***
Kicking the ball with a fierce energy, Colin sent it spinning through the air. At least there was some satisfaction in that. Kicking was the best part of the game. Since it was a given that they were going to lose, it probably made sense to put their worst player in net. Not even that bothered him, because every time his foot came in contact with the ball, it was like kicking away a piece of himself, a piece he didn’t like, and it was strangely gratifying.
He had plenty of opportunities to kick the ball, because it had been buried in the net behind him so often. Surging down the left side of the field, the orange and blue stripes of the other team were coming again, passing back and forth with adroit skill. His own blue-shirted side was not having much effect in stopping the onslaught, and he knew it was just a matter of time before the other team scored again.
“Get off the line! Get off the line!” screamed the coach, Justine Bone, his swollen, beet-red face threatening to burst.
Colin glanced down at the white chalk line he had been standing on, and wondered what the big, beefy man was yelling about. Wasn’t he supposed to stand on the line? Distracted by the perplexing yells of the coach, he felt the soughing wind as the ball whizzed past him, saw the agonized, defeated faces of his teammates. He tried to ignore the, now apoplectic, coach jumping up and down on the sideline. Mercifully, the final long whistle went and the game was at an end.
It was the walk of shame off the field, but Colin figured a little bit of shame was the price of playing. He knew too much of what it was to be excluded. If he wanted a normal life, a life other kids took for granted, he would just have “to brass it out,” as Sergeant Peary would say. Unfortunately, Sergeant Peary was just a comic book character -- or a voice in his head.
“Come on! Come on!” squawked Edge like a chicken. The coach’s son, his face jabbing intrusively into Colin’s space, was a miniature version of his father, quick to anger and slow in thought.
“Where are we going?” mumbled Colin unable to pass up the opportunity to taunt the thick-featured Edge.
“What do you mean?” the boy’s beady eyes went hard, his breath smelling of sports drink and oranges, “Maybe next time you can let in six instead of seven! But wait, there won’t be a next time!”
From previous experience he knew it was best not to taunt Edge. Even as slow as he was, he would eventually understand, and along with understanding came revenge. Colin fought down the urge to point out that most of the goals were caused by Edge’s unwillingness to pass the ball, but he just shrugged. When he reached the point where everyone was gathered in front of the furious coach, Colin prudently continued to stare at his feet. He found that if you looked at someone who was angry, looked them in the eyes, you became a target. He saw something glittering on the ground: a dewdrop on a blade of grass.
Scowling, Mr. Bone jabbed a thick, sausage-like finger towards Colin’s chest and started in on him. “What were you doing out there? You call that net minding? My arthritic Grandma could do better than that! If we weren’t short, I’d sit you on the sideline where you belong. Boy! Whatever possessed you to think you could play this game?”
The coach went on, and on, and Colin felt the heat of embarrassment rising into his face. Eventually, the man would vent enough steam that his swollen head would begin to deflate and then he would find someone else to pick on, or better still, he would just go away.
There was a self-satisfied, haughty smirk on Edge’s face, as if he was about to say: “I told you so. I told you we shouldn’t have let him play. I can spot a weirdo, a loser anytime. He’s not one of us.”
Colin merely shrugged looking down at his untied shoelaces. Of course he wasn’t like them. His clothes were different, his shoes were old and he lived in a tent, but it didn’t stop him from wanting friends and wanting to play games that others played. It had seemed like a logical thing, telling the coach he knew how to play. Even though his little lie didn’t seem very bad, he regretted having told it. But, how else was he going to get to play? And he wanted to play more than anything. It seemed like a good idea at the time…
Standing in front of the coach, he felt Mr. Bone’s hot breath, like the fetid inside of some musty cavern, blowing on his face. He waited for a pause in the man’s blustering. Eventually he would stop -- or blow up. He was beginning to hope for the latter to occur.
“You leave me no choice,” said the harsh, but fractionally mollified, voice. “I’m going to have to ask you to hand in your shirt and leave the team.”
