Welcome to the Shit Show

Chapter 13

Juniper

He was here. HERE. This wasn't a dream. I knew because I immediately slammed my fist into the floor as hard as I could. The throbbing pain was enough for me to realize that what I was seeing was really my reality.

I felt liquid rage pumping through my veins, and an overwhelming sense of dread at the same time. I couldn't physically touch him. I know because I once watched my father take a swing at him. His fist just went straight through the shadow man's face while he stood there, smiling.

He looked the same as he had that night. Same hat, shoes and three-piece suit expertly tailored to fit his shadowy form.

I sat up slowly. Scooting as far back as I could until my back was braced against the wall. His goat-headed cane was tucked up under one arm while the other hand rested on the brim of his hat, he was pulling the brim further down to shield his eyes. Try as he might though, I could still see a sliver of pupil poking out at me, clearly illuminated in the low early-morning light. I was further surprised to realize his eyes weren't silver as I remembered. Instead, his eyes were a shade of molten gold that shimmered, almost glowing, in the poorly lit room.

He looked at me with the same shark-toothed grin I remembered from my childhood. He stood a solid, silent, sentry against the door. Effectively blocking the only exit.

I glanced up slowly at the window of my small room. Well, the only reasonable exit, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Are you seriously considering serious bodily harm over a simple conversation with me?" I let my eyes roam over what I could see of his face. The smirk on he had on hid the wicked looking teeth I was so familiar with.

"If I say yes, can we avoid the whole confrontation all together?" He snorted and brought his cane down from under his arm letting both hands rest on the goat's curved horns.

"Afraid not little one. We need to talk," he set the cane down, propping it up against the bed. I shot up reaching for the window latch as soon as his eyes left me. I felt an unnaturally strong hand grip onto my left wrist, causing me to turn and strike out with my free hand. I felt what my father must have felt all those years ago. It was a strange, sickening sensation I can only describe as wrong. I witnessed my had move closely to the side of his face, but instead of connecting I watched, horrified, as my hand passed through his chin and neck. His free arm captured mine easily, causing a bubble of panic to rise in my chest.

His grip on my other arm tightened as the stiff leather of his glove cut harder into my skin. "Now, now dear I understand your frustration but now is not the time." The smirk on his face never wavered. Not even as I struggled with all my strength. I tried to bring my leg up. Attempting to build enough momentum to get a kick out. All I managed to accomplish was witnessing my foot pass through his leg.

Whilst struggling the only small victory I gained was knocking the stupid fedora off his head, kicking it away as it fell on my feet.

He let out a curse and I scrunched my eyes closed preparing for the worst, but nothing happened. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at the hat lying on the ground a foot away. For the first time in my recollection, I could see almost half of his face. Whole and uncovered.

He was turned away from me, still staring at the hat that was rumpled forlornly on the ground. It's pretty feather slightly bent. From this angle I could see his hair was cut short on the sides and back, but the top was left long. A couple of inky black strands fell forward from where they had been slicked back, falling over an eye and his sharp cheekbones.

When he turned back to me, rage and something akin to panic in his eyes, he leaned in close to me, I could smell a nasty rotted scent on his breath that reminded me of roadkill. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to scream. I wanted to do anything other than what I did. Nothing.