Forgotten Realms

by Cassidy Raine Wolters

  Twice Told Tales

  Volume 2 - Forgotten Realms

  This anthology contains stories reprinted from the following books:

  Ten Tales of Terror (2017)

  Ten More Tales of Terror (2017)

  Ten Last Tales of Terror (2017)

  Startling Stories (2018)

  More Startling Stories (2018)

  Darkness (2019)

  Doomsday (2019)

  1 - Cyrano Jones, Vampire Hunter

  Two lonely figures made their way down the foggy, deserted streets of London. Big Ben chimed in the distance as they stopped to study a map under a gaslight.

  "Five o'clock in the morning. We're almost out of time, Darcy."

  "Don't worry, Dr. Jones. According to the map, the warehouse is just around the corner."

  With the utmost stealth, they made their way to their destination. They heard two cats fighting, followed by a loud crash, as they made their way down a side alley to the rear entrance of an abandoned building. Dr. Jones broke the rusted padlock and the two companions slipped inside.

  They found the door to the basement and walked down the creaky steps. Darcy held up a lantern to reveal an old coffin on a table against the far wall.

  Dr. Jones pulled a hammer and a stake from his shoulder bag as they made their way across the room.

  "You know what to do," he reassured his assistant. "We've done this a dozen times before."

  Darcy placed the lantern on the ground and got into position next to the coffin, waited for a nod, and threw the lid open.

  Dr. Jones lunged forward and drove the stake into the heart of the body inside the coffin. The creature's eyes flew open. It screamed and writhed in agony as its attacker mercilessly brought his hammer down again and again.

  "You did it!" Darcy exclaimed when the screaming finally faded away.

  "We did it," Dr. Jones corrected after he caught his breath. "I was at a complete standstill until you showed up a few years ago. Your research has made all the difference." He pulled out an old parchment from his pocket and carefully examined it. "We can mark Travers off the list."

  "We're on a roll," she said. "We took out Silas in Norway—"

  "Though we almost fell off that glacier—"

  "And Maslow in Venice," she added.

  "The gondola chase through the city was intense—"

  "And Sheba, the vampire queen, in Amsterdam."

  "We've dismantled the entire network of the bloodsuckers," Dr. Jones said with pride and satisfaction. "Now there's only one name left on the list."

  "Balthazar," his assistant whispered.

  "We'll catch a ferry across the channel this afternoon," he said. "A train can get us to eastern Europe in three days. It's time to finish this once and for all."

  *****

  A full moon cast its pale light across the Latvian countryside. The dark and foreboding outline of Greymoor castle stood silhouetted against the night sky.

  "Darcy, your research, as always, is meticulous," Dr. Jones said. "I don't know how you found out about this secret entrance."

  His assistant smiled in response to the compliment.

  "Are you ready?" he asked.

  "I've been waiting for this moment for years," she replied as she lit a torch and they entered the caverns.

  The two vampire hunters carefully picked their way through the twisting and turning tunnels below the structure, steadily climbing closer and closer to their destination. An hour had passed by the time they found themselves in a cobweb-filled hallway beneath the ancient fortress.

  They traversed the passageway, rounded a corner, and came face to face with an ornate, marble door. A small statue in an alcove above the entrance kept a silent vigil over this long-forgotten place.

  "That's an interesting sculpture," Dr. Jones said as he examined the piece more closely. "A woman offering an apple."

  "Forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge," Darcy said. "Shades of the Garden of Eden."

  "Yes, but the Devil offered the apple to Eve. This work would seem to indicate that the woman has secret knowledge," said Dr. Jones.

  "Let's do what we came here to do," Darcy said softly.

  Her companion nodded in agreement and pushed the marble door open. An overpowering smell of rot and decay assaulted their nostrils as they entered a circular room. A coffin stood on a raised dais in the middle.

  Dr. Jones paused for a moment. As the torchlight flickered, he thought back on the long and dangerous road that led him to this place. His beloved brother, Emile, had been turned into a vampire twenty years ago. "God, has it been that long?" he thought. "Driving a stake through my brother's heart was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

  "Are you ready?" Darcy asked, pulling her companion's thoughts back to the present.

