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14 of 52

Shelter From the Rain

Let me preface this story. I wrote the original version of this story in 1995. It was one of the first pieces I wrote—not the first, but one of them. In 2021, I reread this story and thought it could use a massive facelift, something that could make the story have a more satisfying feel to it. It only took me a couple of hours to rewrite it and I’m happy with the way it turned out. 

The original title was also called Shelter in the Rain, but really Shelter From the Rain makes more sense.

I hope you enjoy.

A.J.

***

Rain falls hard on the world. Lightning streaks across the sky. Thunder rumbles, loud and angry. Wind whips through trees, snapping branches, pulling leaves free. The moon hides behind storm clouds, content to sleep the night away. Trees line both sides of the road and sway side to side 

She walks slowly, her head down, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of a coat pulled tight around her. Her umbrella is somewhere behind her, torn from her hands by a strong gust of wind. Her pants cling to her legs. Her shoes squish and squeak with each step she takes. At first she tried to avoid the puddles along the side of the road, but now … now it doesn’t matter and she no longer cares about getting wet; she’s drenched from head to toe.

Damn car, she thinks. Good time to let me down.

She tried her cell phone, but out here, in the middle of Heaven knows where, but she doesn’t, there is no cell reception. She doesn’t think the overhead clouds and nasty weather help matters. 

It doesn’t matter, she thinks. It’s not like I have anyone to call. 

Tears tug at the corners of her eyes. No one to call became a thing earlier that night when she and her longtime boyfriend parted ways, not because she wanted to but because a man with a mistress is not something she wants to be a part of. Especially when she found out she was the mistress. 

How did I not know? It’s a question she has asked herself over and over since leaving him just hours earlier. She pulls her arms in closer to her body, shivers from the chill of the cold rain and walks on.

***

He sits. 

Watches. 

Perched on a tall oak’s highest limb, he follows her. Eyes like small green peas against a backdrop of darkness. He takes in her every move, from the time she pulled onto the shoulder of the two-lane road a mile or so back to her kicking a tire out of frustration, to her walking, first with an umbrella, then with her head down, hands in her coat pockets. 

Misery loves company.

He steps off the branch, unfolds his arms and swoops down toward the ground. Then he rises toward the sky. Leathery wings carry him through the night air, rain and northern winds. He flies ahead of her, searching, searching … until …

There!

Off to the side of the road stands an old wooden shack, desolate and empty. Its windows are missing, its door lays on the warped flooring of what used to be its front porch. One of the wooden planks that make up the five steps to the porch is missing. A tin roof covers it and there is a steady chorus of pings as thousands, if not millions, of raindrops strike it.

He smiles. It’s what she needs, what she is looking for. A shelter from the rain.

It will do.

***

She almost misses it. Her head is still down and her jaw trembles as goosebumps swim across her skin. She stops. 

What was that? her mind asks.

Just the wind, she responds.

But is it? 

Of course, it is.

It sounded like …

Just your mind playing tricks on you.

Maybe.

She doesn’t go far before she stops again. A break in the trees to her right reveals a dilapidated house, its windows missing, the door laying on the porch. A steady drumroll of raindrops beats down on the roof. The darkness oozing from it doesn’t feel inviting. She shivers, maybe from being cold, but more likely from the oppressive presence coming from the house. 

I wonder if someone’s home.

She shakes her head at the thought. No one is home. No one has probably lived there for many years. 

She looks at the sky. Rain pelts her face. The sound, she hears it again. 

Wings, she thinks.

Your imagination, her mind counters.

Her chest tightens. The night couldn’t get much worse. Breaking up with her boyfriend was bad, the car breaking down in the middle of nowhere in a storm was bad. Hating herself for not realizing her relationship had been built on lies was far worse than her walking in a downpour. But maybe being afraid of noises is not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s a better feeling than the one she has been dealing with. 

She looks back at the house. 

At least you could get some shelter from the rain, she thinks.

***

He watches her from the depths of darkness inside the house. He doesn’t have to play this game, but there is something about willing victims he prefers over those who are not so willing. He licks his lips and steps into the doorway, giving her a glimpse at nothing more than a shadow—one that shouldn’t be there given the circumstances.

When she sees him, he whispers. Come to me. 

***

She sees the shadow appear in the door. A frown forms on her lips and in her eyes. The grip on her chest increases and her breath catches for a moment before releasing.

Come to me.

She cocks her head slightly to the side. Her eyes narrow. The shadow in the doorway motions to her, a simple come here gesture. She shakes her head.