Colin looked up askance. Boy, did Edge and his father ever think alike! “But, coach, this is the last game of the season. Don’t we all have to hand in our shirts?”
“Don’t talk back to me! Now, give me the shirt,” snapped Mr. Bone, insulted by the boy’s impertinence. His bald head, sweaty and red, shimmered in the evening sun as he thrust out a meaty hand, thick fingers twitching.
Colin pulled the sweater over his head, revealing his red, yellow, blue and green shirt beneath. Edge snickered. It didn’t bother Colin; he liked the colours and so did his aunt, which was strange, because she only wore black. The only complaint he had was that it made him stand out. It was hard to be invisible when you were glowing with colour. He pulled a matching toque over his head, and felt everybody’s eyes on him.
“Hey, Rainbow, did you’re mommy buy your clothes?” snickered Edge, his voice accompanied by a few other derisive laughs.
Colin slid his sunglasses onto his face, “Actually, my mother is dead, and my aunt made them from the hair of animals you’ve never seen.” It was true, and the truth broadsided Edge into silence. At that moment his irritation with Edge disappeared, because on the ground, just in front of him, a black dot was beginning to form. He knew exactly what it meant, and what was coming. Quickly he tossed the sweater at Mr. Bone and walked briskly away. He wasn’t particularly concerned about the comments anymore; it was the dot he was running from -- the Shadow Nix.
“Boy, do you understand me? Boy?” called out the coach, hoping his message hadn’t been misunderstood. The last thing he needed was the kid showing up next year expecting to play.
Colin understood the coach perfectly; however, he had more important concerns to deal with at the moment.
“Rusty, leave him be,” called out Mr. Bone.
There was a flash of red hair and the sound of running feet and the breath of someone trying to catch up to him, then settling in beside him, matching his striding paces. If he refused to look at the girl, she’d go away.
“Don’t listen to Egg Head. He’s all bluster. In fact I’ve been meaning to thank you.”
Colin glanced at her, perplexed and confused; for a moment he forgot about the black dot that was following him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He noticed how a spray of red freckles bridged over her nose. Her hair wasn’t rust colored at all -- it was like a golden flame. Why did they call her Rusty? He looked back down at his feet and tried not to stumble.
“Before you came along I used to be Egg Head’s victim,” she said grinning.
“Why you?” stuttered Colin disbelieving. “You’re really good.”
“I’m a girl. Haven’t you noticed there are no other girls on the team? Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” and “of course I noticed,” said Colin wondering why she was insisting on following him.
“Mind if I come along?”
Colin panicked, feeling the black dot behind him. He could sense it, feel it with his mind. It had grown legs and was now increasing its pace in an attempt to catch up to him. He could feel its blackness, its absence of being as though it was there and yet not there, extending, trying to catch him. If he didn’t pick up his speed, it would overtake him, and that would not be good. This was how bad things always started: with a black dot that would grow into a Shadow Nix. Something nasty was about to happen, and it was trying to happen to him!
/> “I really have to go home now,” he said breaking into a full run.
Even though Rhea Li wanted to get to know the strange boy, sprinting after him seemed a little too desperate a measure. So, she stopped and watched as he ran away, fascinated by this odd boy, and wondering when he was going to trip on the flapping laces of his untied trainers.
Colin hazarded a glance over his shoulder to see if the Shadow Nix was gaining on him, when in fact his feet did tangle up with his laces and he pitched forward onto his face. He fell headlong into a concealing hedge in front of a series of low-income row houses. He rolled onto his back and stared between his feet. He had only made it to the other side of the field; off in the distance his teammates were still watching his embarrassment. The Shadow Nix wasn’t coming for him! It was pursuing Rhea. Cloaked and cowled like a monk, it was now more solid in form; it floated above the ground, turning the grass underneath it into a sickly gray. He swallowed hard.
A voice, like rocks grinding against each other, barked in the back of his head. It was the voice of Sergeant Peary: “Diversionary tactic! Buy some time! You’ve got to help the girl! DO IT, NOW!”
