by Donna Burgess

Created on: January 23, 2009

My Shadowman

Dusk - the nights are as sultry as the tropics, and I keep my window open to invite in what little breeze there is that lifts off the Atlantic. Dusk is when my Shadowman comes.

Stars like diamonds on blue silk, and I do well to tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. The odor of fish rises up and up from the shores, and then the fragrance of frying oysters from the streets below. My belly rumbles, but I do not dare go! Not now. Not since my Shadowman started coming 'round.

Sounds - the sensuous violin and piano and laughter - music of the city, ride the night breeze to my window as the scents did. And I wait, not giving in to the desire to leave this room. I wait for my Shadowman to appear.

I called him to me one purple-mooned night not so very long ago, with old chants from a forgotten book, a potion and prayers seldom used anymore. I called to me, my Shadowman, for power, for wealth, for fame.

For knowledge.

For horror.

Grief and death.

I check the street below and see him among a writhing sea of humanity, beckoning to me. Tall and regal in his cap and frock, his face all ashadow, with outstretched arms he calls me by name.

"Bridget, come down, mon chere!" His voice is deep and seems much farther away than the street below. "Come down here and taste death with me."

I cannot make my living because of my Shadowman, and I fear shall get thrown from my room if I do not make the rent.

But I fear my Shadowman more.

I clutch my crucifix to my bosom and draw back deeper into my room. Orange light from lamps dance across the walls like small angels and demons, but it warms my chilled skin. I recite the twenty-third Psalm to warm my chilled soul.

Kneeling, the bed as my alter, I once again wish to the Lord above to forgive my dabblings in the Black Arts.

The Lord answers my pleads with footfalls in my hallway. The slow, deliberate steps of my Shadowman.

"Mon chere, I hear those prayers," he says, strolling closer to my door. "Come out, little temptress, the moon is up. Let me look upon your face in the blue light. Let me look upon you up close for the street below is much too far to behold a beauty such as yours."

"Stay away from my door, spook!" I cry suddenly.
This warning, I had drawn the courage for only a night ago. "Stay away from my soul!"

And only a night ago had my Shadowman drawn the courage to turn my doorhandle.

Hurriedly, I dash about my cramped quarters to gather
whatever holy objects I can lay hold of.
But there is nothing more than the

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