by C. J. Pinard
With an exasperated oath, “Damn, I don’t need this,” and without as much as a backward glance, Elias spins around and returns to the shadows of the stables; leaving me in his wake, alone again on the street.
I feel my chest tighten. Rejection rolls over my shoulders, thick and heavy, like sap running down the bark of a tree. My face burns again at the knowledge that he feels the same towards me as the rest of the town. Why did I think he’d be any different? Of course he doesn’t want to be associated with the likes of me. I struggle to control my breathing and swallow to keep the tears at bay. My heart feels like an open wound; an open wound which has been cauterized by the searing of a red-hot poker. Once I trust that my legs can carry me away, I quickly walk to my side of the street, away from him, and begin the long trek home.
Once I reached the outskirts of town, I can no longer keep the tears from streaming down my face. I angrily scrub them away, but they just keep coming. My heart squeezes painfully. From the depths of my seventeen year old heart, I love Elias Snow. I feel so foolish. I thought he, of all people, would understand my plight. I feel so many unknown emotions run through my body; hurt being the most supreme. Eli only sees me as a child; someone to be scolded and scoffed at. Didn’t he realize that I understood him and his pain? That I, in fact, live with his pain as well?
As I round the bend in the road, I glance up and see home sweet home; the cottage where my mother and I live. The cottage was built in the style of the ancient Indians in an adobe style. The windows in the front are encased in red shutters and Morning Glory vines rise up to intertwine their spindly vines completely covering one side of the cottage. Taking a deep breath, I dismiss the innate beauty of the setting and begrudgingly make my way to its door.
As I walk sullenly through the door of the cottage, I hear my mother yell to me from the kitchen.
“Reina Willmont Devereaux, you’d better have a good explanation for where you’ve been until this ungodly hour!”
Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I bite my lip and reply, “Sorry.”
Walking into the front room, my mother, Rowena Devereaux, finishes wiping her hands on the dishtowel. Seeing the disheveled nature of my appearance, she gives me a frustrated sigh.
“Reina, how many times have I told you not to be hanging out in the barn watching that man? Trust me when I say, no good will come of it. Don’t you think things are bad enough without giving people more ammunition?”
“But I’m doing nothing wrong. I don’t bother anyone.” I couldn’t stop the small grin from floating across my lips at the thought of the two women I had bothered.
Walking to stand in front of me, my mother reaches up a hand and gently smoothes my hair and pats my cheek.
“I know, honey, but it’s not proper for a young lady to be hiding out in a barn.”
Snorting, I bitterly reply, “Proper? Proper? Those people wouldn’t know proper behavior if it jumped up and bit them on their behinds.”
Sternly, Rowena scolds, “Reina Devereaux, you will kindly refrain from such talk. Do you hear me?”
Clenching my teeth until my jaw aches, I mumble, “Yes, mam.”
Walking to the small settee by the window, my mother pats the cushion intending for me to sit next to her. Walking with dread as I don’t want to have this conversation again, I sit down.
Wrapping her arms around her, she says softly, “Listen honey, I know you are fascinated with that man. I won’t say I understand it entirely. But it can’t ever be. Surely you can see that. In the first place, he is much too old for you. There must ten years difference between you. Secondly, the man’s wife committed suicide. It’s a sacrilege against God.”
Jumping up, I say outraged, “Their little girl died. That’s why she killed herself. That’s not his fault. And my father is more than ten years older than you and it didn’t stop you.”
Rising in a quick motion, my mother places her hands on her hips saying, “And look how that worked out. Think Reina! That man can only bring you pain and grief. I forbid you from having anything to do with him.”
Remembering the hurt and pain I’d already suffered today, but not wanting to admit she was right, I turned to leave the room and muttered to one in particular, “But I love him.”
With seventeen years of pain and humiliation coursing through my veins, I run to my room filled with all the things of my childhood, and fling myself across my bed and let the sobs of frustration take over my body. Why did life have to be so complicated? Why had my mother insisted we stay here when it was obviously so painful to do so; for everyone. Why hadn’t she allowed us to stay with my grandmother in the Bayou? As least there I am unknown. What did she have against Eli? What was wrong with loving him? He worked hard and didn’t bother anyone. He never even defended himself against those who wronged him. On some level, maybe one even he didn’t realize, he seemed to understand me; we are kindred spirits. I refuse to listen to my mother. What did she know anyway? I’m almost an adult and should be able to run my life how I see fit. I’m tired of living by other people’s sense of right and wrong. People seemed to adjust their moral scruples to bend to suit themselves anyway. So what do I care.
Chapter 2
The light of the full moon cast a blue-green glow over the forest. Instead of its light bringing comfort, it actually made the forest appear more sinister. It was the season of warm days and cooler nights. Because of this, the heat from the ground rose up, met the cool air, causing a layer of fog to cover the ground’s surface. In the moonlight and with the slight breeze, the trees’ limbs appeared to be snakes swaying in the breeze. And the moss moved like tendrils of hair from their boughs.
