The Shadow

Long past the sinking of the sun, a young woman marched down the sidewalk on her journey home. The day had been long, but her work was done, and a warm bed awaited her. She increased her stride, eager to arrive home to it.

A thumping sound came from behind. She glanced curiously over her shoulder, just in time to see a shadow flicker out of sight. Her eyebrow raised, but she thought nothing more of it. Her neighborhood was a safe one, after all.

She continued her long walk through the darkness. Around her, the illuminations of the street lamps pierced through the darkness like artificial stars, provided to help her navigate her course home.

The wind picked up with zero warning, kissing the back of her neck with ice cold lips and sending her hair flailing. She froze in sudden shock as, one by one, the trusty street lamps flickered out.

There she stood in total darkness, with the whistle of the biting wind as the only sound reminding her that she was still among the living.

There were footsteps behind her. She could feel them closing in. She took a step to run when the darkness congealed around her. She felt arms encircle her waist and drag her across the sidewalk.

The darkness thickened, and her assailant stopped moving.

"Let me go!" she called out.

"Calm yourself, ma'am," said a voice in her ear. The voice was strong but gentle, a manly voice that she found reassuring. "Someone has been following for the last six blocks. He is carrying a seven-inch ballistics knife in his right hand, and the tattoo of an A on his forehead suggests that he means harm with it. He will not find you here. Remain calm. When he is gone, I will release you."

John looked through his shadow dimension, into the physical plane from which he had snatched the would-be victim. The hoodlum had caught up her, or rather, where she had been a moment before. His long blade glistened in the moonlight.

"Where'd you go, hot links?" called the stalker in a sing-song voice.

John hardened his jaw, the Hat Man equivalent of clenching one's teeth. It infuriated him how some humans thought of their fellows, nothing more than trinkets or novelties to be enjoyed and then cast aside. Everything about this guy made him angry: his smug grin, his hungry eyes, and that obnoxious tattoo.

"On second thought," whispered the shadow man to his charge, "wait here a moment."

The young woman felt the shadow man release his grip. He was gone.

"Where are youuuuuuu?" called the hoodlum, brandishing his knife. "I just want to have a little fun!"

"Fun?" asked  a voice behind the crook. "I know a few jokes. What do you call a knife-wielding stalker on the wrong end of a cane sword?"

The crook turned around to look at the speaker. His jaw went slack, and the knife fell out of his hand.

The figure behind him stood seven feet tall. He wore a long trench coat that seemed to billow in the wind. His hands rested atop a cane held before him. A large, wide-brimmed fedora rested on top of his head. His *featureless* head. The man was no more than a shadow, a silhouette of a man.

The crook took a step backwards, but John was quicker. A sharp, shadowy rapier blade sprouted from the cane, skewering the man through the abdomen.

"Answer," said John, "A man with holes in his character."