired woman from the alley, carrying four plastic shopping bags.
“That is all right.” Kristophe replied easily. “I shouldn’t have stopped so suddenly. Would you like some help with those?” he asked, gesturing to indicate the heavy bags that were looking as though they were about to be dropped at any moment.
“Why, thank you,” she smiled. “That would be wonderful. Do I know you from somewhere? I feel as if you are familiar and that I should recognize you.”
Kristophe laughed and took the shopping bags from her hands, and they walked onward, talking effortlessly, under the sun’s golden rays.
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