No, she thinks.

The voice comes again. Come to me.

She takes a step back. The rain and the wind are nonexistent, the water sloshing over her shoes seems to disappear. 

It’s all in your head, she thinks. 

Come to me.

There’s nothing there.

Then why am I so scared?

Because you’re alone. Out here. In a storm.

As if on cue, lightning flashes across the sky. The loudest thunder she’s ever heard follows, shaking the ground. The rain becomes heavier, not quite obscuring the house and the figure in the doorway but making it difficult to see much else. Her wet hair whips around her face. The wind pushes her sideways a few steps. 

Come to me.

***

He’s not going to lose her. He knows this. He also knows she might not come willingly. 

Come to me.

No.

Come to me.

She backs away. 

No, he thinks. You’re not getting away that easily.

He turns his eyes to the sky. Lightning streaks from black clouds. Thunderclaps, shake the world with its rumble. The rain picks up, as does the wind.

She staggers sideways.

Come to me.

***

Her first steps are tentative, like an unsure baby. The wind and rain batter her, knocking her off balance. She catches herself before she can fall and slowly trudges toward the house.

Let me be your shelter from the rain.

Shelter? she thinks. That’s really all she wants right now. A place out of the wind and rain that can protect her until the storm breaks and daylight comes. 

When she reaches the steps to the house, she looks up. There is no shadow in the doorway, no voice beckoning her to him.

Just your imagination, her brain reminds her.

I guess so.

She doesn’t realize she is going up the spongy steps or walking across the porch. She eases around the fallen door and stands in the entrance. 

And he is there, his eyes like bright green lights, his lips inviting, the rest of him … nonexistent. 

He extends a hand that wasn’t there seconds before. Come, let me be your shelter.

She takes the hand, willingly. It is cold. The fingers are long and thin. He pulls her to him and embraces her in a hug like none she has ever felt. It’s comforting. She melts into him. For the first time since early that evening, she doesn’t feel alone or scared and nothing else matters except for that embrace. 

***

She is warm. He feels her heat radiating off her as he holds her close to him. He turns his head, lowers it to her neck and kisses gently. He breathes in the sweetness of the blood pumping just below the skin. His mouth opens and the tips of his fangs brush against her neck. He bites. 

A rush of blood fills his mouth.

***

She feels his lips on her skin but doesn’t pull away. She knows something is wrong—has to be—but she also knows she is not scared and there is comfort in that moment. There is a prick of pain in her neck, then it is gone, much like her loneliness and fear. She becomes lightheaded and tired. She wants to stay there in his arms and rest, maybe even sleep against his chest. Is that too much to ask after the day she had?

She sighs, a sound of complete contentment, then closes her eyes. Her world fades and she feels like she could sleep forever. He pulls her closer to him and her legs weaken. Her arms slide from around him, going limp as all of her energy drains from her. 

***

He drinks of her blood, of her very life until her body sags in his arms. Then he drinks a little more. He wants to take the essence of her, take all of her, but stops before he can. Instead, he lowers her to the dusty floor, among the broken glass of the windows and leaves that blew in over time. He doesn’t look back as he steps through the door and into the dying storm. 

Goodbye, he whispers and disappears into the night on leathery wings.

***

And she lays there, her heart barely beating, her breaths shallow and too far apart. As the storm ebbs outside, so too, does her life. Then, there is nothing.

Posted on by ajbrown · 1 Comment

Linosa’s Number (Free Fiction)

Linosa’s Number

A.J. Brown

A cobblestone road leads through the town and up the lush green hill toward Castle Linosa. Tree limbs, like long arms with outstretched fingers covered with brown and green skin, stretch across the road, intermingling with other trees that form an arch over the pathway. The branches blocked out the moon, not allowing any light to penetrate the hallowed path. It’s been said the trees are alive and bones protrude from their bark, but we do not look to see if this is true. Most men, both knight and thief alike, turn back before reaching the cobblestone pathway, but not us, not on this night, not when our reward awaits us.

Past the trees and into the open expanse that lay before us, we continue on, a band of seven—a number chosen for its lucky implications—men on horse back. Our torches light the night and the path before us. Just ahead we see the castle, thanks to the now visible moon high above it. It’s like an onlooking eye watching as we approach.

Looking back to the trees, we see one of our number is missing, probably having turned back from fright. We are now six, the lucky number no longer on our side. Still, we press on, our fortunes calling us, though some say it is our death that beckons.

