gets whatever she wants. It isn't fair. At six years old, Anita's understanding of the concepts of good and bad as well as fairness is limited. As she lies there pondering philosophy, she remembers Father Tim explaining good and bad as two sides of the same coin. It hadn't really made sense at the time, but now her eyes fly open wide and her "Oh!" of understanding is loud in the stillness of the room. She and her twin sister are two sides of the same coin.

     Another yawn. All this thinking is making her tired. Looking across the room at her sister's empty bed (Louisa is probably in the kitchen getting another slice of cake), her eyes shift beyond to the beautiful doll sitting on the chest of drawers. Anita's eyelids grow heavy as she gazes at it and it isn't long before she drifts off to sleep.

     Hours later she wakes, sensing the wrongness of the room immediately. The hammering of her heart echoes in her ears, each beat feeling as if the organ will burst free from its cage of ribs. As if it'll run away into the night to escape whatever's here. And something is here. With each breath she takes, the prickling sensation of being watched intensifies. Trying to make herself small and invisible, only her eyes move, taking inventory of the room.

     The door's open! She inhales sharply and the prickling sensation runs through her body as it builds into a tremble. Gooseflesh spreads across her skin and she trembles again. Has someone been here? They could still be in the room, hiding and waiting. She freezes, holding her breath as she listens, but the house is silent. After what seems like an eternity, she releases her breath and begins to relax. It's probably just the cat. He has an uncanny knack for opening doors. There's sudden movement in her peripheral vision; someone is just outside the room and it's not the cat!

     Full blown panic surges through Anita's body when she realizes she can't move. A strange sensation of pressure is holding her pinned to the bed. A memory surfaces of falling into the lake and sinking deep into the cold water. It clutched at her, held her tightly and tried to press the air from her lungs. She relives the memory now, the air of her bedroom as heavy and cold as the water, her lungs struggling to breath in the thickness of it. She tries to call out, but her throat doesn't work. She tries to look away, but her head won't turn. Even her eyes are out of her control as she continues to glimpse movement in the doorway. She can't look away and her eyes roll of their own accord as far as they'll go, the whites of them gleaming in the dim light.

     A shadowy head peeks around the edge of the doorframe, looks at her for a few seconds and then withdraws as she watches. Anita continues to stare at the doorway and sees the head appear and withdraw again. She stares until her eyes begin to grow dry and burn. Unable to stand it any longer, she blinks and what she sees makes her fight against her immobility, uttering a weak whimper as her breath comes in panicked gasps. A shudder runs through her body. A man is standing in the doorway, or more accurately, the shadow of a man. Anita stares but the shadow man doesn't move. She stares until her eyes begin to burn again and then she blinks. The whimper is louder this time as she struggles against the pressure holding her, even though she knows it's futile. The shadow man is standing several feet into the room.

     Helpless to do anything except stare at the shadow, that's what Anita does. As the seconds tick by, her eyes grow dry and begin to burn. She blinks and the shadow man is closer. Over and over the dark figure advances with each blink of her eyes until it's standing right next to her bed. If she were able to move, she could reach out a hand and touch it. Although the shadow's face is devoid of features, Anita can sense it watching her in a way that makes her feel strange. When she blinks, the shadow man doesn't move any more. A sleepiness washes over her like warm sunshine, soothing her fear in spite of the looming shadow man. She blinks again, her eyelids heavy and slow as she fights to keep them open. Although she doesn't know who this shadow man is, she isn't afraid. Why isn't she afraid? Thoughts are becoming tangled, running into and over each other and making her head feel tired. Nothing makes sense except being tired, she's sleepy and so very tired... Her eyes close and she drifts away into the warm sunshine.​

     A fat calico cat is sprawled on the quilt, its tail swishing in lazy arcs as it watches Louisa upside down. The little girl sits on the bed, brushing her doll's hair. "Would you like your fur brushed Mr. Brutus?" Tilting her head sideways, she giggles at the purring cat before returning her attention to the doll.

     Anita trots down the hallway from the bathroom. She hadn't meant to sleep so late, but the extra sleep makes her feel...cheerful somehow, like knowing something good's about to happen. Easing through the bedroom door, she watches her sister before stepping closer. "Louisa?"

     Louisa looks up from her doll, one hand tightening almost imperceptibly on it. "Yes?"

     "Can I buy your doll?" Crossing to the nightstand, Anita opens a drawer and pulls out a piggybank. Turning around, she faces her sister.

     "What?" Louisa blinks and this time her hand tightens noticeably on the doll. Rolling its bulk upright, the cat fixes Anita with a green-eyed glare before leaping off the bed and stalking out of the room.