  "Yes," he answered solemnly.

  They approached the coffin and got into position.

  "Open it," Dr. Jones instructed after he'd steadied his grip on his hammer.

  Darcy flung the casket open and Dr. Jones surged forward, ready to drive a stake into the heart of Balthazar, the overlord of the undead, but he stopped.

  "It's empty," he stammered as the sound of laughter filled the room.

  "Of course it's empty," said a tall, lean man who emerged from the shadows.

  "Balthazar!"

  "So we meet at last. The great Cyrano Jones, vampire hunter," the man said. "You didn't really think I'd let you waltz into Greymoor Castle and drive a stake through my heart, did you?"

  Darcy started forward towards the vampire. Dr. Jones grabbed her arm, but she brushed it aside.

  "Ah, my lovely Darcy has finally returned to me," said Balthazar as he took her by the hand.

  "W-W-What?" mumbled Dr. Jones, stunned.

  "Come now, good doctor. Didn't you ever wonder how your assistant knew so much about the locations of the undead across the vast European continent? I gave her all that information."

  "But why?"

  "An ancient pact prohibits members of the vampire council from killing one another, but I was able to work around that clause by feeding you information."

  Dr. Jones stared at his partner with disbelief.

  "Don't be too hard on Darcy," Balthazar admonished. "She did it all for love. And know she'll be rewarded by becoming the new vampire queen."

  Dr. Jones rushed forward and tried to drive a stake into Balthazar's chest, but the powerful vampire swatted him away like an insignificant bug.

  "Say goodbye, Cyrano Jones, vampire hunter," the ruler of the undead said as he approached his victim.

  Anguished screams filled the catacombs beneath the ancient keep.

  The End

  2 - Risk/Reward

  Wes and Holly had been dating, on-and-off, for the better part of two years. In many ways, they were polar opposites. For example, Holly was as timid as Wes was adventurous. She was also far more committed to the relationship. That made her do things she really wasn't comfortable with, like this whole situation with the Dansworth space colony near Alpha Centauri.

  In the year 2088, space explorers stumbled onto one of the greatest and most enigmatic discoveries in the history of mankind. They found the remains of a highly-advanced civilization known as the Kraoul that had gone extinct. Many examples of Kraoul technology remained, including a fleet of five hundred spaceships, all pre-programmed to take their occupants to various destinations throughout the universe.

  But there was a catch. The equipment was so advanced that it was really beyond human comprehension. You pushed a button and went along for the ride. There was no contingency plan. Some trips ended in glory and wealth, others in disaster. Bottom line, it was a high-tech game of Russian roulette.

  The Dansworth Co
rporation purchased the rights to all five hundred ships and began selling them at exorbitant prices. That was ten years ago. Only fifty ships remained, fifty lucky tickets leading to fifty different places in the vast expanse of the cosmos.

  Wes desperately wanted to be on one of those fifty ships. Holly thought it was silly and dangerous. But here they were in a waiting room at the Dansworth Conglomerate Building in Miami, getting ready to sit down with a sales representative to discuss their options.

  "We have to do this," Wes said emphatically.

  "No, we don't," Holly replied. "It's dangerous, not to mention expensive. My grandfather left me money to go to college. He'd be turning over in his grave if he knew I was thinking about spending it on something this foolish."

  "No risk, no reward," Wes stated.

  At that moment a stunningly beautiful woman entered the waiting room. "Hi! You must be Wes and Holly. It's so nice to meet you. I'm Ms. Rogers, your sales liaison. Why don't you come on back to my office so we can sit and talk for a while."

  Holly saw the way her boyfriend's eyes lit up and she noticed his preening behavior on their way back to the office. He adjusted his tie, straightened his collar, and ran his fingers through his hair. She had been concerned about getting bamboozled. Now she was more worried about getting beguiled. There was about as much chance of Wes saying no to Ms. Rogers as there was of a seagull flying to the Moon.

