Nightmares Rise (Dark Shores Trilogy Book 1)

by Mirren Hogan

  Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA):

  3724 Cowpens Pacolet Rd., Spartanburg, SC 29307

  This edition published in 2017 by Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA)

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ©Mirren Hogan and Erin Yoshikawa, 2017

  ©Diane Riggins and Edd Sowder, editors, 2017

  ©Druscilla Morgan, cover design, 2017

  ©Lori Michelle, The Author’s Alley, interior formatting, 2017

  To Kathryn and Lara, the real Ashley and Chloe. You might argue, but you always have each other’s backs.

  To Ellis—Thanks for the white jeep. I miss riding in it with you, but I don’t miss your driving.

  To Zack—I’ll always save the best stupid joke for you, bruh. Catch you on the flip side.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  PROLOGUE

  In the dream, it was always the same; Makani watched the birth of the islands as a silent observer. They started as rivers of lava beneath the waves, boiling the sea water and changing the ocean’s topography. Eventually, the lava became atolls that slowly emerged from the sea, which became islands that ran along the fault line from which spewed the guts of the earth.

  She watched as the rain and ocean beat the rock into submission, forming black sand beaches and channels that would become valleys and gorges between mountain ranges. The gravel eventually became rich, dark black or red dirt. Born on the winds and oceans, seeds took root in the new soil. Birds came and settled on the islands, even as the topography continued to grow and expand. Atolls and shoals ran in a chain through the ocean, culminating as eight islands with sandy shores. One day, to be called Hawaii.

  But not yet. There was still a hundred thousand years of work to be done.

  The birds and plants flourished and changed, becoming entirely new species, and the islands became a paradise. The oceans receded, flooded over, and then receded again, changing the landscape in a thousand different ways before humanity set their sights on the distant land.

  No one knows how mankind came to these islands, not really. But somehow, the Polynesians followed the stars and flocks of seabirds to the eight largest islands of the long chain far to the north. They made that paradise another home. They brought their gods and monsters, spears and taboos. They changed the landscape with their words and footsteps, allowing their spirits to populate the land. There were small men and giant boars, the volcanoes were filled with fiery female spirits.

  All was a balance, and everything that came and survived found a niche to settle within.

  Another wave of humanity came, and Makani could only watch as they left their boats and came ashore. They were the missionaries and sea captains from far across the waters.

  While the natives welcomed the newcomers as gods, they soon found that they were hosting their own demise. Common colds and smallpox decimated the population and made room for the next wave of evolution as profiteers and captains of the new industries tamed the soil and began growing cash crops. They transplanted people from all over the world to till and harvest, plant and populate.

  With these people came a new set of gods and demons. Their creatures blended into the soil and became another part of the land, more links in the rich ecosystem that was the peoples’ imagination. Their versions of nightmare demons blended in and took root deep in the soil.

  In that dreamscape, Makani watched her own ancestry revealed. The long ride by boat that brought her Chinese great-greatgrandmother and Japanese great-greatgrandfather to the islands. The contracts for a decade of work on the sugarcane plantations of Oahu, and another decade aboard a fishing boat. The marriages and children in fast forward, the way one would watch a home movie on a Super-8.

  Her eyes followed the trail from one place to the next, as the family expanded and moved on towards the Big Island. She watched in fascination, seeing familiar faces; her grandmother Beatrice and a man who wasn’t her grandfather. She watched them part on a dock late one night, and the scene moved on.

  Her father was born on the Big Island and moved to Oahu with his parents. He met her mother, and they had five children, four boys, and a girl.

  The camera slowed again.

  Makani was waiting for something. Some incredible catastrophe that would dig deep down into the bedrock beneath her feet and rip the earth in two.

  The waiting was always the worst part, her racing heart, and panting breath. It was completely dark, with no sounds or scents to tell her where she was. The only noise was the drip-drip-dripping of water hitting more water that filled the inky darkness to her chest, and made it fractionally harder to breathe. The wetness was all she could feel, and in her near-lucid state, Makani wondered if this was a pee dream that might break and she’d wake up to a wet bed, her brothers scurrying away to put their mother’s mixing bowl back into the cabinet above the fridge.

  But of course, that was never the result.

  In the dream, Makani waited for the first sound. It would be a dry rustle, like the autumn leaves that littered the quad at Oregon State when she was in college.

  But it was never just leaves.

  It was the sound of dry wings that were unfurling, revealing the creature they contained. The creature was blacker than the darkness and twice as disturbing. In the dream, she knew of the creature, but not what it was. She would feel its imminent approach when a hot whiff of meaty breath would touch her face, and the water would become cold and still. Usually, there was a moment of silence, and then the beating of wings that heralded the scream she would give, and the ending of the nightmare.

  But this time, something was different. This time there was the sound of water moving and dripping, and a very human hand grabbing hers tightly. This time in her panic, before Makani could scream, she noticed how large the hand was, and how warm it felt against hers.