The path cuts through a field of tall grass and stakes that are sunk in the ground. The remains of many men who ventured this way hang from them, mostly only skin and bones and hair. We take a collective breath and move forward, our eyes on the dark structure that looms ahead, its voice whispering to us, aching for us.

Once through the field of corpses we reach the giant moat, its drawbridge conveniently lowered for us to cross. Another glance around and we see we have been reduced to a band of five. Off in the distance a scream fills the night. Mercifully, the scream is silenced.

Sweat beads on our heads, and even though we wipe them with our backhands the water pours off us. Hearts in our throats, we press onward. 

Horse and buggyThe first horse steps onto the drawbridge, its shoe creating a hollow clop that echoes in the night. The horse whinnies and bucks onto its hind legs, then jerks forward as if pulled by an unseen force. Its front legs come down on the bridge, one of them losing its footing, sending it and its rider into the murky black waters below us. Our number is now four.

The other horses back away, refusing to step hoof onto the wretched bridge. We are left with only one choice. Though uncomfortable with it, we dismount our horses. As we step onto the bridge, the horses gallop away, back toward the field of corpses and the trees of the dead.

We proceed onto the bridge and across it, each of us with shaky legs, none of us speaking so much as one word. At the other end we see the gates have been raised, its spiked tips high in the air, held up by a giant chain that looks too heavy for any army of men to lift.

As we head through the gates the invisible grip on the chain releases and the gate falls. We scramble, diving into the courtyard as it crashes down with a thunderous boom. Beneath the gate, pierced and crushed by its weight is yet another of our rapidly declining band of men. We stand in the courtyard, backing away from the gate, and we are only three. If we ever wanted to turn back, that opportunity is lost to us forever.

The main doors to the keep are open and we go inside, our goal nearly met, though at the expense of our brethren. Through the dark we climb the steps, our torches lighting the way before us. There are rooms—hundreds of them, but we are only interested in the one where his body lies, where the Inconnu is. There we will find him, his head severed and a stake through his evil heart. And there, too, shall we find riches beyond riches and wealth that will give us lives of a kings if we see fit to live that way.

We reach a door and, though it screams on its hinges, it opens easily. Stepping inside, we see it is the stairwell leading down into almost complete darkness below; into the abyss that is the Inconnu’s burial place.

Our hearts hammer in our chests as we descend the stairs, one by one, dust stirring and rats skittering away. Bats screech overhead and a rush of cool air blows through us. Turning around, we look and now it is just us two: you and I, alone in Castle Linosa, where the greatest vampire that ever roamed the earth was finally slain in his sleep by a heathen, one like us.

Further down we go, our nerves on edge, our bodies soaked with sweat and grime and our hearts beating in our throats, chests, and temples. Our own breathing echoes off the walls and tickles our necks. We hold hands for fear of being left alone or of being the next one taken by the horrid beasts that is the castle and its surrounding lands.

Upon reaching level ground, we let out a collective breath and hold each other tight. The giant door looms over us but opens at the slightest touch, as if its master awaits our arrival. Stepping through the threshold, we see through the flickering light of our torches, we see his coffin, the lid open. We can’t see inside, but that does not matter. He is dead and what surrounds him are the riches we seek. Gold and silver and jewels. Harps and mandolins and ukuleles of bronze line walls; swords of lamentium and armor of gold and jewels; coins and diamonds.

We have finally arrived and the abundance of what we see is greater than we can fathom. I turn and see that your torch lies upon the floor and you are nowhere to be seen. Calling your name, I spin slowly in a circle, taking in the shadows that surround me, hoping, nay, praying I see you pillaging. But you are nowhere to be seen.

My hair stands on end as our number is now down to one.

A wind blows through the crypt and my torch whispers its final breath before blowing out. In the dark, tears fill my eyes and I am but a statue in the room, frozen feet, and paralyzed muscles.

Then I hear the movement in front of me and I know it is you and that I am not alone anymore. We are two again. You and I. My heart leaps silently in joy. I call your name and see your . . . eyes. But they are not the same. These are red ovals in the dark with yellow irises and deep purple pupils.

I feel the sting in my throat as a rush of air swipes by me and I know it is not you in here with me. As I fall to my knees, I realize our number is still two—he and I. But as my face hits the floor, my blood seeps into the gold and silver, and I know his number is still one.

__________

Linosa’s Number was a fun, but tricky story to write. Keeping the language and present tense throughout was difficult. I found myself rewriting portions of it because I slipped into past tense or into third person perspective instead of first (then, conveniently second for a paragraph or two) a few times.