     "Can I buy your doll? I've got more than a dollar saved. You can have it. You know how much I like your doll." Anita steps forward. Maybe her sister will be reasonable.

     Louisa frowns. "You had a doll of your own and you smashed it. Cook says you're a wicked, ungrateful girl."

     Something shifts inside Anita, something that feels...shadowy and cold. The hopeful expression on her face vanishes. "Come on Anita. Think of the sweets you can buy with a whole dollar."

     Hesitating only a second, she shakes her head. "No, you can't buy my doll and if you don't leave me alone I'm going to tell father."

     Anita's shoulders slump, her gaze dropping to the floor. Is she really wicked and ungrateful like Cook says? Turning, she stares at the piggybank in her hands before putting it away, unopened. Louisa won't give her the doll and won't sell her the doll, so she'll have to think of something else now. There has to be a way.​

     Waking in the middle of the night, Anita finds herself unable to move, a cold sweat coating her skin just as before. Her attention is drawn to the doorway where a shadowy head eases past the edge of the doorframe to begin its strange game of peek-a-boo. Her body trembles as she watches the shadow man playing his game, peeking at her again and again. Her heart hammers against her chest as she tries her best not to blink, an impossible task. With each closing and opening of her eyelids the shadow man moves closer. A drop of sweat trickles into her eye. It stings, forcing her to blink several times and the shadow man seems to leap across the floor. Anita tries to scream but no sound escapes her throat. She fights the impulse to simply close her eyes. Would the shadow man go away if she did? Would he come closer? The impulse becomes overwhelming and Anita closes her eyes.

     Counting to ten, she takes a deep breath and counts to ten again. He's gone, she tells herself before opening her eyes. The shadow isn't gone and it stands beside the bed, looming over Anita. They stare at each other as her fear surges and then slowly recedes, pushed aside by the warm sunshine sleepiness.

     When the shadow leans down, a faint creaking is audible in the room. Anita didn't know that shadows could creak. It must be a very old shadow, like old Mr. Russo down the street.

     'I am very old. Very, very old.'

     The whisper, faint and scratchy, crawls through Anita's head. Her mouth drops open with a gasp; he must be magic to put his voice in her head. Relaxing in the warm sunshine sleepiness, she listens as the whisper crawls through her head again. Fear is replaced by curiosity, which is in turn replaced by a wonder that makes her eyes shine. Her mind whirrs with the information that's drifting through her head. Things she's never thought of. Things she's never dreamed of. Eventually the whispering stops, the shadow just standing and watching as Anita's eyelids grow heavy. Leaning down one final time, his lips brush her forehead in a ghost-kiss and she sleeps.​​

     The kitchen is warm and inviting with a radio playing softly in the corner. Cook's wiping down the stovetop and muttering to herself while the maid's busy washing the breakfast dishes, her hips swaying to the music. Anita wanders into the room and looks around, sharp eyes taking everything in. Cook's never liked Anita so the kitchen is an unfamiliar place.

     "Do you need something Anita?" Cook pauses and turns to watch her.

     Anita strolls over to the rocking chair in the corner. Brutus the cat is curled in the seat and he opens one sleepy eye to glare at Anita as she approaches. A grin flits across her face and she pinches the cat. Leaping up, he swats at her before dropping to the floor and stalking off, his tail lashing in irritation. Examining the row of scratches on her hand, Anita sighs dramatically.

     "I was hoping you could help me." Sliding into the now empty rocking chair, she fixes her gaze on the floor. "I've been very mean to Louisa. I've apologized, but I really want to do something for her, something nice. I thought of something this morning, but I need help." She glances up at Cook before dropping her eyes again and swinging her feet. "I know how much she loves those jam-drop cookies you make...could you, um, make some of those? As a surprise for Louisa? I'm really very sorry for being mean to her."

     "Of course I'll bake some cookies for Louisa. But it'll have to be this afternoon. I've got too much to do this morning."

     "Oh thank you! That's perfect. I can give them to her tomorrow. But it's a secret so don't let her know. I want it to be a surprise."

     Cook nods and places a finger beside her nose before winking at Anita and turning back to the gas stove.

     Pulling her knees up to her chest, Anita wraps her skinny arms around her legs and begins to rock back and forth as her eyes roam around the room. What she's searching for is just beyond Cook and the stove, a blue and white ceramic holder hanging on the wall. A smile transforms her face as she releases her legs and stands up.

     "Thank you again. Can you put the cookies in the pantry? I'll get them tomorrow morning."