  For the first time since the nightmares had started, Makani wasn’t alone.

  For the first time, she wasn’t afraid.

  Makani awoke, turned over in bed and stared through the threadbare curtains across her window. Nothing had changed since the night before. What did the dream mean? Did it mean anything? Did they ever? She flopped onto her back and yanked the quilt back over her head.

  “Just a dream . . . ”

  CHAPTER 1

  The summer tourist season was over.

  The days were slow. Few people were around to take a tour of Oahu, or learn to surf or fish. Sadly, now that the su
mmer was over, half of Makani Lau’s friends were back to school for their lame degrees while the other half were back to school with the kids they taught. She should make friends who weren’t students or teachers.

  Makani sat down at the bar and settled in on one of the rickety stools.

  “Eh brah, how you?” She asked the barman, her best island pidgin and smile apparently

  making no impact on the jaded barman. “Can I get one Bud Light? Shoots, thanks, brah.”

  She took the beer and drank down a quarter of it. To her left, she spotted a barfly staring into his beer. He obviously didn’t need another drink or distraction.

  To her right, there was a younger guy, around her age; an umbrella drink, and technology, in a bar? As his long finger scrolled down the screen, his fancy tablet appeared to have photographs of half the beaches on the island. Many seemed to have been taken at sunrise or sunset or featured bright sunlight and palm trees. All the best clichés.

  Tourist, she thought to herself. Butacutetourist. She might be able to get a job. Or a date. Either one was good. In the words of her Aunty Elsie, ‘Eh . . . chance ‘um!’.

  “Hi. Where you from?”

  The man glanced up from his tablet, eyebrows raised above hazel eyes, more blue than brown. He turned off the tablet and slid it to one side.

  Good manners. Good sign.

  “Sydney.” He didn’t need to elaborate, his accent and cocktail screamed that he wasn’t a local. Those and the loud Aloha shirt, blue with pink and green hibiscus. At least it wasn’t covered in naked women or surfers. All the worst clichés.

  “Flynn Cole.” He held out his hand to her. She glanced at the proffered hand and shook it, “I’m Makani.” She gestured toward the tablet and had to ask “So . . . did you see Johnny Depp at Rockpiles?”

  “Who?” Flynn smiled. His eyes focused firmly on hers, except for a brief glance at her left hand. “No. I mostly take pictures of places, not people. Did you take me for paparazzi?” He raised an eyebrow at her, but the lines around his eyes crinkled with amusement.

  “Easy!” She put her hands up in mock surrender, “Just saw you had shots of all the tourist spots. That’s where everyone goes to people watch.” Or be seen. He didn’t seem like the latter, even wearing that shirt.

  He shrugged with one shoulder. “I haven’t been here that long. I just started with the most obvious places. You know, people always want to see them. It gives them something to daydream about, while they go about their normal, boring lives. Or need a nice wall calendar.” He gave a slight eyeroll toward the ceiling.

  He seemed like a doer and not just a dreamer to her.

  “Pardon me, Flynn.” Her laugh was warm and easy. “I meant no offence. But . . . if you’re looking for places to shoot, you gotta get off Kalakaua avenue, or all your shots are gonna look like something outta Hawaii Five-0.”

  “Complete with the hot bodies?” He gave her a cheeky smile.

  The beaches always seemed to attract those, but he seemed more than just the type to laze around gawking at women in thongs. She gave him an eyeroll of her own and didn’t answer.

  “You have a better idea?” He rested one elbow on the bar. A smile played around the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were intent and serious. That was more like it.

  “Uhhh . . . Yeah!” Makani flipped open a red mint tin and pulled out a business card. She passed it to Flynn, “I’m a tour guide. But I take people off the beaten path, none of that stuff you see on postcards or TV.”

  “Like what? Or should I say where? No point going to places no one wants to see pictures of.”

  “Right,” she agreed. The clichés were all over the place, and nobody bought people’s vacation photos. But even in Hawaii, there were places that held no interest to outsiders, no matter how scenic or full of hard bodies.

  “Like—the mountains. The waterfalls are hidden behind the freeway. The real beaches people don’t go to. The things you don’t see on TV!” She leaned forward, “We save the good stuff for ourselves.”

  “Some things never change,” he muttered. “Sydney is the same. People go there to gawk at the Bridge, the Opera House, but they never venture out to see the real Australia. The small towns. The way people really live. Australia has more to it than nice beaches and man-eating spiders.”

  “Well, here’s the thing: you wanna see some of the best photo ops Oahu’s got? I’m free! My schedule is clear, if yours is. Whatchu think?” She hoped he would say ‘yes’. “I’ll even work pro bono for the first day. How’s that for a deal?”

  “A whole day with a beautiful woman to see the hidden sights of Oahu for free? I’d be stupid to say no,” Flynn said. He pushed his half-finished cocktail away, his hand on its base so it wouldn’t spill.

