Charles stood dazedly in the room that was supposed to be his, waiting for his Mom, who insisted on bringing the last bag up. The room was very… gray, not that Charles disliked grey, there was simply much more than he expected. He would have thought that his grandmother really liked the color grey, it had been her house after all, but the rest of the house was filled with color.

  The room was also fairly empty except for a side table, a closet, a bed, and the small cityscape of bags and sleeping Mitzey at his feet. The room was somehow sterile and floral patterned at the same time. It smelled like wood and years’ worth of dust that kept making him sneeze.

  The wall across from him was filled by an enormous curtain: dark grey in contrast to the light grey walls. He wobbled over his luggage and slogged over to the curtains, pulling one back in a puff of dust to get a peek. There was a large circular window hidden behind the grey fabric.

  “Here it is! The last one!” His Mom peered in and plopped his backpack by the door as he tiredly turned to face her.

  “You should take a break tonight. But remember, tomorrow: start your applications.” His Mom reminded him.

  Charles’s eyes scrunched up like a smile, but the corners of his mouth didn’t quite agree. Maybe they were too tired. He’d had a long day.

  He replied, “I’ve already started job applications, so taking a day or two off won’t hurt.”

  His Mom frowned with a small, derisive laugh. “Job applications?”

  “Oh, honey,” She patted his cheek, which he tried unsuccessfully to dodge, “Being a librarian is such a nice dream.”

  “But,” She continued, “Just, in the case no libraries answer you back, or if they do and the job doesn’t pay very much—”

  “Mom,” Charles said with a practiced tone. “The average salary for book restoration in Colorado is $58,000 a year, although, with a little experience, you can get up to $73,500, and if I get really good, I can make $103,000 a year.”

  “You’d be making more as an engineer.”

  “Top restorers make the exact average of engineers.” Charles insisted.

  “If you put as much effort as you do arguing into engineering, you’d be making more than that.”

  Mitzey had gotten up from her nap and looked back and forth between them. Her fuzzy canine eyebrows were drawing together.

  “If you hate engineering so much, there are also a lot of good medical programs—” his Mom started.

  “I don’t want to be a doctor.” Charles cut her off.

  “There must be something reasonable—”

  “I have a Master’s degree in Archival Science with a specialization in restoration.” Charles half-sighed, half-snapped, “$27.94 an hour isn’t going to kill me.”

  “If you even get a job with that degree.” His Mom sniped back.

  “I’ll get one.”

  She paused and studied him for a second, like a vulture presented with something that was still twitching. Mitzey pawed uncertainly at his knee, almost overbalancing him. He scratched behind the sassy terrier’s ears, not breaking eye contact with his Mom.

  She pursed her lips and said, “Well, I know you’re feeling sick and I don’t want to argue with you. You should get some rest. It’s clearly been a long day.”

  Great. Another productive family discussion. Charles thought numbly as she left, closing the door behind her. Can’t wait for the next time we argue about this exact same thing we’ve been arguing about for five years.

  Charles let out a woosh of air as soon as he heard the stairs down the hall creaking from his Mom’s footsteps, and collapsed back onto his new bed. The comforter crunched under his weight. His Mom had claimed they were washed, and they were warm, but they still had the pervasive smell of dust rather than the sweet, soapy, flowery smell of fresh laundry.

  He closed his eyes and groaned. Then turned to look at the bags. They sat in the middle of the floor; a serious tripping hazard, especially for Charles, who was talented enough to trip over his own feet while standing perfectly still.

  However, they also looked extremely heavy. Charles was surprised at the instant relief he felt; his muscles had been burning, and he didn’t even know it. Now his entire body felt immovable, sinking slowly into the crunchy comforter. Staring at the greyish white ceiling, fighting to keep his eyes open. He decided, through a mental haze, that unpacking could wait until tomorrow.

  Mitzey woke him up by leaping up next to him, and dropping an oblong object unceremoniously into his gut.

  “Ungh.” Charles writhed and scrunched into a ball, picking up the object.

  “Oh. My phone. Thanks, Mitz.” He mumbled, barely coherently.

  Mitzey continued to stare at him expectantly.

  “Ooh, noo.” Charles blinked a few times, suddenly feeling a little more awake. “I was going to call Lena.”

  Mitzey bumped his hand with her cold nose. Then, her job done, she began stomping around experimentally on the blanket. She snorted her displeasure at it, then curled up into a brown, black, and red doughnut on the bed anyway.

  Charles frantically dialed Lena’s number, feeling a pang of guilt deep in his gut, and fear. There was something else, too, another emotion that he did his best to push away.

