Chapter 1- Audition

Did everyone have one? He wondered, shrugging his shoulder painfully as the shadow nestled in, digging its claws through his cotton shirt and into his skin. Or was he the only one? On romantic dates it whispered to him, telling him that he had food in his teeth, his breath smelled, his responses were dull and his questions were even worse. At work it informed him that his coworkers were plotting against him; none of them liked him and they were trying to get him fired. Whenever he received praise, the shadow knew that they meant it ironically. Good job! (yeah right, you know you did terribly, they’re f*****g with you). At home, when he had a moment to relax, it sat on his chest, and refused to stop murmuring. Lazy. Sometimes it yelled. No-good lazy nothing! Living alone, he occasionally forgot it wasn’t real; he would try to push it off of himself, stand up and kick it�"yell back, “I’m worth something! I deserve good things!” On these occasions, he would find himself alone, the air echoing his crazy shouts back in his face, the shadow gone.

It was never gone for long.

He had grown accustomed to its presence. At night, it nestled next to him, curled its cold void around his warm body. Often it helped him review his day (that was a dumb joke, did you see how no one laughed?). Or sometimes it was quiet and simply emanated hostility, biting sleepily into his sense of self. It was the most vicious in the morning. It would lay, impossibly heavy, on top of him. He couldn’t rise for hours, wishing desperately to dive back into sleep. There, he had found, was one of the only true escapes. In his sleep he remembered days without a shadow, or he envisioned futures where the sun shone unfiltered. Perhaps the shadow knew, maybe that was why it clung protectively to his chest in the morning, refusing to allow him to begin his day. He’d lost a number of jobs because of this, and cursed himself often. It wasn’t the shadow’s fault, he knew, because it wasn’t real. So he cursed himself. It was just his own imagination.

The shadow dug its claws deeper, piercing into muscle, and Will almost cried out. It was imaginary, wasn’t it? He brushed his shoulder and felt nothing. It was as though he could see it out of his periphery… winged blackness, a long thin tail curled around his arm… but in the mirror, nothing. Just his own pale face, his own tired blue eyes, his own messy brown hair. What a long night it had been. Nightmares, and upon waking the shadow had snarled from hidden places around his room, pretending to be a murderer, a monster. His sheets were soaked with sweat, his body tangled up in them.

Now he walked outside in the same clothes as yesterday, hoping the cold morning air would chase the shadow back into hiding. No such luck�"it was there, telling him he looked scruffy, telling him he was crazy, making fun of him for believing in demons, of all things�"but at least it was quieter, smaller, as if the brightness of the sun had shrunk it. He picked up the mail, listened to the shadow, walked back into his dark apartment.

Today he was untouchable. He had an audition for a brilliant part, and he had practiced his lines for days. He had his part so well-rehearsed he thought he’d be able to do it with muscle memory alone. He donned his suit and tie (way too flashy, the shadow insisted), packed his lines in a briefcase, and set off.

On the ride there, the shadow ate away at his confidence. Its belly grew, it stretched; it had started as the size of a cat on his shoulder, and by the time he arrived and jumped out of the cab, he could barely breathe for the space it was taking up. It moaned in discomfort, squeezing itself out of the car despite how he slammed the door on it, and it trotted after him. It had become the size of a small horse.

Will waited with several others, everyone in uncomfortable small metal chairs, flipping through magazines or inspecting their competition surreptitiously. The shadow plopped lazily in the center of the room before laying its head upon Will’s lap, snoring lightly. He looked at it with disgust, knowing it wasn’t real, but knowing with equal conviction that it could ruin everything. He turned and smiled politely at a woman next to him.

“Playing Bethlena?”

She looked up from her magazine, surprised. Silence had penetrated every corner of the room, to have it broken was jarring.

“Yes, I hope so.” Her hoop earrings moved against her cheek as she answered. Her clothes were bright and alarming in contrast to Will’s dark ensemble.

“I’m auditioning for the main part. Tim Turner.” He could feel the shadow perking up. He knew it had turned its head to watch the way she looked him over and smiled.

“Good luck.”

She returned to her magazine, as he wished her the same. The shadow had already begun a long quiet rant about how little the woman liked him, how much she wished he would move to a different seat, how he smelled, how she disliked his face, his voice, and his manner.

Will picked up his own magazine in a fruitless attempt to ignore the shadow. He couldn’t argue with it, not here. It would be a crazy thing to do, to talk to empty air like he did in his apartment. Who would understand that he was talking to the shadow that no one else could see?

When they called his name, the shadow rose too. He muttered, “Not you!” and felt his face grow red with embarrassment as the expressions of those closest to him became perplexed. But the person leading him into the auditioning room hadn’t heard, and continued to lead him forward. A large empty gymnasium waited for him, a panel of judges on the far end. His footsteps echoed in conjunction with the thuds of the shadow. How had it become so huge? He worried it would get too close to the judges, would knock over their table or bump into their chairs. But instead, it sat between him and them, so he couldn’t see their faces clearly and was too distracted to hear much of what they said.

“Ah… so I should start now?”

He could hear them shuffling, he could hear the annoyance in the voice that responded to him (or was that just the shadow insisting that they were already annoyed with him?) He began, reciting his monologue, his voice echoing. It sounded frail, it sounded unsure. The shadow told him he should stop. They weren’t listening anyway. He began to edge sideways, to try to see the judges past the huge shadowy form in his way. To try to see how he was being received. A huge crash echoed spectacularly throughout the hall as the table between him and them was upended, papers scattering, and now he could see the judges clearly, and every one of them looked shocked.

One of them stood. “I think we’ve seen enough.”

Will stuttered. “Wait- wait, I haven’t finished-“

“You can leave now.”

Will flushed, trying to quell the anger rising up in him. “But it wasn’t me! I didn’t knock the table over! I haven’t finished my monologue!”

They stared at him. One man, balding, dark-rimmed glasses perched on his long nose, spoke up. “William, your audition is over. Thank you so much for coming. The exit is that way.” He motioned, and his calm tone made Will even more furious. He could feel the shadow egging him on. It whispered to him, told him to continue with the monologue, let that show them, their stupid faces, they didn’t know-

He felt a strong hand grab a hold of his arm. “It’s time to leave now, sir.”

Without warning, he was stumbling through the exit, sunshine sharp upon his face, cold like a slap. He looked back to see a slamming door.

Goddamn it.