The Statue of Shadows

“Good morning, Alain. Your dog is really adorable,” Vincent remarked with a smile.

“Yes, she’s a good dog, my best friend. She tells me ‘I love you’ around the clock,” Alain answered without much thought.

“Really? And how does she show you that?” Vincent asked, intrigued.

Vincent smiled.

“They say dogs are the best therapists; they force us to walk several times a day and help us stay fit.”

Alain chuckled, surprised by his own reaction. It had been so long since he last laughed. As usual, each went their own way afterward: one heading to the parking lot, the other to the park. In his mind, Alain played with the words “parkING” and “parkOUR.” He smiled to himself, relieved: two smiles in one day… He even felt as though his facial muscles were waking up after a long sleep.

A few days after that first exchange, in the elevator, Vincent noticed that Alain looked more dejected than usual. Summoning his courage, he began the conversation:

“Hello, I can’t help noticing you seem burdened by something. If you ever need to talk, or just want company on a walk, I’d be happy to spend some time with you.”

Alain accepted, marking a new phase in their relationship. Over time, he took to knocking on Vincent’s door to ask if he wanted to join them for a walk with Kasket.

With these daily outings, Vincent and Alain started confiding in one another. Vincent talked about his career as a chauffeur, the countless people he had met, and his love of solitude. Alain, for his part, opened up about his depression and the lingering pain of losing his wife. Their conversations grew deeper. Having seen a psychologist monthly, Alain suddenly found a new outlet with Vincent. In return, Vincent—accustomed to listening—discovered he had more to share than he had ever imagined.

Their friendship grew stronger, each finding solace in the other. Kasket’s walks served as an excuse for their get-togethers. One evening, as dusk fell, they noticed a statue in the distance they had never really paid attention to before. Depending on the angle of the light, it seemed to shift shape: sometimes a woman hunched over in pain, sometimes a tall, slender figure, almost menacing. The phenomenon unsettled them deeply. Both described exactly the same vision, heightening their unease. Was it just a trick of light, or something else?

Two days later, determined to shed light on the mystery, Vincent and Alain went to City Hall, hoping to find a record, a historical file—anything that could explain the presence of this disturbing sculpture.

Upon arrival, they were greeted by a city employee, her nose buried in a mountain of papers.

“Good afternoon,” said Vincent. “We live near the park along Delambre Street and would like some information about a statue there.”

“A statue? In that park?” the employee asked, visibly puzzled. “I’ve never heard of it. Do you have an inventory number or a reference?”

“Uh… no,” Alain replied. “That’s why we came. Maybe there’s an archive about when it was installed?”

“I need a completed form and approval from the Heritage Department. Try window G at the end of the hallway,” she suggested before going back to her paperwork.

Vincent and Alain exchanged a glance, then walked down a long corridor lit by flickering fluorescent lights. At window G, a clerk told them they needed to get a file number first from the Parks Department, then come back with it so window B could archive it. Once all that was done, they would have to fill out a triplicate form and send it to the Heritage Department.

“But… the Heritage Department just sent us here,” Vincent ventured.

“Impossible,” sighed the clerk, shrugging. “All we do here is pre-archive, you see?”

After a morning of absurd back-and-forth between different offices, they left even more perplexed than before. No one acknowledged the statue existed, let alone wanted to take responsibility for it.

“I feel like it doesn’t exist, at least not for them,” Alain grumbled as they left the administrative building.

“Or it’s there, but no one wants to admit it’s causing a problem,” replied Vincent, dismayed.

That same evening, intent on examining the statue once more, they realized their watches showed a different time than their phones, as if time had somehow shifted. It was only a few minutes’ difference, but enough to deepen their sense that the familiar was slipping out of focus. As they approached the sculpture, they had the distinct impression it was standing farther back than the day before, its base now half-hidden by bushes.

“Do you see it as being set back, or am I imagining things?” asked Alain, voice trembling.

“No… I see it too. It looks like it moved. Or the park shifted around it,” Vincent muttered.

“It’s giving me goosebumps,” Alain admitted. “Sometimes I just want someone to tell me this is all a bad dream.”

“I wish I could say that,” Vincent replied, slipping his hands into his pockets. “But I’m afraid we’ll only have more questions.”

This subtle alteration of space and time, coupled with the impossibility of finding any official explanation, gave a fantastical tone to their search for answers. The more they sought clarity, the more reality seemed to elude them.

