Shadows Bound Ch 3
It's for a good cause
Morri
There is a charity event at the local town hall this evening. They are raising money for the school’s art programs and as an artist I just have to go. I have found out many wonderful things about the small town of Veilstone. For starters, they don’t have a homeless population because they have apartments that provide free housing to those in need. They have almost no crime because one day a week the local grocery store allows customers who need it, to shop up to $100 for things they need. There are monthly fundraisers and events that raise money to keep the town running smoothly. It almost seems too good to be true, but if I were going to create a community, it would look a lot like this one.
The event this evening is a formal ball, of all things. I am not the biggest fan of evening gowns. Don’t get me wrong, they are stunning pieces of attire, and I look damn good in them, if I do say so myself; I just dislike the attention that comes with wearing them. Maybe I’ll see if my spectral roommate will come with me and hide me in the shadows.
They have been quiet as of late. Nothing has moved on its own. The mirror has not been graced with any messages demanding I vacate. My dishes have, thankfully, remained in the cupboards. I appreciate that it is taking a break from being a nuisance, but I do miss the deep growling.
Maybe it has finally accepted that I am not leaving. Or maybe it’s trying to figure out how to kill me…
No, I don’t think it wants me dead. It has had a year to do so and all it’s done is throw things around and make noise. I am a little surprised it hasn’t tried touching me. It even leaves the room when I dress or pleasure myself. Such a polite ghosty.
I got used to spirits just always being around at a pretty young age. For as long as I can remember, life has been filled with both the physical and non-physical. I’ve never felt scared of them. If anything, I feel like I’m one of them. Being human often feels exhausting and binding; but with the dead, it’s like I can feel their vastness. I’ve never truly felt alone, but hanging out with the dead is much easier than spending time with the living. Hopefully tonight won’t be too terribly overwhelming.
With my clutch in hand and a deep breath I head for the front door. Just before I reach it, a book slides off of the coffee table in the living room with a loud thud. A smirk crosses my face as I turn to confront my shadowy friend. “Alright, what is it? You’ve been a quiet ghost for some time, and now you want attention? I have someplace to be, so unless you plan on coming with me or doing more than throwing things on the floor…”
Nothing else moves and no sound, outside of chirping crickets in the distance, fills the air. With a soft chuckle and a shake of my head, I leave the house and venture into town.
Town hall is much like the rest of the town, small. It seems to also be the courthouse, the jail, and a banquet hall. It reminds me of the old building I used to visit my dad in when he got furlough for his Narcotic Anonymous meetings.
Tonight, there were swaths of sheer fabric hanging from the ceiling in shades of burnt orange and neon pink. I’m an artist, and even for me it’s a bit jarring. The lights are dim, and tables are placed in a circle leaving room for what I’m guessing is a dance floor. It looks nothing like any formal ball I’ve ever been to.
I seem to be the last to arrive, and everyone turns their gaze to me as I finally step fully through the door. Great.
I slide my social mask into place and offer a polite smile as I wander to the raffle table to the left and purchase a few tickets. I’m not sure what they are raffling off, but it’s a good cause so it’s worth it.
There’s a table covered in finger foods against the wall to the right of the ticket table, which I avoid, and head to the opposite side of the room. Socializing is one thing. Socializing while eating in front of people? No thank you.
The table I find a seat at seems to still be unclaimed by anyone, and I appreciate having a moment to settle in before having to make pleasantries. The table has a pitcher of water and a glass for each seat, so I pour myself some and take a drink as I begin people watching.
There seems to be different opinions on what 'formal’ means. One man has on a pair of brown corduroy pants, and a lime greet button up shirt. The red alligator boots really pull it all together. I side eye my glass of water wondering if they put acid in there.
Across the room is an elderly woman in a wheelchair wearing a red and white polka dot dress with ruffled sleeves. She looks quite displeased about something; I’m going to assume it’s being forced to dress like Strawberry Shortcake.
A few people are dressed in what you would expect to see when you hear ‘Formal Ball’. Silk and satin in dark tones with the occasional bright red bombshell dress. Men in actual black ties and tuxes worth the cost of my car. It’s like a basket of every version of humanity in one room. I kinda like it. No one seems to be off in a corner laughing and pointing at those in wild gear. No visible cliques of division creating tension in the room. It puts me at ease, and releases some of the anxiety I had about coming here.
“Is this seat taken?”
I’m startled by a gruff voice, and I look to my right to find a very tall man in a very crisp tux with a small smile on his face. Quickly shaking out of the surprise of the stranger, I return his smile, “No, go ahead.” I shift a little to the left… old habit. He doesn’t seem to notice as he settles into his chair and pours his own glass of water.
