Purple Lights and Plaster Walls

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was starting to be a pain in my ass, as I was a light sleeper and my curtains were too sheer to block out the soft magenta light floating through my bedroom. Grumbling at another night interrupted by the colorful dust blooming over my apartment building, I pulled the covers over my head, although I knew it didn't matter if I could ignore it.

"This is the fourth night this week."

"It's so bright--it's quite lovely though. I hope it stays."

"Then we'll never get to sleep!"

The shadows in my bedroom, now up and awake whispered amongst themselves about the strange occurrence in the sky. It was all well that they should have something new to look forward to--a new color to exist in, in their words, but the lack of sleep was going to eventually cost me my energy, not to mention my job should I keep falling asleep at the counter.

"Please keep it down." I insisted. They never paid me much mind. The only shadow that seemed to care about my plight was my own. By the end of the day, they too were exhausted from being up and about underfoot and looked forward to fading into the comfortable darkness.

The shadows in my room continued to speak about the interesting purple clouds. They talked about where the clouds had come from, if they would be there the next night, and how good the color purple felt on the walls and floor. My fingers reached up to touch the dark circles starting to form under my eyes. I thought for a moment about how it didn't feel good to have purple on my face.

Feeling a sudden rush of motivation, I threw back the covers and rose out of bed. With an echo of startled hums from the dark corners of the room, I pulled my hair back and adorned myself with fuzzy slippers and a plain grey robe. I drew back the thin curtain and looked out the window. There they were, the swirling purple clouds, above my apartment and drifting out a few blocks over. Light emanated from them, making the sky appear as if it had the rosiest cheeks. It would only last until sunrise, when the clouds mysteriously disappeared. I was going to find out what it was.

I left the bedroom with my own shadow groaning as I carried us away out of my unit and into the hallway. Their voice was shaky as I took us down the stairs at the end of the hall.

“C-can’t w-we wait til m-morning!” They asked, the top of their head bobbing and winding down the tight staircase. I got to the bottom and creaked open the door to the outside.

“It’s not going to be there in the morning,” I explained, “and I’m tired of all the bedroom shadows keeping me up. I knew I should have paid more for the apartment with ghosts instead.”

My shadow continued to talk with me as I walked the quiet streets of the city in my slippers. They occasionally had to repeat themselves if their head fell into a grate or slipped into an open window.

“Ghosts make just as much noise, and even more trouble.” They said very matter-of-factly.

“True, but ghosts can move around a lot more. They’re not confined to the walls of my bedroom.”

“Our bedroom.” My shadow reminded me.

I combed the sidewalks for clues to the mysterious purple clouds that lit my path, but all I found were darkened windows of closed businesses and the occasional house cat out for a late-night smoke. I was about to give up and turn back when the sound of laughter rang out in the distance. It was coming from behind a fenced-off alleyway littered with graffiti and local alt-band posters. There was a crack in the fence just big enough to look through, and I peered with one eye into the blocked-off alley. Thanks to the faint light all around, I could see quite a ways past the garbage cans and discarded furniture. At the end of the alleyway, a group of people huddled around what looked like a shop with neon signs in the window. Maybe they would know something.

I looked around for something to help me over the fence and found a small stool with one short leg. It must have been left here along with the other bulk trash on the other side of the fence, but it would find a good use tonight in my quest. I set it up near the side of one of the brick buildings, so I had a ledge to grab hold of in case the fence wasn’t stable.

“Be careful not to sit on that” My shadow hummed. They were fanned out in two directions from the different light sources in the city. They had said in the past that it gave them a good stretch.

“I’m just stepping on it–it can’t be that germy.” I patted the top of the stool, satisfied with its positioning.

“Not that–I heard from the desk’s shadow that second-hand furniture can have second homes.”

I rolled my eyes. “What does the desk know about other people’s furniture?” I grabbed a hold of the uneven bricks in the building and hoisted myself up on top of the stool. Its broken leg wobbled, and I swung my arms out to try and balance myself. In vain, of course, because my foot slipped off the stool and I fell butt-first onto the wooden seat.

Instantly I was transported to a room–someone’s living room, where I sat alone in what would have been complete darkness, had there not been a faint purple glow coming from the window. I looked around at the picture covered walls, portraits of a family I didn’t recognize, aside from an orange cat I could have sworn I saw out for a smoke on a windowsill earlier. I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I shifted around in my seat, hoping it would take me back to the alleyway. Nothing happened.

“Isn’t there another chair here from the alley?”

I jumped up at the sound of my own shadow. “You startled me!” I accused in a hushed tone.

It was almost too dark to see them, but they were lingering in the fibers of a very ugly carpet. I looked to the couch in the center of the living room, and sure enough, it was identical to the one trashed on the city street. A distinct checkered pattern, with ornate wooden footpegs. I shrugged and hesitantly sat down on it. It was softer than it looked, and I fell deep into the cushions. In an instant I was back outside, now on the other side of the fence sitting on the same checkered couch (although this one smelled a bit mustier). I would need to wash my robe.

It took great effort to get out of the couch without falling back in again, but once I was able to pull myself out and up I saw clearly to the little shop at the end of the narrow brick lined alley. I heard the echoes of chatter and the clinking of glasses. It must be a restaurant of some sort.

“That little place must have a dedicated marketing team, because there’s no way they get any foot traffic,” my shadow commented from the pavement behind me. I agreed.