When I wrote this piece I still liked vampires. To be completely honest, vampires dominated my stories for the first few years I wrote. I also wrote a lot more poetry back then. I think this piece reflects that in its almost lyrical feel in spots. 

I hope you enjoyed Linosa’s Number and I hope you will like, comment, and share this to your social media pages. It helps me to get the stories to other folks that way.

A.J.

 

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The Two

The Two

By A.J. Brown

The windshield wipers beat a rapid tattoo along the front glass, trying uselessly to keep up with the rain pouring down. It was a dark night, made darker by the clouds blocking out any moonlight. The road twisted and wound its way through trees on either side. Pot holes cratered the road every few feet, jarring the car all over the wet, slick pavement. 

“You took a wrong turn,” Marissa said. She stared out the front window while her right hand clutched tight to the door’s arm rest.

“I followed the directions,” Chet said, “at least until this storm hit and the GPS lost signal.”

“Then the directions are wrong. We’ve been driving down this road for miles, there is nothing out here. Turn around.”

“I can’t turn around, the road is too narrow, and the shoulder’s non-existent. If you haven’t noticed, water is covering the road and I don’t know if there are ditches on either side. If I try turning around we might get stuck, or worse.”

“Then, what’s your plan?”

He looked at her. Though the car was as dark inside as the world was outside, he could still see the side of her face, the silhouette on the backdrop of the passenger’s side window. “The road has to come out somewhere, right?”

Marissa’s eyes grew wide. Her right foot shot out in front of her, mashing an imaginary brake pedal. Her left hand clutched her seat. “Watch Out!” 

Chet slammed on the breaks and looked back to the road. The car slid and tires caught dirt and gravel. It went sideways and toward an unknown ditch or soft shoulder he couldn’t see. He jerked the steering wheel to his left. The car fishtailed then went sideways again before it came to a stop, somehow still in the road.  

For several long seconds both Chet and Marissa sat, not saying anything and holding their breaths. They both let the air flow from their lungs simultaneously, relaxing slightly.

“Oh my God,” Marissa cried when she looked out of her window.  “You almost hit them.”  

Hit what?”

“Those children,” she said, looking back at him. “Didn’t you see them?”

“No, I was …” He paused. How many times had she told him to keep his eyes on the road? How many times had he not listened and veered into other lanes? “I was trying to find a place to turn around when you screamed. I just reacted.” It was a partial lie, the only part being true was he reacted to her scream.

Chet looked at the road. The car had come to a stop facing the opposite direction they had been going. Any other time, he would have thought that was a good thing, but right then, he stared out the window, at the pouring rain beating on his car and the road and … and what he thought was a lump of something in the road. His skin prickled as he thought that lump could be kids. 

That’s impossible, he thought. Why would kids be in the middle of the road out here, in fricking Egypt?

“Chet, we need to check on them and make sure they are okay?”

“Are you sure that is a kid?”

“Two kids, Chet. Two kids, and I am positive. I saw them while you were busy not looking at the road, again.”

“I was looking for a place to turn around,” he yelled.

“I’m sure you were.”

“Let’s just go,” Chet said and put the car into gear.

“Wait. What? You’re not going to check on those kids? Are you serious?”

“I don’t see any kids, Marissa.”

“They’re right there in the road, Chet. How can you not see them?”

“I don’t know what that is in the road, but it isn’t a couple of kids.”

“Look again.”

Chet did, straining his eyes, trying to see through the rain. He flicked the bright lights on and his breath caught in his throat.

“I can’t believe it.”

“I told you.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We need to help them, Chet.”

He licked his lips. He didn’t like the idea of getting out of the car in the storm, but Marissa was right. They had to help those two kids. 

Chet opened the door and wished he had thought to bring an umbrella with them, but it had been bright and sunny when they left home earlier. The rain soaked his left side even before he got out of the car and stared at the road. He was drenched within seconds, but it didn’t matter right then. Two small kids, the oldest maybe three and a girl, the youngest not even able to stand on its own and possibly a boy, were in the road.  The girl sat in the road, her legs crossed. She cradled the boy in her arms. They looked to be no more than 20 feet in front of the car, which didn’t seem possible to Chet—they had been a good sixty feet or so seconds earlier. At least, he thought they had been.