Cook doesn't turn around. "You're welcome, Anita. I'll put them in that pretty tin from last Christmas as well. They'll last longer that way."​

     Anita wakes in the night, her senses alerting her to the approach of the shadow man. This time however, something feels different. She lies still, trying to figure it out until movement in the doorway catches her eye; she turns her head to look. The shadow man peeks around the doorframe, the smile on his face isn't visible and yet Anita knows it's there. Then she realizes that she can move and sits up. She knew something was different! The shadow man doesn't pull his head back, but steps boldly into the doorway. He stands a moment before advancing towards the bed and Anita watches him approach, no longer frightened by this shadowy boogie-man. Reaching the middle of the room he pauses, raising one hand theatrically. Thumb and finger slide over each other with a loud scratching sound and a small flame appears, dancing in the palm of his hand.

     Anita can almost feel he own fingers burning and she clutches them tightly to her chest as the memory of the afternoon replays in her head. The matches had been a bit of a challenge. She found a piece of broken brick to strike them on, but the first two had snapped in her clumsy fingers. The third one burst into flame so violently that she startled and dropped it into the thick grass. The difficulty of the task didn't suppress her determination however and she struck one match after another, gazing into the tiny flames that bloomed in her fingers like magic. The fire mesmerized her; she watched it gobble up the match sticks, knowing her fingers would get burned, but helpless to stop it.

     Now the shadow man stands before her with a flame dancing on his palm. Flicking it upwards through the air, he catches it easily in his other hand. He juggles the flame, creating a rough circle of fire, through which he watches Anita. He tosses it towards the bed, where it dances on the bedpost before a scratch-click of his fingers summons it back to him. Anita smiles as she watches. She likes this game.

     A low reverberation rises from the foot of Louisa's bed. Brutus lay there, ears pinned flat and eyes dark as he growls at the pair across the room. Anita and her new friend share a look as a single thought passes between them. The cat growls again, the sound rising to a snarl at the end as if he can sense their intention. With a gesture of his head, the shadow asks a question and Anita nods in response. She giggles. Flicking his hand, the shadow sends the flame towards the cat, who leaps up with a shriek of fear and fury before streaking out of the room trailing flame and smoke like a feline comet. A scratch-click of the shadow's fingers summons the flame back to his hand. The cat doesn't return. Laughing out loud, Anita clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. A quick glance at her sister reveals that the ruckus hasn't disturbed Louisa's sleep at all.​

     Anita spends the morning making preparations. The shadow man gave her exact instructions and she remembers every detail; she's a very good listener. Cook goes shopping every Thursday with her friend from next door and Anita hears them gossiping loudly as they leave. The maid has the day off and Mrs. Manera is lying down with a headache. There's no one to witness Anita crossing to and from the garden shed and the lawn, still trampled in places from the birthday party, tells no tales. Stepping back, she examines her handiwork with a critical eye. The whisper in her head is so soft that for a moment she doesn't even realize it's there.

​     'the can'

     It's a struggle to get the cap off, but she finally manages it.  Wrinkling her nose against the smell, she tips the can up, drizzling the liquid over bags of crumpled newspaper near the door. A few more arrangements and everything's complete. All that remains is to get her sister.

     "Come on slowpoke." Anita dances across the lawn ahead of Louisa, her eyes sparkling. "You're going to love it!"

     "But why are we going out here?" Louisa plods across the grass; she isn't fond of the outdoors.

     "It's a secret surprise so I had to put it in a secret place." She takes Louisa's hand and begins to pull her along. "I wanted this to be all on my own, my own apology for being mean."

     A crease appears between Louisa's brows and her steps begin to slow. "But you've already apologized." She stops moving.

     Anita tugs on her sister's hand, but Louisa doesn't budge. She tugs again, but Louisa's feet are firmly planted. Anita's heart begins to race. She has to get Louisa to the shed! "I know I've already apologized, but this is something special. A special treat that I got Cook to help me with." Something in Louisa's eyes shifts. She loves treats. "Come on, it'll be like another party, just you and me." Anita smiles a wide, happy smile. It makes her cheeks ache.

     Louisa takes a long look at the shed and then at Anita. "Ok." She begins walking again. The two girls cross the lawn together, their hands clasped and swinging, looking for all the world like two best friends enjoying the afternoon. They both giggle.

     Reaching the shed, Anita eases the door open and ushers her sister inside. The smell is still noticeable, but not overpowering. Louisa wrinkles her nose and hesitates in the doorway. "It stinks in here."

     Anita freezes for a moment. She'd never considered that Louisa wouldn't go into the shed. She has to go in! "It's ok." Anita tries to make her voice cheerful. "You can't smell it at all in the back of the shed."

