It began with shadows. His vision was already getting bad. Diabetic retinopathy. His great-grandmother had gone blind from it, but that was a long time ago. Modern medicine had come a long way since then. But his vision was definitely getting worse. His world was slowly growing darker and more shadowy.
He'd come to terms with it. What he hadn't come to terms with - yet - was his Parkinson's diagnosis. He'd noticed his left forefinger was twitchy. It didn't hurt, and it really wasn't impacting his day in any big way. His doctor asked about it during an office visit. The questions kept coming, and soon he had ticked enough boxes to warrant the diagnosis.
Parkinson's Disease.
He'd had some of the early signs for a few years, but the doctor had initially chalked them up as resulting from the stroke he suffered. Ever since, he'd been moving slower. His voice was quieter and raspier. Constipation was common. He'd never slept well, but he slept worse than ever since the stroke. The doctor finally had the pieces to the puzzle. It was likely early onset Parkinson's, and there was no cure. He prescribed Sinemet and different physical and occupational therapies. The doctor told him there were new "breakthroughs" in treatment all the time. He should be able to lead a pretty good life...until he no longer could.
It would get worse eventually. That was for certain. So, he learned to live with it.
The shadows were annoying as hell. He'd see them form out of the corner of his eyes. He'd look and poof! Gone. The doctor had told him that hallucinations were a possible side effect. He'd been told that they could be visual, auditory, olfactory, etc. He got shadows - lucky him.
He tried to ignore them, but like a gnat buzzing near your face, you can only ignore it for so long before you react. In time, he learned to expect them, and live with them. He made mental notes of the size and depth of the shadows, and if anything in particular seemed to trigger them. He thought this info might be useful for his doctor.
But what about the little guy in the corner? How long had he been there? Or was he just another hallucination?
He was tiny - maybe about 2 feet tall - with an oversized bald head and eyes like a pug. He was naked but didn't appear to have genitals. Was he staring at him? It was hard to tell with those eyes. He could have been looking anywhere - but there he was. In the corner. Quiet as a church mouse and still as stone. Staring.
If he turned to get a good look at the little guy, he'd just vanish into the shadows. Dammit. Another hallucination. He'd be there for a day or two, then vanish completely.
And then he'd come back. No bigger, but maybe a little uglier. Those eyes seemed to grow, and he looked pissed off. Could the hallucinations have feelings? He told himself to quit being stupid.
A day or two became a few days. Then a few days became a week. Then two. The little guy was always in the same corner of the living room. Little guy was there, staring.
For a while he pretended the little man wasn’t there.
Doctors said hallucinations were common. Perfectly explainable. Just another symptom. Just one more thing on the list.
That was the word they liked. Explainable.
They explained everything.
The stroke explained his slowness.
The Parkinson’s explained the tremor.
The medication explained the shadows.
If he listened to them long enough, there would soon be an explanation for his entire existence.
Disease.
Decline.
Degeneration.
Expected progression.
Eventual demise.
He glanced toward the corner.
The little guy was still there.
Staring.
And for the first time since he’d noticed him...
the little bastard looked angry.
Was he staring at him or something behind him?
Whatever it was, the little guy didn't like what he saw.
He waited.
The little man didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe, as far as he could tell.
Just stood there in the corner like a tiny, naked guard dog.
Watching.
The shadows gathered behind him again.
Slow.
Quiet.
And for the first time since all of this started...
he got the strange feeling that the little man wasn’t just a hallucination.
---
After the first week, it looked like the little guy had bugs buzzing around him. Flies? Gnats? Fleas? Whatever they were, they made the man uncomfortable. They'd land on the little shit and he wouldn't flinch. He never once jerked or swatted at them. He just accepted their existence. Was this part of the hallucination or just another part of his deteriorating vision?
By the second week, the little cat things appeared.
They were about knee high to the little guy, and there were a bunch of them. Some sat, some seemed to be standing guard, some were just wandering around, in and out of his field of vision.
They looked sort of like cats, but they had no ears. Their heads were smooth and rounded with unusually spaced, protruding eyes.
