4. Meet the Shadow Man

The air was warm. Music floated on the breeze. The sound was coming from the pavilion nestled in the trees. It was the middle of summer; tourists were out in full force. The pavilion was packed every night with vacationers coming to hear the big bands.

Tristan Black stood at the side of the stage watching the bandleader sing and dance. He took a final drag on his cigarette and tossed it on the ground. The band was good, they came with a recommendation, but that didn’t always mean anything. He was glad he had booked them.

Tristan was the manager of the pavilion, which was part of a large hotel. He had held the job for nearly ten years. It suited him. He liked music and people, and he especially liked working under the stars.

As he reached into his pocket for another cigarette the clouds above parted, sending moonlight down through the evergreens. Tristan’s limbs tingled. It was a familiar feeling, even a welcome one. He slipped away from the pavilion, listening to the bandleader hit a high note.

It took just a few seconds to be amongst the trees. Tristan looked over his shoulder, just in case someone had followed him. No one was there. He took a deep breath and let his body transform into a shadow. In the blink of an eye his image went from solid to opaque, blending into his surroundings.

Tristan was a shadow man, someone whose body could become dark and cloudy, like a shadow. The proper name was umbraer, being that the umbra was the darkest part of the shadow. But few people had ever called them that. People like him were usually known as shadow men, even if they were women, and had been for centuries. Spotting shadow men was something of a sport, for the ones who lived in the light, those who couldn’t make themselves into dusky darkness.

Being in shadow felt good, like being naked. Tristan wandered around the woods, letting the moonlight wash over him. He thought of his brother Gabriel who was fond of taking strolls after midnight around his neighborhood. Tristan didn’t know how his brother did it, living in a loud, crowded city. He much preferred the solitude of the country. He closed his eyes and listened to the music, a frisky Latin beat.

“Mr. Black?” a voice cut through the pleasant night air.

Tristan spun around. He was thankful he hadn’t lit his cigarette yet.

“Mr. Black?” Susan, the young woman who ran the coat check, emerged through the trees. Her eyes searched the woods.

Tristan held his breath. The moon was bright, it could reveal his form, a shadow where a shadow shouldn’t be.

Susan scratched her head. “Mr. Black?” she asked again. She seemed to know something, or someone was there.

Tristan remained still. He might be difficult to see, but he would still make a sound when he moved.

Susan’s red curls glistened in the silvery light. Slowly she reached her hand out. “Are you there?” she whispered.

Tristan leaned back on his heels to prevent her fingertips from reaching him. As he did the light suddenly faded. He looked up to see a new batch of clouds rolling across the sky, covering the room. Night became night again.

Tristan moved quickly, darting behind a tree to return himself to what the rest of the world considered normal. “Susan?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He fumbled in his pocket for a lighter.

Susan stared at him, wide eyed. “Mr. Phelps is looking for you.”

“All right.” He lit the end of his cigarette, attempting to adopt the pose of someone in a movie. Meanwhile, his insides were shaking.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just smoking.” His voice sounded false.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “I see.” The clouds parted again, bathing her in milky light.“ You should be careful out here.

"Oh?”

She gave him a knowing look. “I hear there are shadow men in these woods.”

“Those are just folk tales.” he said, practically coughing out the words.

She smirked.“ Perhaps they are.” She turned and headed back to the pavilion.

Tristan followed her at a distance, careful to stay out of the shadows.