Author: Andy Fidel

Barefoot, Todd chased after the shadow thief, nearly tripping over his pyjama pants. He didn’t know what it was or where it had come from, but it had stolen the horse leg from Anya’s carousel. He had to get it back. Without it, Anya would never forgive him. The sound of the storm outside muffled the pitter-patter of his feet as he scrambled up the attic stairs. But there was no sign of the thief when he rushed inside. The full moon shone through the window pane and lit the room up. His foot stepped on a ruffled piece of paper. He bent over and picked it up. It was one of Mary-Anne’s photographs.

Todd stared down at the picture as he remembered the Sunday morning it had been taken. They were making breakfast. Papa had cracked the eggs on the edge of the counter while Todd guarded the sizzling bacon and toasting bread.

“Morning, sunshine,” Papa said as Anya shuffled into the kitchen.

Anya stretched her arms out and yawned. “What are you doing,” she had asked. “Pancakes,” Todd exclaimed, wearing Papa’s necktie around his head and an old pair of black sunglasses.

With a flick of the wrist, she flipped the pancake. As soon as it splotched back onto the pan, Todd rushed in front of her and smacked the pancake with his spatula. When both sides turned golden-brown, Papa gave them a thumbs-up and held out a plate.

Papa said: “Watch out!” and pointed to the stove. While the children had their backs turned, he swiftly snatched the pancake. Anya ran after him, while Todd crawled under the table, but he had gobbled it up before they had caught him.

Anya poured another spoonful into the pan. “Just try and get this one,” she warned, waving the wooden spoon.

Todd tugged on Anya’s apron. “Can I try?”

She nodded and lifted her arm to let Todd slip under. He placed his hands on the handle like Anya. At that moment, Mary-Anne had walked into the kitchen, holding her camera and had taken a picture of them just as they jerked upwards. Taken by surprise, Anya had burnt her hand and the pancake had landed with a splatter on the floor.

Todd’s thoughts were halted by a flicker out of the corner of his eye. His hand clenched tightly around the photograph as he looked around the attic. All of Mary-Anne’s photographs had been ripped from the wall, crumpled in a ball or torn apart. Turning, Todd saw the shadow rear up to its full height. The scream welling in Todd’s throat was silenced by the shadow’s hand covering his mouth. It almost looked alarmed, shaking its head wildly and bringing a dark finger to the line where its lips should have been. Todd didn’t have any more time to think as the shadow thief scooped up a white sheet and enveloped him, sending Todd into a world of darkness.

The bag swung back and forth. Todd felt as though he were falling as his stomach looped several times over. He would have been sick if he hadn’t been able to maintain his sense of balance within his makeshift cage. Searching the sheet Todd found a small hole just big enough to see through. He gasped when he realized how high they were. The shadow was quickly sliding down a tree using his hooked feet and hands. Underneath them, a potbellied man sat on a tree stump with his long slender legs crossed. The man wore a scarlet tailcoat with golden buttons that looked a bit tight for him, a shock of red hair stood up from his head in every direction. He stirred his tea as though he enjoyed the sound of the silver spoon when it clinked along the edges of the cup.

The shadow dropped Todd and plonked onto the hard ground, still trapped in the bag.

“Did you find it?” asked the man, lifting his head. On the tip of his crooked nose perched a pair of golden spectacles.

Todd felt the shadow leave his side and saw it approach the old man. The latter extended his hand, palm upraised as if expecting a gift. From his spot in the bag, Todd watched as Anya’s horse leg was exchanged between the two. For some reason, this old man scared him and he was glad to be in the bag. Even the shadow appeared to be quivering. Once the horse’s leg was dropped into man’s hand, the shadow withdrew itself as though it were burned by fire. It hurried back toward Todd and seemed intent on taking him away.

“Wait.”

Todd felt the shadow freeze.

“What do you have in the bag?”

The shadow said: “Stuff,” and backed away.

“Empty it.”

In an instant, Todd found himself rolling on the ground, but it was like no ground he had ever seen before. Puffs of mist formed as he breathed out into the chilly air. All around him was a forest of stumps.His eyes fell upon the only tree, a massive bulk with gargantuan branches. Hanging from the branches were various wooden picture frames that swayed in the breeze.

The man pointed a finger at the young boy. “What is that?”