  The dial tone rang. Charles fidgeted.

  It rang again. He started to unbuckle Mitzey’s service dog vest, struggling with the buckles while trying not to wake the sleepy dog.

  Finally, there was a click, and the ringing stopped.

  “Hello?” The voice was far too deep for Lena.

  “Brent?” Charles guessed since he was Lena’s brother. The second buckle on Mitzey’s vest clicked free.

  “Hey, it’s Charles! He’s ok!” Brent let out a huff of air. There was a small pause, then he added. “I’m putting you on speaker. Ava and Henry are here too, we’re going to a party in an hour or so. Did you get to Colorado?”

  “Yeah, I’m out of the hospital and perfectly fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all.” Charles was happy to cut out all the rest of the miserable things that had happened.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Brent snorted. “I know that you get seizures every so often, but the timing on that one sounds rough.”

  “Heyo!” another staticy voice that sounded like Ava cut in. “Glad you’re alive! You gave us a huge scare there, Charlie!”

  Charles pressed his lips into a line at the nickname, but still asked, “Where’s Lena?”

  “She’s in the bathroom… she said something about makeup? She’ll be out in a sec.” Brent answered. “First, I’m demanding answers.”

  “Oh?” Charles’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Ok, I guess?”

  “Yeah! I have some questions too! Like, why haven’t you guys already—y’know…” Ava trailed off.

  Charles fumbled the last buckle on Mitzey’s vest. Mitzey glared over her shoulder at him. He quickly undid the buckle and slid the vest off letting it flop to the floor with a clunk.

  “That’s my sister you’re talking about,” Brent cut in, “Could you be a little less crass?”

  “No. I don’t think she can.” Henry sighed, but there was still an affectionate tone to his voice. Henry and Ava had been dating for three years now.

  “Oh, sure. I’m a problem. What was your question then?”

  “Well, Charles and Lena seem to like each other a lot… and it’s been two years since they first met… I was just curious if he was going to ask her out any time soon.”

  “See? Basically the same thing!” Ava’s voice had gotten louder. She was probably in a vicious battle with Brent over the phone. “No offense, Charlie, but I think dating would loosen you up a bit. And you neeeeed to loosen up a bit.”

  “Thanks, Ava,” Charles muttered. “Only mild offense taken.”

  “Youur welcooome!” Ava dragged out in a tone that told him that she was clearly proud of herself. She’d probably won the duel over the phone.

  “Give me that back. I had something else I wanted to say,” Brent growled. There was a lot of muffled noises and static before Brent’s voice got clearer, “Look, Charles, you’re a great guy and an awesome friend— but if you make her cry because you can’t make up your mind, I am legally required to pummel you at least a little bit.”

  “… Oh.” Charles managed. He wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so he mumbled, “Ok.”

  Brent sighed. And Charles thought he heard Henry say in the background, “That would be like kicking a puppy. A lost, confused one.”

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  “Hey!” Charles complained.

  “Ooo!” Ava’s voice was louder again, and he heard Brent yelp farther away. Ava sounded like she was beaming, “Someone’s out of the baaaathrooom! See you later, Charlie.”

  “Charles? Hey! You’re ok!” Lena’s voice this time.

  “Yeah. I’m ok.” Charles gave the phone a huge, wobbly smile, which he was somehow embarrassed by, even though Lena couldn’t actually see it. “It wasn’t actually so bad… the professor overreacted. I had to rush to get home, or I would have called sooner. Sorry for the scare.”

  He paused, drinking in the static for a second. Then asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Now I am!” She laughed a little, but it still sounded a bit nervous. “We’re headed to a graduation party. Henry said there’d be beer, which doesn’t sound too promising. Don’t tell Brent, but I’m smuggling in a book.”

  “I won’t.” Charles smiled and traced the threaded lines on the comforter. He winked even though Lena couldn’t see it. “I’d do the same if I were still in California.”

  “... Well… maybe you wouldn’t have to come to California to hang out.” Lena sounded like she was biting her lip. He bet she was also tugging on one of her sleeves, or fiddling with her dark hair the way she always did when she was nervous. “... I’m actually coming to Boulder in a few days to visit my aunt. With Brent, of course. I heard Liminality was close? Sort of?”

  Charles’s jaw dropped. She’s coming here? Soon?

  “Would you be ok if I stopped by? There’s supposed to be a cute little bookstore there that I’ve been meaning to check out…” There was a sincerity that softened her voice, and she was biting her lip again. “But if you’re too busy —

  “No! I mean, yes! I-I’m not too busy.” Charles rushed, then winced. Not only did he sound utterly ridiculous, but he’d managed to cut her off in the process.