Colin scrambled to his feet, and without any thought for himself, raced back to Rhea. She was unaware of the threat stalking her. The Shadow Nix was now as large as Rhea. In fact it was an exact duplicate of her and was moving to overtake her. If the shadow did so, a multitude of things could happen, none of which were good. He must distract the shadow long enough until it ran out of time. From dot to Shadow Nix, the thing had only two or three minutes to find a victim, to attach to someone. If it didn’t do it in that time, it would simply disappear.
“Rhea!” he yelled, running at her.
She turned to face him, a perplexed and querulous expression on her face. “Colin?”
“Don’t just stand there!” he said, dancing about her, waving his hands. “Move!” The Shadow Nix had an easier time attaching itself if its victim wasn’t moving. Rhea stared at him like he was a lunatic, but that was understandable, considering the circumstances. And since it was hard enough finding a friend, let alone one that was nice to him, he knew he must save her from harm.
Colin dodged between her and the shadow, confusing it and providing a protective barrier for Rhea. For some reason, the shadow wasn’t after him this time, or so he thought; then the edge of the shadow began to fluctuate, becoming soft, and then it took on a different edge and dashed at him. Colin went from chasing the shadow to being chased by it, from protecting Rhea to using her as a shield. Then again it reversed and went after Rhea. Colin, in his awkward dance, caught one of Rhea’s elbows in the face, hard enough so that his nose started to bleed. Skipping and waving his hands in the air, he felt a bit like a fool, but the tactic was working.
“Weird,” muttered Mr. Bone in fearful disgust beneath his breath, watching the two on the other side of the field. As the strange boy danced around Rhea, waving his arms. The kid was beyond strange, should be locked away, out of the sight of decent folk, he thought. There had to be something mentally wrong with the kid. It was a gut feeling he prided himself on, knowing when someone was different. “Oh, jeez,” he muttered, knowing he was eventually going to have to get involved. Rhea was not only one of his players, but she had an influential parent, an Educational Psychologist or something. He didn’t like getting involved, not in situations that he couldn’t control, and this was one of those questionable situations. He wouldn’t mind slapping a few of the kids, now and then, but he had no desire to get in trouble with the law.
“Hey! Leave Rusty alone. Get out of here, boy!” His yell had no effect, and the boy continued to jump about wildly. “Edge,” he said to his son, “keep the team together. I’m going to see what’s going on.” He began to trundle across the field to where Rhea and Colin were, as fast as his blocky frame could carry him.
Colin lunged to the side, just missing Rhea and deflecting the Shadow Nix again. Rhea flinched confusedly trying to get the handkerchief, that had been tied around her neck, onto his bleeding nose. At first she had been too bewildered by Colin’s actions to try it, but strangely enough, she was getting used to his bizarre behavior, it was oddly endearing, and of course, she felt bad about smashing him in the nose. She waved the handkerchief at him as he dashed by.
“Here, take this! You’re getting blood all over the place. If you don’t stop moving, you’ll never get it to -- stop that!” she yelled out as Colin spun away from her attempts to stop the bleeding. She swung at him again trying to shove the handkerchief at his nose, and hit him in the eye, smashing his sunglasses.
“Oww,” he said, dancing to the side.
“Sorry, but you’ll have to stop moving!”
He knew that the moment he stopped, the Shadow Nix would grab one of them. Before he could get in the way again, the Shadow Nix slipped by him and almost brushed up against Rhea. He gasped and threw himself at her knocking her to the ground. “Sorry!” he said springing to his feet and looking about wildly for the Nix.
Rhea shook her head, not offended by the bump or the tumble; she had gotten far worse playing soccer with boys. What disturbed her was the gentle flutter she had felt against the skin of her arm, the cold fear it caused inside her. She rubbed the point of near contact as though she was trying to warm away frostbite. Feeling dreadfully light headed, as though the sun had momentarily been shut off and a great black cloud threatened to overwhelm the pair of them, she bent forward and let the blood rush to her head.
“What was that?” she demanded.
