Shadow Catchers 

Prologue

The boy was singing to himself as he walked along the footpath kicking stones. His shadow stretched beside him, brushing the hedge.

The woman watched from across the road, her scarf tight around her neck.

Something moved. It clung to the hedge line, in the dark where the leaves rotted on the ground. There was no rustling of leaves as it just dragged itself towards the boy’s shadow, a slow pull.

The boy’s voice lifted for the chorus. He paused mid-step. His shadow touched the hedge’s shadow and zipped to it, edge to edge, and the darkness thickened.

He blinked hard, like something had passed too close. His voice went flat and the tune slipped out of key. He kept walking, kept kicking, trying to match his steps to the song he thought he was singing, though the two no longer belonged to each other. He turned into his driveway and his shadow followed.

Across the road, the woman’s knuckles went white around her scarf. Her chair rolled forward, wheels catching on the kerb. She stopped it.

In the hedge, the dark settled, and waited.

Chapter 1

Joe woke slowly, staring at the ceiling. His brain was working but the rest of him always took a little longer to catch up. His wheelchair waited beside the bed, exactly where he had left it, brakes locked. He pushed himself upright, moved his legs into position with his hands, then lifted himself across into the seat. He settled his feet on the footplates, unlocked the chair and rolled into the hallway.

He stopped outside Tom’s closed door. Tom was murdering a song about space. Most of the words were wrong, and all of them were loud.

Joe smiled and kept rolling until he came to Ami’s room.

Her door opened into a teenage disaster zone.

Dirty clothes in and around the washing basket. Her shoes and jandals were scattered where she’d kicked them off. The walls were covered with posters and photos, mainly of her and Mum, Brooke and Zoe.

Ami lay flat on her back, eyes closed. Her earbud was jammed in one ear, her voice soft.

“Tomorrow, I said,” she whispered, then cut herself off.

Her eyes opened. For half a second, they stayed unfocused, fixed on nothing, before she blinked and they cleared again on their own.

“Earth to Ami,” Joe said, and laughed. The sound snapped her fully back and she turned towards him.

She glared, mouthing, Get Out.

“Who’s that you’re whispering to?” Joe pushed further in, leaning forward over the armrests with a grin that meant trouble. “What’s happening?”

Ami ripped the earbud out and snatched her phone off her chest. “Get. Out. Joe.”

“Why are you whispering?” Joe sat back and folded his arms. “You’re talking to Connor. Bet you are. I can tell. You’re gonna sneak out, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, Joe.”

“Wait till Dad finds out you’re talking to him again.”

Ami sat up, grabbed a jandal off the floor and hurled it at him. It smacked against the doorframe, just missing his front wheel.

“Go away, jerk!”

Joe nearly turned away, but Ami’s glare faltered. Something uncertain showed underneath it, then vanished.

Joe noticed, but he grinned anyway, pretending he hadn’t. Ami kicked the door shut with her foot. It clipped his wheelchair as he backed out and slammed shut.

Joe sat there listening for the yelling or swearing. It didn’t come.

* * *

Dad stood at the kitchen bench, staring at the old calendar on the wall. The milk jug trembled as he held it over the bowl.

“That calendar’s three years out of date,” Joe said, rolling to his place at the table.

Dad didn’t answer. Milk struck the rim, splashed across the bench and dripped onto the tiles.

“Dad!”

Dad looked up. “Damn. Not again.” He grabbed a tea towel and wiped up the mess, then gave Joe a look that was meant to shut him up.

Ami slouched in, eyes locked on her screen.

“Finished whispering to Connor?” Joe asked, smirking. “You went all mushy and spaced out earlier.”

“Shut up, Joe,” she said, her cheeks colouring.

“Enough, you two,” Dad muttered, throwing the damp tea towel into the sink. “Ami, get the spoons out.”

Ami didn’t budge.

“I mean now, Ami. Not when you’re ready.”

Tom came sliding in on his socks.

“Why can’t he do it? He’s full of energy.”

“I’ll get them!” Tom yelled, nearly wiping out the kitchen table as he slid across the floor.

“Top drawer,” Joe said.

“I know that, Joe! I’ll be eight this year!” Tom yelled, skidding to a halt.

Before he could reach the handle, Ami shouldered past him and yanked the drawer open. Cutlery rattled inside. “Too slow, toddler.”

Joe watched her at the drawer. Her shadow stretched over the tiles towards the pantry. But there was something else there. A second patch of darkness crept out from beneath the pantry door. It slid across the floor until it touched Ami’s shadow, then slipped into it.

Joe leaned forward, gripping his rims. Ami had gone completely still.

“Ami!” he shouted.

Tom jumped and stumbled back from the drawer.

Dad spun from the bench. Ami stayed exactly as she was. Unblinking. Like the shout hadn’t reached her.

“Ami?” Joe said, softer.

She gave no sign she had heard him.

Then, zip.

Ami shuddered once, a tiny jolt through her shoulders. Then another tremor. She turned with the spoons in her hand and walked slowly to the table without stomping or slouching. She laid them down, each one perfectly straight.

Joe stared.

Ami’s bracelet slid down her wrist. Usually she’d fiddle with it until it felt right. This time it stayed. She didn’t seem to notice. She adjusted one spoon until it lined up with the others. Then she folded her hands and sat back.

“What was that shouting about?” Dad asked Joe.

Joe couldn’t take his eyes off her hands. They were still. She always fiddled with the bracelet or picked up her phone to check for messages.

“Joe?” Dad said.

Joe looked back. Dad had seen it, or had to have seen something.

Joe grabbed his sleeve. “Dad, please. Look at her. She’s not Ami. Dad, you saw it!”

“Saw what?”

“Her! She wasn’t moving. She didn’t answer me.”

Dad went still. He didn’t look at her. He pulled his arm free, not sharply, but enough.

“Enough, Joe.”

“Dad, you saw her. I know you did.”

Dad hesitated and glanced towards Ami.

“I said enough,” Dad said. He sat down without looking at Ami. His hand tightened around the edge of the table. “We’re not starting this again.”

Ami hadn’t moved, and Joe willed her to fix the bracelet or move the spoons. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring past him.

“Eat,” Dad said.

Tom sat and started tapping his spoon against the bowl. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Joe flinched. “Don’t, Tom.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

Clink.

“Just stop it.”

Tom shrugged and went back to his soggy Weet-Bix. Joe pushed away from the table, his wheels giving a sharp squeak on the tiles. No one looked up. Not even Dad.

* * *

Joe left the kitchen, his chest still burning from Dad’s words. We’re not starting this again. Like he was the one who’d done something wrong.  He rolled down the hallway, not looking at anything, until the shadows made him look.

Morning light threw long, distorted shapes across the hallway floor.

He moved slowly until one of the shadows crossed his wheels, then locked his brakes. The shadow broke between the spokes, paused, and slid back.

He glanced towards the kitchen. The table and chairs cast shadows that stayed whole. His didn’t.

Ami’s shadow had stretched towards the pantry door, as though something was pulling it. Then something had slipped inside.

Joe went to his room and pushed the door shut. Beneath his chair, his shadow broke into pieces.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. No one had believed him. Not even Dad.