The solitary man driving the clapboard wagon pulled by two horses darted his eyes all around. He was glad he’d had the fore-thought to hang the lantern on the wagon’s hook. While it didn’t illuminate very far, it did provide some light; and some comfort. The grinding sound of the wagon wheels as they crunched the rocks in their path added to the eeriness of the night. The driver, Nate Collins, watched the horses as their ears twitched signaling the horses’ unease. Swallowing, Nate attempted to whistle to help overcome his nervousness, but his mouth was so dry he couldn’t get his lips to work. So instead, he began to sing a song he remembered from when his sainted mamma used to take him to church as a boy. Due to the passage of time, as his memory failed him, he had to skip over some of the words.
As he sang, he continued to survey his immediate surroundings. He assumed there must be a pond close by as he could hear the loud hum as crickets sang together in harmony. At irregular intervals, he heard the croak of toads as they added their part to the symphony of the night.
As time passed, Nate figured he’d driven halfway through the dense forest. He began to breathe a little easier at the thought. Relaxing a little in his seat, Nate rubbed a hand over his rotund belly and rolled his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been. Silently, he laughed at himself. How foolish to be scared like a little school-girl. Outside of bears and cougars, what was there to fear in the woods, really?
As he traveled along, it took him a minute to realize the entire forest seemed to shut down suddenly. Gone were the chirping of the crickets and croaks of the toads. He no longer heard the crack of twigs as small animals scurried in the underbrush. How strange. Looking around, he wondered what would cause everything to go silent. It was almost like in times of bad weather when the animals knew it was coming before the humans… or when a larger animal was on the prowl to hunt.
Nate began to sing even louder. He popped the reigns against the horses to hurry them along. From his perch, he scoured the surrounding area. The silence of the forest was far creepier than the usual sounds produced; strange how even the wind had ceased to blow.
As he strained to see in the darkness, far in the distance Nate could make out a form walking towards him in the swirling fog. Reaching over, he causally placed his gnarled fingers around the stock of the shotgun laid on the seat next to him.
As he drew nearer, he was surprised to see a lone figure, a man. Looking around, Nate wondered where he’d come from. There weren’t any towns close to these parts for a good twenty miles in either direction and this man appeared to be on foot and alone.
When he was almost level with the man, he slowed the horses to a stop. In the light of the full-moon and his lantern, Nate could see the man was very well dressed in both a long over-coat and a hat. The sight was odd to say the least. The man looked as he it should be in a carriage going to some high-society party or something. Of course, Nate thought to himself, his carriage probably broke down up the road.
Nate watched the gentleman stroll with considerable ease closer to him. The stranger wore a satisfied grin on his face. Nate frowned at the grin. It seemed somehow inappropriate. Leaning his foot up on the clapboards rim, Nate leaned towards the fellow and said, “How’s it going, partner? You need any help?”
Answering in a heavy accented creole tongue, the stranger replied, “No, I think I’m good now.”
Before Nate could fully comprehend his odd reply, the stranger leapt, faster than a cheetah, onto the clapboard wagon. The horses, already nervous, skittered at the sudden movement. As the wagon began to move, Nate dropped the reigns and was reaching over to grab his gun when the stranger calmly reached over to him and picked him up by his head. Nate was surprised at how tall the man was. His height had been deceptive from Nate’s position in the wagon. Nate immediately began to buck and twist. He punched with his hands and kicked with his feet, but he never seemed to make contact. Nate wondered how the man could be so strong. He was holding Nate as if he weighed no more than a dead tree-limb.
Frightened, Nate looked into the face of the stranger. In the moonlight, the stranger’s hair gave off a bluish-black tint, as did his eyes. His skin was smooth and pale and it also gave off that same weird blue color. As Nate met his eyes, he found them, for some reason, very compelling and hard to look away from. Nate felt an extreme calm pass over him. He no longer felt the need to hit and kick, instead, he became motionless. As the stranger stared mesmerizingly into his eyes, he slowly lowered him back to his seat. Nate sat and leaned back against the bench of the wagon and folded his hands together in his lap and watched without interest as the man drew close to him. While Nate didn’t know the stranger’s intentions, he found he didn’t care. Nate didn’t resist when the man took his face in his hands and tilted his head to one side and then sank his vicious teeth into his neck. Nate heard the tear of flesh then felt his blood flow as the man began sucking from his neck, but it still didn’t raise any alarm in him. In fact, he found it pleasurable. It felt almost like the soothing sensation which comes from drinking a strong port. And like the port, warmth seemed to flow through his body; yet at the same time, he felt a quickening throughout. Nate never questioned when the man suddenly pulled back and let out a howl like a coyote on the prairie.
Nate did experience a pang of fear when out of the shadows several more forms appeared. Glancing around, Nate counted six people approaching the wagon. It seemed the longer he went without looking at the stranger, the clearer his thoughts became. His neck began to throb where he’d been bitten. As he shook the lethargy from his head, fear set in, and he attempted to jump from the wagon. In what seemed to be faster than lightning, the six forms reached him before his feet hit the ground and surrounded him.