Thankfully the lights flicker and an older woman steps up to the platform they have set up at the front of the room and asks everyone to find a seat.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you for showing up for our students and helping us raise the funds needed to keep all of the wonderful art programs our kids love and enjoy. As you know, many of the members of our community have provided some fantastic items for our raffle.” Her smile is almost saccharine as she begins to list the items available. Something feels a bit off about her. Her shrill voice and Jessica rabbit dress seem like a costume hiding something darker and messier underneath. Not that she can’t pull off the dress, but it’s as if there’s a film of falsehood surrounding her entire being.
“Alright! Let’s start with this wonderful basket of jams and jellies that the wonderful Bessy Dandry made! Charles, could you come up here and select the tickets please dear?”
The man beside me stands slowly and walks to the front. The crowd claps as he joins her under the low light, his shadow stretching farther than seems natural. He moves with the kind of ease that comes from being used to attention, though his eyes flicker over the crowd with careful precision. There’s something… off about him. He’s polished and deliberate, like a man who practices smiling in the mirror until it looks natural. Not because he wants to appear pleasant, but because he wants to disarm.
“Thank you, Charles,” the woman coos. “Go ahead and draw our first lucky winner.”
He dips his hand into the bowl of tickets, the cuff of his tux catching the light. Numbers are called, and prizes are claimed one by one. Another basket of jams, painted mugs, gift cards to local shops. There’s even a song commission by one of the high school students. I actually hope I get that one. It all feels charming and ordinary, until the woman’s voice lifts again.
“And our final raffle prize for the night,” she announces, “a dinner for two at the new restaurant in town, generously donated by our very own Mr. Charles Renner!”
The crowd hums with interest; a few women and a couple of the men dramatically fan themselves while getting that lusty look on their faces. A dinner with the tall, broody man who drinks water like it’s a power move. Lucky whoever wins that
Charles stirs the slips of paper, draws one, and unfolds it. A faint smile pulls at his mouth. “Ticket… three-one-eight,” he says, voice carrying easily over the quiet.
I glance at my array of tickets and freeze. Three-one-eight.
Oh, for the love of irony.
Laughter and applause rise around me as I stand, reluctant and disappointed not to get a custom piece by a talented student and make my way to the front. Charles watches me approach, his expression unreadable but his eyes alight with something that feels like satisfaction. Ugh.
The woman claps her hands together. “Perfect! Our winner, Miss…?”
“Morri,” I answer, offering a small smile.
A flash goes off as someone snaps a photo, and for a heartbeat, I see nothing but white. The world flickers back slowly, colors bleeding at the edges.
“Congratulations,” Charles says, handing me a small envelope. His fingers brush mine. Cold.
“Looks like fate wanted our paths to cross.”
“Or the universe was bored,” I reply, tucking the envelope into my clutch.
His smile widens, just enough to show the gleam of a tooth. “Either way, you’re mine for an evening.”
I laugh, pretending that sounded less unsettling than it did. “We’ll see if the universe confirms that.”
The rest of the evening continues in a blur of music and polite conversation. Charles slimy gaze follows me, as I make my way around the room attempting to do the social thing and make small talk with the people of the town I now call home. I excuse myself shortly after the final announcements and reminders of the next scheduled event. Giving polite nods and smiles, I make my way out of the mosaic of oddity and into the streets of Veilstone. It’s quiet beneath the stars, and the cool night air smells faintly of pine and warm earth.
By the time I step inside my house, I’m still holding the envelope. Its weight in my hand is unsettling, a reminder that the dinner with Charls isn’t a nightmare I can ignore. Maybe I can donate some more money and buy my way out of the dinner for two.
I place the envelope carefully on the counter, and pull off my social mask, finally able to deeply exhale.
“That wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” I murmur to the quiet room. “But I won’t be socializing again for quite a while.”
In the corner of the living room the shadows shift, ever so slightly, and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“Are you in a better mood? Or should I expect my things to, once again, begin being tossed about?”
The shadows freeze and I hold my breath.
If you are wondering what Morri looks like, Nero gets the honor of sharing that tidbit of information in the next chapter. It’s rough and messy, but I’m kind of loving it. I’m really just having fun playing with romance and storytelling. I hope at the very least it’s amusing to watch me try lol.
If you want a good cause that you can support…
Love a slimy gaze… this is fun 👻
Bea please start owning this because you are killing it. I love your voice in this story. I can tell it's you but it is so different than anything else so far. Love love it.