The Shadow-child
Imagine a child not much taller than an adult’s waist and small enough for a grandparent to lift with only some difficulty. The child has short dark hair, ordinary clothing; however, the child’s face is uncanny, overcast and out of focus at the same time. You look more carefully, but no, this child is not letting you see them. Frustrated, you try looking away to clear the blur of their face from your eyes, and then you look again, but the face does not form. Finally, you accept that this child’s nature is to remain faceless.
The child has two guardians: Both are tall and lean, but they are also cold-looking. Prolonged observation of them conjures images reminiscent of snow-covered cedars on a cold night. They both provide instruction that guides the child well enough, but in the same way that a dog will not swim when pushed; their harsh delivery ensures the child’s opposition. At times, the child rages against them and their endless demands, but the child’s strikes fall soft.
Your time watching this child is brief, but you know that what you see is unlikely to change: The child should not expect love, and you feel that abuse through neglect and disapproval will define them. Then something extraordinary happens. The child’s face becomes even more obscure and cloaked; the child’d entire body recedes, flattens, and stretches long across the ground. At the same time, the guardians grow colder and more stationary. They quickly whither into obscure background fixtures, but their coldness lingers by emanating like darkened rays from the spectre that is now the child. You become uneasy and cold, and with that, you turn and walk away. When you look back in the direction of the spectre, it has vanished. You feel relief that you no longer have to watch this horrible play unfold, but you also regret that you did nothing to ease the child’s suffering; you regret your cowardice.
Time goes by, you begin to forget, and thoughts of the child haunt you with less frequency each day; your life begins to return to normal. You wonder, ‘maybe I didn’t see what I thought I saw? Perhaps it would be better if I forget the child entirely.’ This strategy works well for several months, but you always wondered if the spectre would return.
It is a cold autumn night, and you are out walking when you happen upon an old acquaintance. The conversation becomes personal, and you both begin to grow tired and angry with each other. You move from frustration to full animation, and the conversation moves from heated to one-sided; you make sure not to lose the upper hand. Crossing your arms and swinging your head back, you catch your breath, and that is when you see something out of the corner of your eyes. You notice your acquaintance’s shadow on the ground just beneath their arm. The shadow is growing and contracting behind them, but the shadow’s movement is out of sync with the one casting it. Then the air turns cold, you feel empty, and everything goes dark. The child has returned.
You wake to your acquaintance lightly slapping your face and asking, ‘are you ok?’
Nodding your head, more as a matter of impulse than thoughtfulness, you muster the strength to answer ‘yes.’ You rise to your feet as if floating, you step back, looking at your acquaintance’s shadow one last time, but it is now unremarkable. Then, collecting your thoughts, you offer a clumsy apology, ‘I’m, ah, sorry for getting upset.’
One thought intrusively recycles through your mind, ‘did they see the child?’ But looking at your acquaintance’s face one last time convinces you that they did not. You walk away, stunned, but you are also relieved that the ordeal is over. The last thing you notice is your acquaintance’s wide eyes; concern for your wellbeing.
These days you guard your words and monitor your emotions whenever you speak. You realize that the shadow-child is always there, dim when you are kind, but dark and distorted when you are not. On rare occasions, you forget about this spectre and lose yourself to wild passion. But you need only look down briefly at the dancing shadows cast around you to remember to compose yourself again.
Copywrite July 11, 2021, The Autumn Tree Publication, https://autumntree.medium.com/the-shadow-child-185d95c14ae0