     Narrowing her eyes against the gloom, Louisa stands at the threshold and peers towards the back of the building. Her gaze fastens on a string of brightly colored bunting draped across the wall with a makeshift table beneath it. On the table is a dolly tea set, flowers and a decorative tin, all arranged as if for a party. "Oh!" Louisa clasps her hands beneath her chin, her face lighting up. "It's so pretty!"

     Anita stands behind her sister, suppressing the urge to shove her forward. She wants Louisa to hurry up and get in the shed! Patience, she's been told, is important. Very important. Anita doesn't have much patience, but if she can learn to have patience, she's been promised great things. She tries her very best now. Cook and her friend have gone shopping and they usually have tea in the little cafe downtown as well. If the cafe is too busy however, they'll come back to the house and have tea in the kitchen. Are they on their way back now? How much time does she have? Will she get caught?

     'patience'

     The word crawls through her mind, followed by the faintest of chuckles. Anita relaxes a bit. Her friend would tell her if she needed to hurry.

     Louisa finally steps into the shed, moving quickly to the back where the tea party's set up. Snatching up the cookie tin, she opens it, her eyes lighting up. "My favorite!" she cries. "Oh, thank you Anita!" Looking up, she notices that her sister is still standing at the shed door. Louisa pauses, a cookie already in her hand. "Come on, let's have a tea party." Anita doesn't move. Louisa frowns, why is she still at the door? The two girls stare at each other until the silence is pierced by a loud scratching sound and a whoosh of flames explodes in the front of the shed. Louisa watches dumbfounded as the ravenous fire licks at the dry wood of the building. The door slams shut and she's alone, still holding a cookie.

     Anita races across the lawn, ducking into the house just as flames reach through the cracks of the shed and begin curling their hot fingers over the roof. Without stopping, she sprints up the stairs and into her bedroom. Crossing to Louisa's chest, she yanks open a drawer. Thrusting her hand beneath a stack of neatly folded nightgowns, she releases the matches that are clutched in her sweaty fist. Slamming the drawer shut, she exhales a long breath. It is done. Moving over to her bed, she collapses on it.

     Footsteps pound on the stairs, growing louder and louder. Anita looks up just as the bedroom door bursts open. Mrs. Manera leans against the doorframe, hands clutching at the wood. Wild eyes scan the room. "Where's Louisa?" Her eyes dart around the room again as she sways on her feet, her voice rising in volume. "Where's Louisa!?"

     Anita stands, her eyes wide as she stares at her mother. "She had some cookies and said she was going outside to have a tea party. She didn't tell me where, she only said that I wasn't invited." Anita takes a couple of steps forward. "She's still upset with me about her doll. Is...is something wrong?"

     A siren begins to sound in the distance and Mrs. Manera joins in with a wail of her own as she turns and stumbles towards the stairs. Anita stands in the middle of the room for a few moments, lost in thought as she listens to the siren grow louder. The music of it rolls through her head quite pleasantly and she hums along with it. Moving to a window that has a clear view of the shed, now fully engulfed in flames, she stands and watches. On the lawn, Cook and a policeman are restraining Mrs. Manera, who bucks and fights against them. As the fire continues to consume the shed, the grieving woman's struggles grow feebler until she collapses to the ground, her screams tapering off into sobs that wrack her body. Cook kneels, holding her employer close and rocking slowly as if comforting a child.

     Anita spends the afternoon at the window, watching and forgotten as the drama continues to unfold outside. Men come and go. The fire truck tries to extinguish the flames in vain as the little building burns to the ground. More men appear and begin poking through the still smoldering ruins. A cry of horror rings out when they find what they're searching for. She watches until it's almost too dark to see anything and then crosses to her bed, curling her body into a tight little ball. What has she done?​

     Anita lies on her bed, still in her dress and shoes. It's been a long day. The funeral was a small, private affair that seemed to go on and on. Afterwards, the house had been filled with people. Many of them Anita didn't know, somber men in black suits, expressing their condolences. And there had been tears, lots of tears. Anita studied the people; she was fascinated by their grief. They had all cried, even the men and she knew they weren't crybabies. They were tough men. They were Mafioso like her father.

     Anita didn't cry. She never cries. This had not only been noticed but commented upon. She'd heard murmured excuses: she's young, she doesn't understand, she's overwhelmed. But what bothers her is that it had been noticed. She doesn't want to seem different, knowing instinctively that she needs to appear 'normal' no matter how silly that is. Wrinkling her brow in frustration, she thinks about crying. It's silly. Louisa's gone and she's glad so why should she cry? And yet...if people know she's glad Louisa's gone, will they make her disappear? She knows about people who disappear. The men her father works with sometimes disappear if they draw too much attention to themselves. If they do something 'different'. She thinks about this for a while. Maybe she can cry a little bit.