“I panicked,” replied the shadow. “He followed me and— she was coming.”

“So you took him?”

“Let me keep this one,” pleaded the shadow.

“This is not the child I asked for!”

Todd felt the shadow recoil beside him as the man towered over both of them. He looked at his kidnapper and then up into the cold eyes of this man who appeared to rule a dead world. One thing dawned suddenly in Todd’s mind: Anya was in danger.

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An optimist is a person who sees a green light everywhere, while a pessimist sees only the red stoplight. The truly wise person is colorblind. — Albert Schweitzer

– – – – –

Ma used to be a trapeze swinger until the day she fell and became a painter. It was Papa’s idea to bring the circus to the attic. A company of brushes and sponges, fat and skinny rolls of tin foil fooling around the paint rollers, and beads with no fear that slipped across the high wires stretched over a mountain of white canvases.

Papa said: “The show must go on,” and it did. In Ma’s circus it was the mice who tamed the lions. The acrobats juggled with stars and planets over a hundred gaping mouths and elephants rode unicycles in their pale tutus. Ma always had a story. Some nights the sun would set in the west and Ma would fill the water guns with honey-brown for Anya to paint a desert around the lone cowboy or pirates would invade the canvas and they had to fight back with their palette knifes dipped in navy blue. Three years later, Todd was born and a wagon-train came to take Ma’s circus away.

With her fork, Anya poked the strawberries and buried them under the spinach leaves while Todd dipped his pudgy fingers into the balsamic vinegar. Todd crammed a cherry tomato into his mouth, and then stuck his tongue out at Anya. She glanced at Papa and Mary-Anne, and threw a lima bean across the table. It hit Todd’s forehead. As Todd reached into his bowl to throw something back, his elbow knocked his glass, and the water spilled into his lap.

Todd yelped. Mary-Anne rose to her feet. Anya sniggered and Papa scowled. Mary-Anne asked: “Anya, can you get the paper towels,” and lifted Todd from his chair.

“You go get them.”

“Anya,” said Papa. “Go get your mother—”

The fork clattered. Anya said: “She’s not my mother,” and stormed out of the living room. Before Papa could say a word, Mary-Anne gave his shoulder a little squeeze. Sighing, he put his hand over hers. “I know,” said Mary-Anne. “She’ll come around.”

Behind the wooden posts of the staircase, Anya drew her knees up to her chest. She fiddled with the hem of her floral skirt, watching Todd and her stepmother. His ginger curls bounced gently against his chubby cheeks as he shook his head. Todd said: “But Ma—” and jumped into Papa’s arms, burying his face into his shirt.

“Go on,” said Mary-Anne. “I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.” The fabric crumpled in Anya’s clenched fists at the sound of Todd’s footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

Anya went to the attic and closed the door behind her. She pulled the string and turned on the light from the bare bulb hanging above her head. Papa said: “Mary-Anne’s an artist too,” and suggested they share the attic. Over time the canvases were replaced with Mary-Anne’s photographs. Anya despised them. They were mostly pictures of Todd, of the house, of Mary-Anne and Papa, and of Anya’s hand.

An old white sheet was draped over the boxes in the corner where Ma’s trinkets were neatly tucked away. Flecks of dust shook free as she pulled it off. Anya sat in front of a small canvas propped against the stack of boxes. Ma had never finished painting the grand carousel. The sky was an explosion of fireworks, the man dressed in red and gold beside the carousel waved with a bright smile, but the children’s faces were blank and the balloons slipping from their hands were white. A tear drop fell from her chin and landed on the canvas. Silently, Anya closed her eyes and made a wish as the tear drop slipped into the man’s hand.

In the bathroom, Todd stood on the step-stool in front of the mirror. He brushed his teeth up and down, right to left until a whirring sound caught his attention. It came from the bedroom. He hopped off and padded down the narrow hallway, peeking past the door frame into Anya’s room. The merry-go-round on the bedside table pitter-pattered. Bells jingled and horses whickered as it spun round and round. The tut-tootle tune accelerated with every step he took. Todd held the music box with both hands and brought it close to his face, watching the brass reins flop loose and clink against the back of the horses’ necks.

The sudden shrill of Anya’s voice made Todd flinch and drop the merry-go-round. One of the horses’ legs broke as it clanked against the hardwood floor.

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