The Spotlight of Shadow

There was no place to hide in Hibbing.

The diner was destroyed, along with Melinda’s cell phone most likely. It looked like a tornado had gone through the town, if one chose to look past all the 8 foot wide footprints everywhere. Most of the downtown area was flattened, on fire, or both.

We stopped in front of one building off of the downtown area. Half of the building was in tatters while the other half was on fire. Pages from the Penguin edition of Wuthering Heights fluttered by aflame. Melinda grabbed a page from the air and sighed.

“I was in love with Heathcliff for a while,” she said before letting the page go.

“So that was your apartment building?” I asked.

She nodded, just as we felt the seismic stomps of talon feet growing closer.

“We should keep driving,” I said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“To where?” she asked, brushing my hand from her shoulder. “Where can you go that she won’t follow?”

I pointed at a road sign. “Let’s try Duluth.”

“Seems as good a place as any. I spent my whole life trying to get out of there.”

“That’s where you’re from?” I asked.

“Born and raised,” she grimaced. “It’s part of the reason I chose to follow Steve here, to Hibbing. I figured, far enough away but kind of close to home.”

“I meant to ask about that, from Harvard to Hibbing,” I started to say before I was cut off.

“It was a mistake I’ll never make again,” she said flatly, as she squealed the tires out of town, seismic stomps closing in behind us.

“How fast can she go?” she asked, as we pulled onto Route 37, checking the rearview mirror.

“It was late afternoon when we started north of Blaine, just north of the cities,” I did some rough math in my head. “I’d say about 80.”

“That would explain how she’s gaining on us,” she stated with a groan as she pointed behind her with her thumb. “I’ll take some side roads to see if we can lose her. We used to have to come up to Hibbing at least once a year on school trips. The drivers were notorious for taking the longest possible way there and back. I’m pretty sure they were paid by the hour.”

We dashed along, taking side roads when they would come up but generally following 37 to where it intersected with Route 53. When we passed Iron Junction we saw and heard a cop car start chasing us, followed immediately by a metallic clunk and the siren fizzling to nothing as the front engine compartment was stomped by a colossal chicken foot.

If we lingered on the same road for too long, we’d see the barn ahead of us, waiting in the middle of the road with Baba Yaga beckoning us inside. Melinda would slam on the brakes and spin the car in the other direction. That happened at least three times.

We gradually made our way down 53 toward Duluth. At one point, we saw the moon setting over the Rice Lake Reservoir. Melinda slowed the car down to a crawl as we both studied the moonlight rippling across the waves on the water. We took in the beauty of the moment, and she reached over and grabbed my hand, just for a second. Her hand grasped mine tightly, tight enough to force the knuckles of my fingers against my wedding band. I grunted in pain and she let go, frowning at me for a moment before turning her attention back to full acceleration again.

We passed by the College of St. Scholastica, and I heard Melinda mutter something about her parents wanting her to go there.

It was getting near 6 in the morning by the time we crossed into Duluth city limits. It was a Sunday morning, so there wasn’t much, if any, traffic on the roads, other than 80 foot chicken legs supporting an even larger barn structure on top. We were almost out of gas and we would have to stop pretty soon to fill up the car.

I looked behind us and saw Baba Yaga, perched on the edge of the open barn doors, boldly driving the barn forward as her face was lit up the rising sun. Instead of glowing gold or reddish, her face had a green light, looking not unlike the clouds right before a tornado. The rest of the barn was bathed in the golden light of dawn.

Melinda commented on various other landmarks as we passed them.

“Oh, on our way back we have to stop there and get some Thunder Cookies…”

“My parents spent a weekend at that bed and breakfast…”

“Electric Fetus was where I dreamed of having a job when I was a kid…”

We turned into Canal Park, and she said it was as good a place as any for a showdown. The car spurted along, running only on vapors now. We saw Grandma’s Saloon ahead of us, shining like a beacon in the Lake Superior sunrise bleeding red, pink, and gold all over the water and sky. We were about to cross the Lift Bridge when we saw a giant chicken foot kick the bridge out past the North Pier Lighthouse. The splash from the bridge hitting the water went halfway up the lighthouse.

We screeched the brakes to a stop. I got out of the car and yelled at Baba Yaga.

“Hey!” I hollered.

The barn slowly spun around to face me, the green light of Baba Yaga’s glare casting a shadowed pallor over the otherwise unrelenting dawn. She hadn’t spotted me yet.

“Get out of here! Now!” I ordered Melinda.

My attention zeroed on a single teardrop, cascading down her face and splattering on her blouse. She shook her head, defiantly. She looked tired, like all the adrenaline driving us through the night had given up its last drop.

“Now!” I hollered. “She’s only after me!”

She nodded, and the rear claw of one of the chicken talons stomped the front bumper off her car as the tires screeched backward, the squealing being all the louder attacking the early morning silence. I jumped on the back of the talon and tried to shimmy up the leg, discovering far more foot and handholds than I initially expected.

I felt the leg continue to move deliberately. It lifted me off the ground like it hadn’t noticed me at all, but given that it had just kicked the lift bridge clear across the harbor, I figured it probably regarded me as nothing more than an insect. If nothing else, from my location I was all but invisible to Baba Yaga.

I watched the glare of Baba Yaga travel along Canal Park like a spotlight of shadow, freezing everything in its path. I followed her gaze as it tracked Melinda’s car speeding toward downtown. By now, I was halfway up the leg and continuing to climb.

“Baba Yaga!” I yelled. “Leave her be! It’s me you want!”

The barn’s feet stomped about, flattening half of Grandma’s and a half dozen cars in the adjacent lot as Baba Yaga tried to fix her gaze on me. At one point, I could have easily walked out onto the roof of what was left of Grandma’s but I held on as best I could, continuing to climb.

I didn’t notice the flick of the other talon until I was flailing over the harbor. The barn sent its seismic stomps towards downtown as I hit the water.

I realized that Baba Yaga wasn’t after me at all, but was determined to catch Melinda. I wondered if Ronia’s spite towards her had carried itself into Baba Yaga.

The shock of Lake Superior cold enveloped me as I struggled toward shore. I gagged on the diesel fuel spilled over the surface of the water and coughed as I clambered up the rocks lining the shoreline of Canal Park. I felt as cold as I had ever felt as I tried to shake myself off like a dog.

I didn’t know what else to do, so I ran after the barn, gasping for breath as I heaved myself forward, racing toward downtown.