Their skin looked more like the shell of a spiky chestnut than fur.
None of them made a sound.
None of them ever looked at him.
Not once.
Their eyes stayed fixed on the corner.
On the wall.
On the outlet.
The man noticed something else after a few days.
None of them ever crossed the outlet.
The bugs circled it.
The cat things paced around it.
But they never passed it.
The little guy stood directly in front of it.
Guard dog.
That was the word that kept coming back to him.
Guard dog.
He watched them for a long time one evening.
Long enough for the room to grow darker.
Long enough for the shadows to start creeping again.
And then something changed.
The little guy moved.
Just a step.
But it was the first time he'd ever seen him move at all.
He stepped closer to the outlet.
The bugs scattered slightly.
The little cat things backed away.
And the little guy leaned forward.
Staring.
The man followed his gaze.
The outlet looked the same as it always had.
Two narrow slots.
One round hole.
Cheap plastic plate.
But the shadows around it were thicker.
Darker.
Almost...moving.
The man sat very still.
Maybe the doctors were right.
Maybe this was just another symptom.
Another glitch in the brain.
Another explainable thing.
But if it wasn’t...
If it wasn’t...
He stood slowly.
His left hand trembled.
That was fine.
You didn’t need a steady hand to stab something.
He walked into the kitchen.
The knife block sat on the counter.
He pulled one free.
The blade felt heavier than it should have.
Good.
He returned to the living room.
The little guy didn't look at him.
The cat things didn’t move.
The bugs circled lazily in the air.
All of them still watching the outlet.
Waiting.
And for the first time since the shadows had started...
the man realized something.
The little guy wasn’t angry.
He was worried.
And whatever was behind that wall...
was getting closer.
He stepped toward the corner.
The little guy didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stood there with those wide pug eyes fixed on the outlet.
The bugs scattered as he approached.
The cat things slid back across the floor, silent as shadows.
None of them ran.
None of them fled.
They simply made room.
The man stopped a few feet from the wall.
His hand trembled harder now. The knife rattled softly in his grip.
He glanced down at it.
That was fine.
You didn’t need precision for this.
Just force.
He looked at the little guy.
For the first time since all of this started, the little man turned his head and looked directly at him.
Not angry.
Not frightened.
Expectant.
The man nodded once.
“Alright,” he muttered.
Then he drove the knife into the drywall.
The blade punched through with a dull crunch.
He yanked it free.
Stabbed again.
And again.
Drywall dust drifted down like pale snow.
The cat things scattered further along the baseboard.
The bugs spun wildly in the air.
He stabbed closer to the outlet.
Closer.
The little guy finally stepped aside.
Something moved behind the wall.
A shape pressed outward in the shadows.
Bulging.
Pushing.
He raised the knife one last time and drove it straight into the socket.
There was a violent white flash.
A crack like a gunshot.
The room vanished.
****
Officers responded to a welfare check requested by a neighbor who reported hearing repeated banging sounds from the residence.
The subject, male, approximately 60 years of age, was found deceased in the living room.
Cause of death appeared to be electrocution.
A large kitchen knife had been forced directly into an electrical outlet.
Burn patterns indicate the subject was holding the knife at the time electrical contact occurred.
No signs of forced entry were observed.
No evidence of intruders or animals was found in the residence.
The wall surrounding the outlet showed extensive puncture damage.
The subject was discovered seated on the floor facing the corner of the room.
Both eyes were open.
Officers noted the expression on the subject’s face appeared unusually calm.
Almost...
relieved.
A large number of dead insects were found scattered on the living room floor.
The responding officers noted the insects were clustered almost entirely around the damaged corner of the room.
None were found beyond a distance of approximately three feet from the electrical outlet.
****
The man had lived alone. No immediate family. Once his next of kin was established and his estate settled, the decision was made to sell the house. With the exception of the living room, the house was in excellent condition. The electrical outlet was replaced during the repair of the damaged wall. The electrician noted the wiring inside the box had been severely scratched by what appeared to be small claws.
(© 2026 Michael C. Metzger)
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