  Over the next hour, Ms. Rogers gave the sales pitch of a lifetime, pointing out all the incredible discoveries and fortunes that had been made by previous clients. When Holly mentioned the dangers involved, she deftly stepped aside, like a matador. Wes, like most men, was putty in her hands and the end result was a foregone conclusion.

  The following Thursday Wes and Holly hopped a freighter to the Moon. From there they departed on the Lunar Spaceport and traveled through a wormhole just beyond the edge of the solar system that took them to Alpha Centauri.

  When they arrived at the Dansworth space colony, they were met by their trainer, Bert Neptune, a rugged ex-Marine with a massive gap between his front teeth. He looked like the kind of guy who would wrestle an alligator for fun. It was his job to put them through their paces for the next three days and get them ready for their trip.

  "What do we really know about the Kraoul civilization?" Holly asked during a break in their training.

  "Not much, to tell the truth," Bert Neptune replied. "Once they were here and now they're gone."

  "What do you suppose happened to them?" Wes asked.

  "I have no idea," the ex-Marine said with a shrug.

  "These ships and their destinations—" Holly started to say.

  "I do know something about that," Bert Neptune interjected. "Been here since day one, watched every single ship depart, saw most of them come back."

  "Most of them?" Holly asked.

  "Some never returned."

  Wes could see this upset Holly, so he quickly changed the subject. "But the ones that did—"

  "The ones that did come back told unbelievable tales! Streets paved with gold and silver. Diamonds the size of elephants. Exotic women and bizarre love-making rituals. Benevolent alien races with the ability to grant wishes."

  "See! That's what I'm talking about!" declared Wes.

  "Well, I don't know about the exotic women," Holly muttered.

  "Not that," Wes clarified. "The other stuff. We'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams!"

  "Maybe," Holly said, still not convinced that this was a good idea.

  "You'll find out soon enough," Bert Neptune said. "But for now, we need to get back to training."

  Holly became even more apprehensive as the time for their launch grew near. Wes, on the other hand, was absolutely giddy.

  Finally, the moment arrived. Bert Neptune led them to their vessel. "Here she is. We call her the Cortez. Isn't she a beauty?" The ex-marine escorted Wes and Holly to the ship's bridge, strapped them in, and gave them a big smile, showing the huge gap between his front teeth. "Good luck, you two," he said before he departed.

  Holly was predictably nervous. Wes was geared up and talked incessantly as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Ready?" he asked.

  Holly tried to answer but found she couldn't speak so she simply nodded her head.

  "Let's do it!" Wes said as he pushed the main button.

  Things started gently enough as the Kraoul spacecraft eased its way into orbit. But their training did little to prepare them for what came next.

  The alien vessel, using science and technology far beyond human comprehension, leapt across the cosmos. Their senses were bombarded. Wes and Holly found the experience overwhelming. The colors were vivid, the sounds pleasing, and they were flooded with long-forgotten childhood memories.

  Holly remembered being at the beach with her parents. The feel of the sand between her toes and the smell of cotton candy from the boardwalk were so intense that it was like she was really there.

  Wes recalled hitting his first home run and the feeling of euphoria as he rounded the bases.

  And, just like that, the trip was over. They'd arrived at their destination.

  Their viewscreen was filled with an image of the colossal black hole that was just beginning to pull their ship to its inevitable doom.

  Holly screamed and began to cry.

  Wes tried to calm her down, but it was a weak effort at best because he recognized the truth of the situation. Their spacecraft had already crossed the event horizon. There was no turning back. They were already in their death knell.

  "Why would anyone come here? Why?" asked Holly as she choked back tears.

  "Scientific research, maybe," Wes suggested.

  In the end, there was no way of knowing the purpose of the destination. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Their fate was sealed.

  The Cortez was sucked into the vortex and the craft was torn apart in the maelstrom of the black hole.

