My candle threw strange shadows on the wall, some monster-like. I remember as a while we would make shadow puppets on our bedroom wall, my brother and I.

My forms were always the same benign bunnies or quacking ducks, but Roger managed each time to create something unusual: witches, bats, giant grotesque looking men.

He did it to scare me, and it worked. I would end up under the covers afraid to peek out and she a shadowy creature coming toward me.

Roger died two years ago, or I should say he was murdered and the culprit has never been found. Today was the anniversary of his death.

“Is he sending me those monsters as a message? I wonder?”

The wind blew a ferocious gust rattling the windows, and I thought I heard a voice outside. I went to the door and opened it. The light from the candle spilled out. There in the snow were footprints leading away into the night.

Christine Howard