  “Ok!” Her voice lightened, with a little happy quiver to it. He could almost see her smiling. “I’m flying out in two days.”

  Charles let out a sigh of relief. “Really?”

  Mitzey lifted her head and gave him a glare that told him clearly to tone it down. He cleared his throat, and she settled her head back down on her paws.

  “I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t know until a few hours ago!” Lena bubbled.

  “Cool! I can’t wait.” Charles felt like words that sounded great in his head were coming out wrong and probably sounded ridiculous. I mean, what actual cool person says ‘cool’?

  Static crackled a bit. He thought she was going to hang up, but she didn’t.

  “Umm,” Her voice had dropped a little, but the giggly quality hadn’t quite vanished. She paused again. Then added, almost shyly, “See you Monday?”

  Charles tried to hide his face as he got blindsided by another huge, dorky grin. He whispered, “See you Monday.”

  “Okay.” Lena laughed. “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  “... Are you going to hang up?”

  “Maybe. I thought you were going to.”

  Brent’s voice came distantly again. “If he doesn’t want to hang up, I’ll talk to him again! Just hand over the phone!”

  “No way. Not with that look on your face.” Lena squeaked.

  There was another scrambling sound followed by the hang-up tone beep. Charles stared down at the silent phone, smile fading from his face.

  Wait. She’d asked him to go to a bookstore with her. Was that supposed to be a date? A real date? It might not. He almost started bouncing in place in excitement, but caught himself. She hadn’t said it was a date, but it was just the two of them and they were both single and it seemed like it could possibly be a date…

  Out of the corner of his eye, something on the floor writhed. When he looked directly at it, it went back to normal. His shadow.

  Right. He couldn’t go on a date. Not with a potentially dangerous Enigma trailing after him. With Charles’s twisted luck, Lena would only end up getting hurt.

  Charles set the phone down, all the sudden energy vanished, hollowing him out. He glared at the decidedly grey bedspread. The color irritated him, suddenly. He didn’t want to see the color grey any more. The entire damn room was full of it. Why couldn’t he just have a little bit of color?

  Charles got up and stormed to the door, half tripping on one of his socks. His Mom had pointed out a supply closet with blankets down the hall. His shadow stretched in front of him, crossing into the hallway first.

  It almost looked like a normal, but it was darker than it should be, and it oozed out into the hallway, congealing under the light. Charles scrunched his nose and continued walking.

  “Fuck off.” His voice strengthened a little. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  It obediently slithered behind him, which made Charles freeze for a second.

  He glared at it. The shadow Enigma gave him an odd feeling that prickled over his skin. He didn’t like it. Not the way it could hide. Not the way it had somehow finagled its way into his shadow. Not the way it chose to show itself again on the bus.

  “Most Enigmas don’t speak, but you can. You did in California.” Charles tipped his head the other way. “So what the hell do you want from me?”

  The shadow stayed a shadow, even lightening to a normal shade. No cracking, squirming or shifting. No yellow eyes.

  With a frustrated huff of air, Charles kept walking, ignoring the thing. A little warning screamed in his brain. He ignored that too, because why the hell not. He was tired, deserved a break.

  Charles yanked open the closet door, which smelled like dust and cedar. He squinting in the gloom, and selected the first colorful thing he saw. It was soft carefully sewn quilt with a vaguely familiar pattern on it. Charles started to unfold it, but froze when he heard something behind him.

  It was an open mouthed snarl.

  “Mitz?” Charles turned around. The large terrier was at the other end of the hall, poised for a fight, and growling at him.

  He frowned, lowering the quilt warily. “What’s wrong, Mitzey?”

  Another low rumble, her eyes narrowed like she’d acted towards the shadow enigma. Charles glanced around him… and the realization hit him.

  The hallway was dark.

  He’d forgotten to flick on the light switch when he’d walked out of his room. He was standing completely in shadow and the air all around him was curling in curtains of thick smoke that had shifting fractal patterns in them. It smelled like woodchips and rot. The Enigma in his shadow was free to do whatever it liked in the dark.

  The quilt slipped from his hands. Charles darted for the square of light from his room all the way at the end of the hall, heart pounding. Mitzey whined and pawed at the shadows concerned. His muscles were slow to respond, like he’d been sleeping, and it felt like smoke and tiny needles were slowly filling up his lungs. He could hardly breathe.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  He started to open his mouth to scream but a tendril that looked like it was made of many tiny pieces of sable glass slapped over his face and dragged him backwards towards the closet. His legs burn from trying to resist the Enigma, and he could feel fear constricting his throat.. He clawed at it, but it didn’t seem to phase the shadowy monster at all.