  The End

  3 - The Box in the Basement

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  1902

  Gleason Huckabee was, in colloquial terms, one lucky son-of-a-bitch. He arrived in Cape Town in the fall of 1885 and traveled eight hundred miles inland to Johannesburg just in time for the Witwatersrand Gold Rush in 1886. Over the next five years, he made a small fortune that he shrewdly re-invested into the nascent diamond industry. By the turn of the century, he was the second wealthiest man in South Africa, ranking just behind Cecil Rhodes, who likewise made his money in both gold and diamonds.

  But unlike Rhodes, Huckabee was no philanthropist. He only cared about two people: his daughter Clair and her fiancé Ned Forrester. He doted on Clair who was the spitting image of her deceased mother while Ned was not only his future son-in-law but also his business protégé.

  Like many men of his ilk, Huckabee was an unapologetic racist who viewed the natives as sub-human, and he deeply instilled his prejudice in both Clair and Ned. Of course, this lopsided state of affairs, where only a handful benefitted from the labor of tens of thousands, proved untenable. Inevitably there was a backlash and local politicians were forced to broker a deal to quell a potentially violent uprising and avoid a massive bloodletting.

  Gleason Huckabee was forced to donate large sums of money to the more prominent local tribes. Money is no panacea, but it certainly made the circumstances more palatable. In return, he received numerous peace offerings. Zulu chiefs gave an assortment of shields; Sotho artisans gave works of art made from leather, wood, and metal along with blankets and conical hats; while the Ndebele women gave brass and copper rings made to be worn around necks, arms, and legs.

  Huckabee refused to allow any of the "philistine junk" near his estate and gave instructions for it all to be taken to Ned Forrester's place.

  Clair and her Siamese cat Jo Jo watched in amusement as box after box of goods were delivered to her fiancé. Ned, however, failed to see the humor in the situation.

  At first, he took his anger out on the cat, but that didn't last
very long. Clair was besotted with her precious pet who, like all his breed, had a white body, a black face, and glacial blue eyes.

  Ned then directed his anger towards his housekeeper Imka and her half-blind grandmother who were both members of the Xhosa tribe. The old woman began to rant incoherently when a certain black box covered in obscure symbols arrived. She grew louder and louder until Ned shouted her down.

  "What's she going on about?" he asked his housekeeper. "Shag'dremov! Shag'dremov! What the hell does that mean?"

  Imka simply shrugged her shoulders in response.

  Ned was so frustrated with the whole debacle that he canceled his dinner plans with Clair, retired to his chambers early, and spent several hours reading over business reports before finally turning in for the evening.

  That night, while he slept, Ned Forrester was visited by the most vivid dream he'd ever experienced. Amidst the ruins of an ancient city, members of the Xhosa tribe danced around a bonfire, their faces made lurid by white paint. Accompanied by the incessant beating of drums, they sang dirges about revenge in their Bantu dialect.

  Then an ominous black box covered in peculiar runes was brought forth and the natives began to chant, "Shag'dremov! Shag'dremov!" The drums beat faster and faster and the chorus grew more incessant until the lid of the box sprang open.

  A strange shadow left the container so rapidly that it was nothing but a blur, though the sound of leathery wings could be heard above the revelers.

  Ned abruptly woke up, convinced that something was lurking just outside his chamber. Covered in sweat and still rattled from the haunting dream, he cautiously got out of bed and tiptoed across the room. His heart beat wildly as he threw open the door only to find that he was alone.

  The next morning he went down to the basement to inspect the odd black box. He hesitated before he looked inside and chuckled to himself when he found it was empty. Still, he had it removed from the premises before lunch.

  Ned was determined to never experience the nightmare again, so he took a sedative before going to sleep each of the next three nights. But with each passing day, he found it harder and harder to shake off the grogginess in the mornings. He finally resolved to try and get some regular sleep.

  That night the dream returned. Ned awoke drenched in sweat and crept to the window to investigate a scratching sound. He pulled the curtain aside just in time to see a strange beast flying away into the night, and his eyes grew wide with terror when he saw the unnatural outline of its body silhouetted against the moon.