The Year of Shadows Read Online Free PDF

hard.
    I kept seeing those shadow fingers curling out from underneath the basement door. The feeling of those gray, foggy shapes rushing through me lingered all through the night. I couldn’t stop shivering. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mom—what she would think, how she’d make me feel better.
    I couldn’t stop peeking at the burn on my arm either.
    After a while, I got tired of tossing and turning, so I took a few deep breaths and headed into the kitchen. Underneath the flickering fluorescent light, I examined my burn.
    Yes, there it was, glittering again. It caught the overhead light like I had a million tiny prisms embedded in my skin.
    “Beautiful,” I whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
    “Olivia?”
    I jumped, stubbing my toe on the sink. The Maestro stood just past the light, rubbing his eyes.
    “What do you want?” I said.
    “What are you doing up?”
    “Nothing.” I shifted my burned arm behind me. “Getting some water.”
    “Are you—?” He cleared his throat, slicked down his hair. “Did you have a bad dream?”
    “My life’s a bad dream.”
    Then I stalked past him back to my room. He didn’t follow me.
    I grabbed my umbrella from under my bed and tucked it into the sheets with me. If ghosts did come after me, it probably wouldn’t do much good. But it made me feel better to have it, to hold it tight and pretend like it made me safer.
    Sometimes you have to lie to yourself like that. Sometimes that’s how you get through things.

    The next day, when I woke up, the cat had returned.
    He was cleaning himself, perched on the metal foot-rail of my cot much more gracefully than such a large cat should have been able to perch. I stared at him, too afraid to move because then he might disappear again. My heart still pounded from the night of strange dreams I’d had—dreams of gray shapes and black shadows and terrible shrieks.
    Dreams of ghosts.
    Don’t think this means anything, said the cat’s bored expression. I’m keeping you around as a curiosity, pet. This isn’t romantic.
    “Don’t go.” I stretched my hand out one slow inch at a time. “Don’t go, you weird cat. Please?”
    The cat’s whiskers twitched. Of course I’m not going anywhere. If I were going anywhere, why would I have come here in the first place? He sat down after circling once to inspect the area, then blinked at me. Idiot.
    I smiled.
    “Is a strange name, ‘Weird Cat’,” said Nonnie, from across the room. She sat up in bed, swaying, like someone was playing a waltz only for her. “Is that his name? Gatto , gatto .”
    “Put your scarf on, Nonnie.” I didn’t like seeing Nonnie like that, without some kind of scarf on her naked head.
    “Which scarf?”
    “The yellow one with the blue polka dots.”
    “Oh, I like that one, Olivia!”
    “I know.”
    “So, is that his name, ombralina ? Weird Cat?”
    I pulled on my boots to go use the bathroom. I had these scuffed black army boots I wore everywhere, and we couldn’t trust the plumbing in this place. “I don’t think so. That’s kind of quirky, but it’s not him.”
    “Igor.”
    “What?”
    Nonnie smiled at me. Her eyes nearly disappeared in wrinkles. “His name. Igor.”
    “Igor?”
    “Like Stravinsky!”
    I made a face. “I am not naming him after a composer, Nonnie.”
    Nonnie clasped her hands under her chin. “I love Stravinsky! Molte bene !” Then she started to hum the trumpet solo from Petrushka.
    I scowled. It was difficult to argue with Nonnie when she looked so happy. Plus, Stravinsky wasn’t the absolute worst or anything. His music was odd and sometimes disturbing. I wondered if he had been a “little shadow” when he was a kid too.
    “Fine.” I sighed. “If you really think so.”
    The cat jumped down next to me, butting his head against my boot. Well? Are we going to brave the plumbing together or aren’t we?
    “Igor, Igor!” Nonnie cried, throwing up her hands.
    And so, his name was Igor.

    I walked to school