Shadow Puppets

My little girl is sick, and not the kind of sick that medicine can fix. She seems to have the same illness as her mother, Denise. Before she jumped from our ten-story apartment balcony, believing that her shadow was trying to hurt our 3-month-old daughter, Melissa. That was six years ago, though, but in the last few weeks, she’s been acting like her mother. 

Last week, I had to pick Melissa up from school because she was screaming in the bathroom stall for thirty minutes, thinking that her shadow was trying to grab her ankle. Just like Denise. It took about twelve minutes for me to calm her down. Even as we left, she still insisted that her shadow was trying to hurt her. 

I couldn’t seem to make her understand that her shadow can’t move on its own. The talks I gave, the lessons I tried to instill in her, the frustration I felt when she wasn’t receptive, were all things I felt before, with Denise. So, I changed my approach. I slept in my daughter’s bed, read her bedtime stories, and made shadow puppets to convince her. It was slow for her to adjust to my shadow puppets, but she started to warm up to them. 

And so, I practiced every day. Even at work. Learning how to hold my hands, positioning them in the right way to make the shape of an animal. It was all necessary. If I had too, I would practice until my hands ached.  

I wasn’t going to lose her too. I didn’t know how to help Denise. I thought her delusions were symptoms of post-partum. I took her to psychiatrists, doctors, priests. But nothing helped her. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save her. But I could save Melissa. 

. . . 

Five hours after picking her up from school one day, I was in her room reading Peter Pan, adding my own sound effects to the story. I could see the hesitation in her face when I mentioned Peter Pan’s shadow moving on its own. I assured her that it's just a made-up story. She was still hesitant, though. So, I started doing my shadow puppet routine.  

Instantly, she lit up. The anticipation burned in her eyes. 

"Do the bunny, Daddy!" She beamed. And so, I bent my right index finger inward, anchoring my thumb against the knuckle to form the jaw. My other fingers stretched up, splitting the light into two long, twitching ears. My left hand made the body. On the plaster wall, the bunny materialized, its ears flicking as it heard the giggles of my daughter. 

"Can you do one more Daddy?" 

"I’m sorry sweetie, but it's past your bedtime," I said while tucking her under the covers. 

"Do you think the bad shadows will come back?" 

"No sweetie, I told you, shadows can’t move on their own. And the light will stay off, so no shadows will be in your room. Ok?” 

"Ok..." 

"Alright, good night baby girl. I love you." 

"Love you too." 

I walked back to my room, took a quick shower, and sat in my bed. I positioned my lamp to face the wall so I could practice different shapes for my next performance. I tried to make a crab but ended up with an obtuse-shaped bird. 

Whatever, I told myself before turning off my lamp and falling asleep. 

. . . 

The click of my lamp woke me up. The lamp had suddenly turned on, illuminating me and casting a shadow on the wall. I looked around the room with half-closed eyes, struggling to make out anything beyond the blinding light. The hum of the lamp was too loud in the dead of night. My shadow stretched across the floor, pointing directly toward the wall. I turned to shut off the light again, but something caught the corner of my eye. 

Movement. 

I turned to catch what moved. But I only saw my shadow. I turned back and again something moved in the corner of my eye. I sat up and looked over. That's when I realized what was moving. 

It was my shadow, moving on its own. 

I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was actually seeing this. But my shadow still moved and not only was it moving; but it was waving at me, holding hands with another shadow that resembled a woman.  

“Daddy?” The voice came from above me. My gaze drifted upward, until I saw my daughter, clinging to the peppered ceiling. Looking at me with wide eyes, but I couldn't see her irises. 

The milky whiteness of her eyes ran my blood cold. Her mother’s eyes were the same, before she jumped off the balcony. 

"Sweetie? Sweetie? How did you get up there?" My heart beat faster than I could think.  

"The shadow, Daddy, he said that he could take me to Mommy. Just like Peter Pan’s shadow," she said, but her mouth didn't move. “I just want to see my Mommy.”  

"Ok..., ok... stay right there, I'll help you down," I said while removing my covers. 

"Why didn’t you help her? Why didn’t you listen to Mommy when she told you about the shadows?" The question stopped me. I never told her about what happened to her mother. I never told her what she said. But how did she know? I shook the question out of my head. I had to get her down. 

“Sweetie, just stay there. I’m coming.” 

"Daddy?" 

"Yes, baby girl?" 

“I'm going to go see Mommy.” 

She let go of the ceiling. I couldn’t watch her fall. I squeezed my eyes shut. 

I flinched as I heard her neck hit the wooden floor. The hum of the electrical lamp filled the room again. My body shook at the same pace. I kept my eyes shut. Maybe if I did, then I would wake up from this nightmare. But nothing changed. 

My daughter was on the floor, still. I heard the same sound from before. I turned to the source and again I saw my shadow, but I wasn’t in front of the light. It was laughing and pointing at me. I looked to the left of my shadow, and I saw a new shadow standing next to mine.