  “I think we should toast our arrangement with something better than a blue drink. Whatcha think?” His imitation of her speech needed some work. He leaned over the bar and ordered two beers.

  “Thanks a lot!” Makani gave him a cheeky smile and nodded at the bartender as he opened two beer bottles and placed them on the bar. She pushed a bottle towards Flynn.

  The bartender raised an eyebrow as he took the half-finished glasses away, but didn’t say anything.

  “To . . . a hella good arrangement!”

  He raised the bottle. “I’ll drink to that!” His eyes watched her the entire time, smiling even when his mouth was locked around the top of the bottle.

  “Now Flynn, what do you think you want to see?” Makani took a long pull of her beer before putting it down and leaned on an elbow. “I can find exactly what you want, if you give me guidelines.”

  His smile mirrored hers, but for a dimple forming in one cheek, “Whatever you want to show me.”

  She decided that he was being suggestive on purpose, not that she minded.

  “Hmmmm . . . the backseat of my tour van?” She shrugged her shoulders but gave him a wink.

  “Beautiful and a mind reader?” He nodded his head toward her slowly. “I’m impressed. Anything else I should know before I’m alone in some secluded location with you?” He raised his hand, gesturing for her to wait before replying. “Don’t tell me, you’re really a ninja?”

  “Maybe I’m the volcano goddess Pele, and I’m just trying to lure you to the mountains, so I can sacrifice you to myself?” She sipped her beer and smiled.

  “Oh really?”

  “Trust me, if I was, you’d know.”

  “I thought Pele was a soccer player?” Flynn quipped. “You know, you might just be hot enough to be some kind of volcano goddess.”

  Suggestive and cheesy, her favorite. “Nah. I don’t hitchhike, and I don’t have a dog.”

  He looked at her in confusion for a moment but shrugged when she didn’t answer. Obviously what she had said had gone right over his head. “You’re gonna learn all kinds of stuff from me. Promise.”

  “If that’s a challenge, then I accept.” His reply was immediate.

  Apparently, he was the type to jump in, head first and worry about the consequences later. She liked that too.

  “Famous last words, Flynn Cole!” She leaned back and saluted him with her bottle. “Tomorrow morning, then. We’re gonna see something special; an underground lake. They got those where you’re from?”

  “Yeah, out in WA.” He nodded. “Western Australia. Near Margaret River, I believe. I’ve never seen any though, worse luck. I’ve drunk plenty of wine from the Margaret River area, though. It’s good stuff.

  “So,” he went on. “Is there light down in this lake?”

  “Fair enough question,” Makani admitted, taking in his skeptical expression. “Underground caves or karsts usually draw people like sand on wet feet. They’re often destroyed by handrails and worn flat by indifferent tourists and bored school groups. Not this one, though. It isn’t lit; that’s why it’s so neat! All kinds of photophobic insects live there. Someone released carp a long time ago. There were a few when I went last . . . and it’s clear water. I
t isn’t dirty, at least once you get into the deep parts. The rock acts as a filter.”

  Makani realized she sounded like a dork, going off about the karst. It was, by far, one of the coolest places to know about on her tiny rock in the middle of the ocean.

  He nodded, evidently warming to the idea. “You have torches then?” His accent made it sound as though he was saying ‘tortures.’ He added, “Flashlights, I suppose you call them?” Even in the same language, there was a language barrier.

  “Headlamps, yeah. It’s a swim in some parts. Hope your camera and lenses are sealed. The humidity in the mountains can be worse than a dip in a puddle. I’ve seen too many tourists lose their little Fuji digital pieces of crap to the rainforest.”

  “My equipment is my life,” he assured her. “I always take special care of it. No little digital crap for me. As my mother would say,” he raised his voice a little higher,” It’s a state of the art, ridiculously expensive camera that makes a bad photographer good and a good photographer excellent. So you better take bloody good care of it!” He lowered his voice back to normal.

  “It took a year to save up for the bloody Nikon, but it’s worth every cent. And insured to the hilt.”

  “A man who values his equipment. Nice. I bet you know how and where to stow it, too.” She winked and leaned forward, glancing down at his pants and smiled a devious smile.

  “Damn right I do!” He grinned. “Nothing better than stowing it right where it fits.”

  “I think we stopped talking about your Nikon.”

  “I think we’ve stopped talking about that cave,” he countered.

  Makani laughed. She got off the stool and stretched, grabbing her long hair back and flipping it over her shoulder.”Come on, let’s show you some sights on the way up to my place. So, where are you staying?”

  “If I told you that I rented a shack by the beach, would you be offended that I’d done something so touristy?” He picked up his tablet from the bar top, shook droplets of liquid off the underside, and followed.

  “I’d say . . . you’ll like my place better. Trust me!” Makani grabbed his elbow and directed him away from the happy hour crowd to the parking lot. “I live off the Pali highway in my grandma’s old house. The breeze is way nicer in the mountains.”