     Lying there, she thinks about Louisa, but no tears come. She thinks about disappearing and feels a little tickle at the back of her throat. She thinks about Louisa's beautiful doll and her new shadow friend, who's promised her great things. If she disappears, there'll be none of that. The tickle intensifies and her vision begins to swim. Batting her eyes against the sudden moisture, a single tear is freed and makes its way down her cheek.

     "Are you there?" she whispers to the empty room. She waits for the voice in her head to tell her that she'll have great things. To tell her that she's done well. To tell her that she's not alone. There's nothing but silence. An unexpected sob bursts from her chest. Has her shadow friend left her? Is she truly alone now? Hot tears begin to flow freely, cascading down her cheeks and onto the pillowcase. She feels empty. Alone.

     There's a tap at the door and it eases open to reveal her father, old and tired, in his rumpled suit. Anita sniffles and wipes at her tears, smearing them off her face. She hiccups as she looks at her father, never having seen him less than immaculate until now. Mr. Manera crosses to the bed and sits on the edge of it, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe Anita's face properly.

     "You miss your sister, don't you?"

     Anita's confused by her sudden emotions. She doesn't miss her sister, but nods dumbly, knowing it's the answer he wants. He wipes at his own eyes before returning the handkerchief to his pocket. "Are you hungry?"

     She shakes her head. "I'm tired." A sudden yawn stretches her jaws wide. She really is tired.

     "Well, how about you go to bed early? Do you want me to send someone to help you?"

     She shakes her head again. "No, I can do it."

     Mr. Manera gives a weak chuckle. "I'm sure you can. I sometimes forget what a big girl you are." Rising from the bed, he bends to kiss her forehead and studies her for a moment before turning away with a sigh. Heavy steps carry him to the door.

     "Father?" Anita's voice is soft and Mr. Manera pauses, his hand on the doorknob. Turning to face her, he stands silent, waiting patiently. "Could you...could you..." Struggling to get the words out, one final tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away with a fist. "It's just that Louisa loved her doll so much." She looks at the chest of drawers where the beautiful doll sits. "Could you put it on the nightstand? Close to me? It makes me think of her and if I could touch it when I'm lonely, it would be like Louisa is still here." Cry! Anita urges herself silently. If you don't cry, they'll make you disappear! A sob escapes and a fresh burst of tears washes over her cheeks.

     After a brief hesitation, Mr. Manera crosses to the chest and picks up the doll, gently running his hand over the blonde curls as he stands, lost in his grief. Anita waits patiently. Shuffling over to the nightstand, he sets the doll beside the lamp. Anita reaches out, touching the bright red dress with trembling fingers. "Thank you, father." With a nod, Mr. Manera leaves the room, his own tears unnoticed as they trickle down his face.​

     A familiar feeling steals over Anita when she wakes in the night. Looking towards the doorway, she sees her shadow friend peek around the edge of the doorframe before stepping into view and entering the room. As he strides across the floor, his finger slides over his thumb. Scratch! The little flame dances in his palm and Anita giggles. She mimics his gesture. "Scratch," she whispers, half to herself. "That's your name, Old Mr. Scratch." She giggles again and the shadow gives a rusty chuckle.

     'You may call me that if you wish.'

     Reaching the bed, he sits where Mr. Manera had sat and waves his hand to extinguish the flame. Anita smiles up at him. "You're my best friend." She has the usual sunshine sleepy feeling and her eyes begin to grow heavy and tired. Her friend is here now and everything's alright. The shadow cocks his head towards the doll on the nightstand and Anita follows his gaze, her hand reaching out to touch the red dress again. She looks back at the shadow and smiles. "Thank you."

     'Oh, but you did it all yourself. I only provided some...guidance.'

     Another rusty chuckle drifts through the stillness of the room.

     'You did all the difficult work.'

     "I thought you were gone." Anita feels a tickle at the back of her throat again and her eyes grow moist. "I thought you had left me." Is she becoming a crybaby? Her new friend wouldn't want her to be a crybaby so she sniffs, batting her eyes to hold back the tears. It's a struggle to focus on the figure sitting next to her as her eyelids grow heavy and she can feel sleep tugging at her. 

     With one final chuckle the shadow stands, leaning down over Anita. As his icy lips brush her forehead, one hand passes across her pillow, leaving behind a silver coin wrong side up. She hears the whisper in her mind as her eyes close for the last time and sleep wraps her in its warm sunshine embrace.

     'I'll never leave you.'