This afternoon, taking out the trash, he’d seen a shadow down the alley behind their house, a shadow he couldn’t identify but that looked vaguely familiar: small, almost dwarfish, wearing a tattered gown or smock that billowed in the breeze. It had been around two o’clock, probably the least scary time of day, but the blocky shadows cast by east-facing garages had covered the narrow alley and, along with the slightly overcast sky, had contributed to an uncharacteristically solemn scene. He’d tossed the Hefty bag into the garbage can, turned back toward his yard, and seen, out of the corner of his eye, movement. He looked down the alley and saw, several houses away, on a protruding section of white fence, the shadow of a small figure with longish hair and a raggedy knee-length gown that blew in the breeze. The figure did not move, was perfectly still, only its hair and tattered clothing waving in the wind, and the sight had instantly rung some mental bell. He knew he’d seen it before, but he could not remember where or when. He scanned both sides of the alley, looking for the figure that was creating the shadow, but saw nothing.

The shadow raised a hand. Beckoned.

A wave of cold washed immediately over him. He’d been afraid, instinctively frightened, though he had not known why, and he’d hurried quickly out of the alley, through the yard, into the house, locking the back door and closing the drapes so he wouldn’t be able to see.

Daniel took off his shoes and pants, sat heavily down on the bed. The thought of the shadow had stayed with him all evening, haunting him, taunting him with its almost-recognizable familiarity, and though he had wanted to say something to Margot about it, he had not. He was aware how stupid it all sounded, and he did not want her to think that he was sitting here alone each day, inventing fantasies to frighten himself, letting his imagination work overtime because he had nothing better to do.

He unbuttoned his shirt, threw it on the floor, leaned back on the bed.

Margot had finished with her hair and had taken off her clothes. She started toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

He sat up on one elbow. “Don’t.”

She stopped, looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“I like it dirty.”

Smiling, she walked over to him, crawled into bed. “I like it that you like it dirty.”

Afterward, they lay there, spent and sweating. Daniel reached for the remote, turned on the TV, started flipping through channels. Margot snuggled next to him. “Have you noticed,” she said finally, “that Tony’s been acting a little… strange lately?”

He looked at her. “Strange how?”

“I don’t know. Secretive. Suspicious. He seems to be spending a lot of time alone in his room.”