Marissa opened her door and stood, closing it gently. The little girl looked up at her with deep brown eyes filled with fear. Her long brown hair was flat and stuck to a face that appeared dirty, even in the rain. Her dress and shirt were tattered and clung to her body. The little boy wore a dirty one piece out fit that appeared too small for him.  

“Hey,” Marissa said as she walked slowly toward them. “Are you okay?”

“That’s kind of a dumb question, Honey,” Chet said, rounded the car and stood next to her. Even with the rain pouring down on them, they didn’t hurry, they didn’t risk the chance of startling them. ”What are we going to do?”

“We can’t leave them here,” Marissa responded. “I would hate myself if we just left them out here to die.”

“How do we get them in the car? They don’t know us. They might not go with us.”

girl-3813105_1920“Hold on,” Marissa said and squatted down. She waddled slowly to the little girl, stopping within an arm’s reach of her. The little girl didn’t flinch or attempt to move away.  She only looked up at her with those sad doe eyes that seemed to reflect in the glare of the headlights.

“Are you okay?” Marissa asked again.

The little girl shook her head.

“Is this your baby?”

She shook her head from side to side. 

“Is this your sibling?”

She nodded.

“Where’s your parents?”

There was no response this time.

“Do you have a mommy?”

Another simple nod.

“Do you know where she is?”

The little girl looked toward the woods, then back at Marissa. With one small hand she pointed at the trees.

“Your mommy is over there?”

A nod.

“Chet, can you—”

“Yeah, I’m on it,” Chet said. He didn’t want to be on it. He didn’t like the idea of walking into the woods at the whim of a creepy little girl. As far as he knew, her parents could be waiting in there to ambush him. They would kill him and kidnap Marissa. They would do all sorts of bad things to her before killing her and burying her in a shallow grave. 

Instead of going straight to the woods, he went back to the car. He popped the trunk and rummaged around the junk in there for a flash light and a weapon. He found a screw driver and picked it up. It might not be much, but it would work as a knife if he needed to.  He flicked on the flashlight and walked to the edge of the road and shined the light into the woods.  

Mostly, he saw trees and underbrush. The beam of light shone on a swath torn into the woods. Just beyond it was a battered car.

“Oh no,” he whispered. He glanced back at Marissa. She was still squatting in front of the two children. Chet stepped into the woods and carefully picked his way over broken tree limbs and flattened bushes. When he reached the car he turned the light to the driver’s side window.  His breath stuck in his lungs. A man and woman were in the front seat, their heads split open, the windshield shattered. The rain had washed a lot of the blood away, but he saw a clump of brain tissue and hair clinging to the windshield where the woman’s head and struck it. 

Chet shook his head and backed away as his stomach rumbled. For a few seconds, he thought he would throw up, but somehow managed not to. He stumbled back along the ruined foliage, slipping a couple of times in the mud but not tumbling to the ground. He left the trees behind and hurried to Marissa and the children.

“Did you find their mother?” Marissa asked.

He shook his head and said nothing at first. Finally, he said, “Their parents are … ummm … gone.”

“Gone?”

He nodded. “Dead.”

“Oh no.” It was hard to tell, but Chet thought tears had formed in Marissa’s green eyes. She wiped at them and turned back to the two children—the two orphans.

“Do you want to come with us?” she asked. “We’ll get you something to eat and clean you up and try to find some of your relatives.”

Again, the little girl nodded.  

“Can I take the baby?” Marissa asked.

The girl looked down at her brother, gave a quick nod, then held the child out to her. Marissa looked the baby in her arms, cradled him gently. 

“Come on,” Chet said, held his hands out to the little girl. She reached for him. Chet lifted the girl from the ground. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.

As they hurried back to the car, the little girl lifted her head and looked toward the woods where the car had caromed off the road. A smile creased her young face, revealing two sharp teeth.

__________

This is one of those stories that just kind of happened. An image popped into my head of a little girl sitting in the street, cross legged. In her arms was a baby boy. It was raining. From there the story kind of told itself. However, when I got to the end, the easy thing to do was create a happily ever after type of scenario. 

Come on. This is me we’re talking about. 

As I wrote the last part where Chet and Marissa pick up the two children and take them to the car, I saw the little girl smiling. Behind that smile were sharp teeth. I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to make the story just a little darker.

Are the two children vampires? Are they something else? Did they kill the couple in the car in the woods? Are they going to kill Chet and Marissa? I will leave that up to you.

I hope you enjoyed The Two, and please, leave a comment, share to your social media pages and like it as well. I thank you from the top of my heart.

A.J.

 

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