  Mitzey growled and lunged into the dark, but tendrils wrapped around her paws. She snapped viciously at them, shaking them in her mouth, but it didn’t seem to do anything. The Enigma’s hold on her and Charles didn’t loosen at all.

  He was cut off from seeing her as the shadows bloomed up in front of him. Yellow eyes opened from the strange shifting shapes. “You wanted to know what I want from you, Little Fool?”

  The Enigma’s odd broken voice carried the hint of a laugh, “You’ll get to find out, soon enough.”

  It hit Charles with all its tendrils of smoke and pressed. They slithered into his mind like sharp knives. Charles screamed. He was certain he screamed. He could feel the muscles moving in his throat but no noise made it through the thicker glasslike restraint over his mouth. His vision cracked like a broken windowpane, moving, shifting, and turning slowly grey

  He heard Mitzey make a sound between a bark and a howl, claws scrabbling on the floor. Then, a crash. Mitzey squeaked in pain, something he’d never heard the terrier do even when she had an inch-long thorn in her paw. It was followed by a sloppy ripping noise, and a thud.

  It got very quiet after that.

  The ripping noise froze his blood and snapped his focus out of the haze clouding his mind. He struggled in the Enigma’s grip, trying to get out, but the tendrils were like iron. He couldn’t move them and they only scratched stinging lines of red down his arms for the effort.

  Gasping for breath, Charles felt something in his pocket. His eyes widened and he grasped at the oblong object.

  Lena’s penlight. I must have put it back in my pocket. Charles thought. He was starting to feel dizzy and his vision was fragmenting, spinning, and turning yellow. The same unnatural yellow as the shadow Enigma’s eyes.

  It’s trying to take me over. Charles realized with horror. He’d found the lip of the pocket he was grasping inside, trying to get his violently shaking hands to close over the tiny light. The sides were slick with his sweat, and his fingers kept slipping.

  He finally got firm grip on it, but his chest was heavy and his vision was going from a vibrant yellow to black. He told his arm to pull his hand and the light out of the pocket, although he didn’t quite know if that worked. And he told his fingers to click it on.

  A circular beam of light cut through the Enigma’s shadows and it withdrew with a low rattling hiss. It’s yellow eyes appeared, behind him this time, narrowed.

  “Mitzey!” Charles rasped, breathing heavy, and weaving back and forth. But, he kept the light trained on the Enigma. It didn’t appear hurt by the light, only annoyed, and that made another jolt of fear go up his spine.

  He reached the patch of light by his door and desperately looked down at the floor. Mitzey was lying on her side at the closed door opposite from his. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, sad brown eyes blinking up at him.

  “Mitz?” His voice shook and he crouched over her, trying to get a look at the other side of her body. She struggled to get her paws under her, but she was almost as wobbly as Charles.

  “It’s ok, Mitz. Don’t move too much. I’ve got you.” Tears were burning in Charles’s eyes and throat, but he held them back as he circled around Mitzey to her other side.

  Both he and Mitzey stared at her side in shock.

  She was fine. Not a single scratch. Her durable curly coat was completely unmarred by the horrible gaping wound that Charles had imagined when he heard that horrible wet, tearing noise. The sort that flesh tearing from bone might sound like.

  What the hell was that noise? It couldn’t have been an illusion. He had heard that, not seen it, and Mitzey had seemed confused too, her fuzzy eyebrows drawn together in confusion as she studied her front leg. Which meant that she had felt it. It had seamlessly altered their perception of what had happened so entirely that the both of them had believed Mitzey was hurt.

  There wasn’t a single Enigma he could think of that could do that. Charles stared down the hall at the shadow Enigma. It felt like the creature’s yellow eyes were burning into him, scraping at him somehow. The Enigma didn’t move at all, frozen in place. Staring.

  “What the hell are you?” Charles asked, shaking his head and backing into his room, still holding the penlight. Mitzey followed, sticking close to him.

  Adrenaline was still humming through his veins. And he panted, collapsing on his bed. through him.

  “We need to solve that thing.” Charles mumbled fishing in his other pocket for a small square of paper. Ollie’s business card.

  The card read:

  Extraterrestrial Investigator

  “Ollie” Kaizen Davis

  More information at:

  Tinfoil4Limnality.net

  “If anyone has written something about Enigma who can possess people and alter their senses, it’s you.” Charles muttered to himself, still panting. He slid his computer out of his backpack and typed in the website link.