Nate had heard of such things while hanging out in the local tavern, but he’d not believed such hooey. Now he realized his mistake, there were such creatures, these creatures of the night, these vampires, better known in these parts as fantomes – the phantoms of the night. Woozy from the loss of blood, Nate glanced around the circle searching for anyway out of this predicament. Of the seven which now encircled him, Nate decided to try and break through where the smallest of them, a woman with flowing copper hair, stood. As he dodged that way, the fantome who’d bit his neck, reached for him and again pulled him up by his head. Nate’s screams became intermingled with the growls of his captors. Before he realized their intent, four of the strangers each grabbed an arm or a leg and with a well-rehearsed move, simultaneously twisted and pulled the limbs in separate directions. Mercifully, the stranger holding his head gave it a quick twist and separated it from his body at the same time. As blood began to gush from Nate’s severed neck, the fantome holding his head lifted it to his mouth and began to eat and suck until there was nothing left but bone, skin, and hair. At the same time, the four who’d snatched the limbs from his body, ran to protect their find. The two remaining, each grabbed his now headless and limbless torso and twisted and pulled until they each had a half.
Tossing the now useless skull aside, the stranger in the long overcoat took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth and hands. Satisfied, he lifted his head to the moon and howled. In a flash, the man disappeared into the night. Nate’s skull was the only evidence he’d ever been there.
***
END FREE PREVIEW
~~Other books by LR Potter~~
The Hourglass Killer Trilogy:
Dwindling Sands
Shifting Sands
Cascading Sands
The Hourglass Killer Trilogy – All three books together
The Color of Snow Series: (Paranormal)
Snow Blind
Snow Flurry
Memory Lapse – A Slater Vance Novel
Flawed Beauty
The Rush Series:
Rush of Innocence – Part One
Rush of Redemption – Part Two
Masters Saga
Master of the Game – Part One
Collaborative Works
Three of a Kind: Tales of Luck, Chance & Misfortune – Lucky Strike
Summer Sizzle - A Controlled Burn
Blood Bites – The Blood Pool
Blood Haze (Paranormal)
Coming Soon in 2014:
Mastering the Devil – Masters Saga: Part Two (Due out March 2014)
Blood Havoc (Due out April 2014)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/LR-Potter-Author/475135159246655
Web: http://www.lrpotterauthor.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/lrpotterauthor
Leprechaun
By C.J. Pinard
Copyright 2013 C.J. Pinard
It’s the age-old warning: Be careful what you wish for.
Noah Graham didn’t care about warnings. He didn’t believe in luck, fate, or chance. He saw the facts as they were presented in front of him, and based his decisions and choices on what he could see, feel, and touch.
Noah had a great job, a six-figure salary, an efficient secretary, and a large desk that was perched in front of a monstrosity of a window overlooking Chicago’s downtown district. He was a whiz at numbers, accounting, and most of all, the stock market.
Noah was the product of a Japanese mother and a Scottish-American father. He had his mother’s coarse black hair and olive skin, and his father’s bright green eyes and tall height.
From a very young age, Noah took an interest in the stock market. While other boys were out riding bikes and throwing rocks at the old abandoned buildings in town, Noah was sitting in front of CSPAN on a Saturday, feverishly writing down numbers, his brain immersed in thought, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he wrote and calculated.
As a teen, he didn’t date or hang out with the other kids at the local mall in his small town. He was on the Internet, tracking sales, the Dow Jones, the NYSE. He kept his nose in books and willed himself to stay on track so he could get a college scholarship to the University of Illinois in Chicago where he could escape his small rural town.
Noah’s hard work paid off. His straight-A’s and all the book clubs and math clubs he joined and chaired in high school were going to get him that scholarship. Then one ordinary math club meeting turned into an extraordinary event.
“Hi, I’m Ashley. May I join?”
The room fell silent as the ten boys and two girls turned and
gaped at the beautiful newcomer standing in the doorway of the club’s borrowed classroom. Her thick, blonde curls fell around her shoulders and light from the dusty window hit them just right, creating a halo effect. Her eyes sparkled with mystery and mischief, while her short, pink fingernails nervously gripped the stack of books in her arms.
Noah, Math Club President, immediately went over to her. “Sure you can. Please sit.” He pulled out a chair and waved an arm at it.
“I’m Noah, by the way. Ashley, is it?”
She batted eyelashes that swam over crystal blue eyes. “Yes. Nice to meet you, Noah.”
As he gripped her hand to shake it, he swore he felt an electric bolt shoot through him.
That was it. Love at first sight and all that jazz. They were married the summer after they graduated and she went off to Chicago with him while he attended college. She was not interested in college, but rather, being a wife and mother. And try to be a mother she did. Oh, how she tried – but doctors, herbalists, acupuncturists, and holistic healers could not help her conceive.
◊ ◊ ◊
Eight years. It’s been eight years since he married Ashley. While he had received a Master’s degree and got a great job right out of school, she just never evolved. Her bright hair had turned dull and her pretty smile rarely made an appearance.
And Noah was done.
It’s not that he wanted children as badly as she did; it was that hindsight is twenty-twenty and people should not be allowed to get married right out of high school, because people are generally stupid up until the age of twenty-five.