The Fourth Quarter

Vikram was five when he first noticed something standing behind his right shoulder. He called it Shador, because that was how he spelt shadow.

Shador had a habit of getting him into trouble. Following dogs into temple ponds, wandering down country roads with goats, giving away the best piece of Mysore pak when he wanted it for himself. Whenever Vikram tried to mind his own business, Shador seemed to have other ideas.

But at nineteen, when someone really needs him, Vikram walks away. And a crack opens in his bedroom wall.