On foggy evenings, they sometimes spotted fleeting figures near the statue, as if other strollers were also scrutinizing the same mystery. But whenever Vincent or Alain approached to speak, these figures vanished into darkness. More than once, they thought they saw shifting reflections on the stone, as though the statue were covered in a thin film of water, then freed itself from it just as suddenly, leaving faint damp traces behind. They began wondering whether these phenomena were real or simply fed by their own anxieties. Sometimes, the park’s lamppost cast such warped shadows that it was hard to tell where the human outline ended and where the statue began.

Yet despite this sense of unreality, they couldn’t help feeling an ever-growing fascination with the enigma, as if it held the key to their own fears.

“You know, Vincent, I hate to admit it, but this statue scares me even more than a disease,” Alain remarked one evening, his gaze fixed on the base of the statue. “At least with an illness, I have some sense of what I’m up against. But here, it’s like fighting a ghost.”

“I get what you mean,” Vincent replied, shivering. “I feel like something’s watching us, too. It’s maddening not being able to figure it out.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re both just hallucinating,” Alain went on.

“Maybe… or maybe we’re finally opening our eyes to what our minds refused to see before,” Vincent said, pensive.

From that point on, a latent tension followed them on their walks, an unspoken anxiety. A few days later, Alain confessed he’d heard strange noises in the park at night—whispering, footsteps on the gravel—when no one was supposed to be there. Vincent, skeptical but curious, suggested going there again in the evening, though a vague dread weighed on him.

During that nocturnal visit, the park felt different. The air was colder, heavier. As they approached the statue, they were struck by the impression it had changed orientation again. Was it just an optical illusion, a trick of the light? Vincent forced a laugh to lighten the mood.

“I don’t know why I’m laughing,” he admitted nervously. “Maybe it’s to stop myself from screaming.”

“I feel the same way,” Alain said. “We’re really dancing with something… unexplainable.”

Alain stood stock-still, unable to avert his gaze from the stone silhouette. The next day, after talking with an older resident of their building, they discovered the grim history of the statue: it supposedly depicted a woman who lost her child in a tragic accident. Some claimed it moved slightly at night, desperately searching for what had been taken from her. Vincent and Alain exchanged a loaded look. From then on, their walks felt heavier.

Gradually, each projected personal fears onto the statue. Vincent saw in it the presence of his late wife, as though she were reminding him he wasn’t alone in his sorrow. For Alain, it was a warning against isolation: solitude would never definitively cure his wounds. Both felt haunted by the emotions the statue stirred in them.

And yet, despite the mounting fear, they continued walking Kasket through the park. Sometimes they approached the statue at night, looking for answers or signs. The stronger their friendship grew, the better they could support each other: Vincent helped Alain identify and combat the symptoms of his depression, while Alain, in his own way, encouraged Vincent to come out of his shell and relinquish the illusions tying him to the past.

Over time, each one began regaining confidence. Vincent strove to stop letting the memory of his wife drown him in melancholy, and Alain realized his need for solitude wasn’t as “normal” as he believed—it was really a cover for his fear of suffering again.

Day by day, the statue, with its tragic history and unsettling aura, gradually lost its power to terrify them. Maybe that had been its purpose: to confront them with their fears and prompt them to help each other. Their friendship, born of a few words exchanged in an elevator and reinforced by Kasket’s loyal presence, proved to be the remedy they both needed.

One morning, while strolling leisurely down the park’s paths, Vincent noticed Alain’s pale complexion and haunted look. Without needing to ask, Alain confessed he was exhausted after a night of nightmares. Surprised, Vincent admitted he too had been tormented lately: he often dreamt of a long corridor whose walls closed in on him, nearly suffocating him.

Trusting one another, Alain described one of his most vivid dreams: standing before the statue, which now had a human face. It wept and called his name, as if begging for help. As soon as he approached, the figure fell into his arms before vanishing instantly, leaving him alone in darkness. His heart raced every time he had that dream, always waking him in a sweat. It reminded him of losing his wife, forcing him to relive the helplessness of not being able to save her.

Deeply moved, Vincent explained that in his own dream, he was driving through a deserted city where the streetlights flickered. With each turn, he glimpsed a woman’s form in the rearview mirror, yet he never managed to catch up to her. Then the road shifted suddenly into a dirt path lined with leaning trees, uncannily reminiscent of the park. The farther he drove, the more these trees took on the shape of hunched figures, almost threatening. More than once, he’d woken in sweat, as though he’d been speeding away from something invisible.