“Shadow Nix: It’s trying to get us,” groaned Colin, slipping around her in a circle, trying to elude the spectral form again. He knew she wouldn’t understand, but could think of nothing else to say.
She was about to say “The what?” but then saw something, an undulating wave, distorting the air like the rising heat from an asphalt road in the summer. Within the wave a black dot appeared, growing steadily larger, expanding outwards, taking the shape of a complete shadow, the black dilating cavity of an arm distorting, elongating like a snake, reaching for her. She gasped in horror. Colin stepped between them, and the thing hesitated, changed, and went after him. Fortunately, it seemed to be slow, as if some great ponderous weight was holding it back.
“I...I...can see it!” stuttered Rhea, eyes wide, “What is it?”
He dodged. “A Shadow Nix,” repeated Colin. “Don’t let it touch you, whatever you do.” Then he tripped again on his untied shoelaces. Falling hard onto the grass, the wind was pressed painfully out of his lungs; but he managed to push himself upright. The shadow was just about to wrap itself around a horrified Rhea who seemed unable to move. It stopped as though thinking, then suddenly inflated, growing in size, turned and plunged into the oncoming, stomping form of the red faced Mr. Bone. The Shadow Nix slipped into the coach as though it was fitting a suit, and apparently, disappeared. The big man halted, wavered on his feet, and lifted a thick hand to wipe his forehead. His face went from red to a peculiar sickly shade of green. “Rhea, are you all right?” said Mr. Bone, wobbling as though he was on a ship in a rough sea.
Rhea nodded. “Yeah, nothing wrong here. Colin was just showing me the latest dance moves,” she lied. She continued to hop around waving her hands in the air. “Aren’t they like really rad?”
“Right,” said the coach doubtfully, but sedately. He wavered again and put his hands out to maintain his balance. “I don’t seem to be feeling so good. Let’s go home.” His shoulders slouched as he ambled off the field.
Colin got to his feet and Rhea instinctively reached for his nose, covering it with the handkerchief. “Mom says never leave home without one of these. It’s got a hundred and one uses.”
“Tanks.”
The bleeding had stopped, but he put the cloth over his nose anyway. It felt awkward, someone being nice to him.
“What’s going to happen to him?” asked Rhea. The
coach’s broad shoulders continued to sag.
“I don’t know,” answered Colin. “I’ve never seen one do that before. Usually they attach themselves to a person like a shadow, not slip inside them. Sometimes, a Shadow Nix can make people really depressed. I don’t know much about them, just enough to know they aren’t good. Grandfather Thunder says they’re a type of ghost that wants to live again, but they can’t do it by themselves.”
“That’s eerie. Normally, I’d say you’re nuts, but I saw it, like a black sheet or something,” said Rhea much too brightly. “Who’s Grandfather Thunder?”
“A friend. I better get going.” Colin was staring down at his trainers, trying not to look Rhea in the eyes, trying to find a way to end the uncomfortable feeling that was growing inside him.
“My mom is an educational psychologist. She would love to hear about these Nixes and she’d love to talk to your Grandfather. You know …,” she stuttered, trying to voice her next thought, “it was trying to get one of us, wasn’t it?”
Colin nodded. “It was after me, but because you tried to help me, it went after you. Listen, I’ve got to go home now.” He was feeling more and more uncomfortable, not because of the subject, but because he had never made friends with anyone on the outside that could see anything. He felt excited . . . and confused.
“Where do you live?” Rhea asked.
Colin was afraid she was going to ask this. He disliked having to lie. Shrugging, he just said, “Around.”
Rhea watched as Colin turned and walked away, the blood-spattered handkerchief still held to his nose. Deciding she wasn’t through, she ran after him, catching up to him. “School starts tomorrow. Which school are you going to?”
Colin stopped, hoping she wouldn’t persist in following him all the way home. He shrugged. “What school are you going to?”
“High View. What about you?”
“Same.” It didn’t matter if he lied. He’d probably never see her again, not after his aunt found out what he had been doing.
“See you tomorrow.”
Colin waved. “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” he said a bit despondently.