Nearing the small shop, the scent of bitter herbs stung my nose, eased by soft floral aromas that followed. Tea, it seemed, in delicate glass cups in some of the patrons’ hands as they sat casually around little wooden tables outside. I thought it an odd offering to serve in the middle of the night, but it made more sense when I saw the owner of the alley cafe. A witch, in a colorful jacket darned with many clever designs that no doubt had special qualities, brought out a bowl of milk to set in front of one of her customers. The customer thanked her with a meow and set down his cigarette in the ashtray on the window ledge where he was perched.

“Hey, Suzanne, do you mind dimming the outdoor lights a tad? I’m starting to get a headache.”

“Of course, love, gimme a sec.”

The witch retreated to the inside of the cafe and the bulb in the sconce right outside the door flickered and dimmed.

“Ah, that’s better.” The voice came from the cat’s shadow, who was hanging off the ledge the cat was drinking on. The other patrons were in the middle of conversations with each other, so I decided to ask the cat for information.

“Excuse me sir, what is this place?”

The cat just looked at me and meowed once before turning back to his drink.

“Cat doesn’t speak English, just cat.” The cat’s shadow explained.

“Oh, do you speak cat, then?”

“I’ve picked up a few words, but they really aren’t appropriate for civil conversation.”

I decided it was best to leave it at that. “Okay, then,” I said. “Can you tell me about this place?”

I turned on my heels as a woman spoke. “It’s the Night Cafe.”

It was the witch, a stream of smoke escaping her lips as she talked. She looked like she was somewhere between her early twenties and her late sixties. It was always hard to tell with witches. She waved vaguely to the small gathering of people on her front patio. “People with good taste know that you can only get the best brews at night. But maybe you already knew that and were looking for a cup? I’ve got chamomile steeping right now.”

I looked past the large window in the storefront and saw several kettles over various warmers on a stove. “Thank you, but I was actually here to ask about the strange clouds that have come out every night.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place to cure your curiosities–that’d be my latest offering!” The witch clasped her hands together in pride.

“What?” Above me, clouds continued to swirl, coating the alleyway in a soft magenta hue.

The witch cleared her throat. “What you see above you is my latest creation. You see I serve everyone here in my little cafe, and I mean everyone. Why, only yesterday a bewitched set of sandals flopped through my doorstep looking for something other than rainwater and dog piss to indulge in, and were more than satisfied with an iced hibiscus tea. But you see, not all of my customers can taste as easily as you and I can, so I’ve been crafting and perfecting flavors so powerful, even shadows can eat them!”

“Shadows?” I asked.

“Yes, indeed. Well, you see I’m still in the trial phases, and I’m offering a sample to all the shadows on the block to see if it would be profitable. While not necessarily a flavor, purple is an exquisite color, no?”

“Do shadows make any money?” I wondered what kind of shadows could travel this far out of their homes for a bite to eat.

The witch smiled warmly. “Not all profit is related to money, dear. Some things are far more valuable.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what she wanted in payment from a shadow, so I didn’t ask. Instead I asked her how long the testing phase was going to last, and if there was a way to not coat the entire block in illuminated clouds at midnight.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed your sleep schedule.” The witch said sympathetically. “Business is business, you know. I’ll tell you what–why don’t you have your shadow be the first to taste one of my creations? A serving of sardines on the house.”

I scrunched up my nose. I wasn’t a fan of the oily fish in a can, but maybe my shadow would be. They didn’t share my hesitation about the witch or the smelly flavor of the day. From the patio floor they gave a hearty agreement to being the first customer. I followed the witch through the door to the inside of the cafe. It was dimly lit, but with neon signs all around, all of various images that didn’t really go together. There was a neon cup of coffee, which made sense, but next to it was a neon pink saxophone, and next to that a neon green banana peel with the phrase, ‘peel-lieve in yourself’’.

The witch pointed to a section of the wall that had no signs on it. “Stand in front of that my dear, so your shadow is nice and clear.”

I obeyed and watched her retrieve a jar from behind a cupboard. Even before opening, it smelled strongly of fish. When she cracked the top open I had to stop breathing to hold back a gag. From underneath the lid, shimmering smoke filled the entire room and engulfed everything in a fishy, glistening mess. I felt like I was transported into a cramped tin can, oil oozing around my body and scales scraping against my exposed skin. I stood as still as I could before clasping my hands over my mouth tightly. Salt lingered on my lips and I felt a lump in my throat rise.

The witch was also holding her nostrils closed, but gestured to me and the vaporized sardines that hung in the air. “How is it?” she asked, still holding her nose.

“Erm, I don’t really taste anything, to be honest, but I’m not sure what that feels like.” My shadow said. “I like the shimmer though–it tickles.”

“Drat!” The witch clapped her hands, and instantly the sparkling fishy cloud swirled in the air and directed itself back into the jar. She closed the lid shut and snapped her fingers together in a disheartened manner. “Back to the drawing board it seems. Terrible luck on both our ends, I’m afraid my dear, I’ve already received good feedback on the purple clouds, so they might be here to stay for a bit.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and wished for a moment my shadow had lied about tasting nothing. The witch poured me a cup of chamomile tea to take home, mentioning that I looked like I needed sleep.

She guided me out the door, and the tiny bell on the top of the frame clanged as the door shut. I sniffed my robe and gagged. I reeked of fish. The cat on the windowsill looked at me with wide eyes before meowing something I could only assume were profanities. I huffed and made my way down the alleyway and back home.

“It really didn’t taste like anything?” I asked my shadow as I used the checkered couch to climb back over the fence.

“No, but that shimmer felt nice. Like a tingle. But a flickering candle feels just as nice. It’s difficult to explain, probably just the same as explaining taste to a shadow.”

I thought about that as I walked the magenta streets back to my apartment under the billowing clouds, and made a mental note to run to the store tomorrow to purchase some black-out curtains–and a purple filtered light bulb.