Talking about their nightmares, they realized both their fears shared similar themes: loss, helplessness, guilt. The statue appeared to embody those unhealed wounds. But by sharing their anxieties, they discovered they could name them and lessen their hold. From that day on, their walks changed: instead of silently eyeing the statue, they approached it with a kind of defiance, as if to prove to themselves that their fears could be named and, perhaps one day, overcome.

A few days later, while walking along a row of trees nearly stripped of their leaves, a man in his sixties, wearing a thick work jacket, came up to them, carrying a heavy keyring and looking concerned.

“Hello, I’m Hugo, the park caretaker. I’ve noticed you come around a lot, especially in the evening... I just wanted to say be careful, because... well, I’ve seen strange things here, too.”

Vincent and Alain shared a look. The man seemed sincere. Intrigued, they urged him to continue.

“You see that statue?” said Hugo, pointing to the stone figure. “I’ve seen it turned in another direction, or covered in weird mold overnight. I’m not sure if you believe in that stuff, but some people say it’s searching for something—or someone. Some say they’ve seen it bend forward, as if it was about to kneel... One time, I even felt like I was being watched while cleaning it, like something was looking through those empty eyes.”

Hearing this, Alain felt a shiver travel up his spine. Everything they had experienced until then suddenly felt more concrete. Vincent’s heart raced. This external confirmation rattled them as much as it reassured them: they were not the only ones perceiving the statue’s strangeness.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Hugo went on, “but if you hear any more noises at night, or see the statue in a different position, call me. I don’t have an explanation, I just... I’d like to understand, too.”

“Thanks, Hugo,” said Alain, taking the card. “We won’t hesitate to call. Have you ever told the authorities?”

“I tried, but they say the statue isn’t their concern. You see, I’m just a caretaker, not an investigator. So I do what I can...”

With those words, the caretaker handed them a card scrawled with a phone number and walked off to continue his rounds. For a long moment, Vincent and Alain remained silent. Kasket sniffed the ground, then looked up at them, seemingly sensing their unease.

“It looks like we’re not the only ones to have noticed these things,” Vincent murmured.

“It’s both comforting and terrifying. I don’t know what to think anymore,” Alain admitted.

From then on, the thought that they were not alone in their disquiet shook their convictions. They ventured again to the statue, eyeing it with growing apprehension. Every branch snapping, every breeze against the stone took on new significance, as if the park itself had become a stage of shadows, ready to unveil its secrets.

“You think it’ll move again?” Alain asked one afternoon when the sun barely filtered through the low gray sky.

“Maybe. But if it does, I hope we’re here to see it. Strange as it is, I feel... invested in this mystery,” Vincent replied gravely.

That same evening, as Vincent and Alain headed back to their building, their footsteps felt lighter than they would have expected. They exchanged a knowing smile. Both had the sense they had grown internally: although they didn’t fully understand the statue or its phenomena, they knew they had already come a long way.

In the days that followed, things took on a different tone. Vincent found himself accepting little moments of social contact he would once have avoided—a coffee at the corner café, a longer chat with a neighbor. Meanwhile, Alain began regaining his zest for life. He started flipping through books he’d abandoned months ago and more frequently took the initiative to see acquaintances in the building.

When they returned to the park, the statue seemed less threatening, almost familiar. Hugo, the caretaker, waved from a distance, relieved to see them looking better. Words were unnecessary: a simple exchange of glances conveyed that they now shared a secret, a shared confusion blended with acceptance.

Ultimately, life at the apartment building resumed its normal routine, but it would never be quite the same. Vincent and Alain continued walking Kasket every day, recalling the first time they’d paused to observe the statue. Now they knew they weren’t alone with their fears, and thanks to their friendship and the confidences they’d shared, something had been set free within them.

The statue remained there, motionless and mute, a silent guardian of their former anxieties. Perhaps it would continue scaring or intriguing other passersby, but for Vincent and Alain, it had become a paradoxical emblem of their rebirth—a bridge they had built between two solitudes. Each time they saw it, they thought of their journey, feeling a mixture of gratitude and respect rise in their hearts.

So, after facing their ghosts and realizing they could support each other, they returned to a gentler routine, where daylight felt a little less dull and laughter—however quiet—found its place once again.

Véro Infini