Rain Of Stone (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 1)

by Lesley Woodral

  The wolf faced thing was too fast. It snapped its jaws on Lester’s throat and took him down, the blood jetting down its throat as it tore away a large piece of Lester’s neck and lower jaw. Lester’s last sight as he lost consciousness was of the forest surrounding the cone of light. And the eyes of hundreds of the things staring at him from the shadows, gleaming in the black. Then darkness.

  Chapter 12

  Sha’ha’Zel watched the man and woman move about the house, completely unaware of his true nature, and contemplated ending them. They accepted the face he wore as true, never suspecting the deadly evil that lingered with them as they went about their evening meal. So there was no reason to tear them apart, to bath in their blood and screams, other than to break the monotony of its own existence. For Sha’ha’Zel, that was not reason enough. The demon sat quietly with them through dinner, the food going cold in front of him as the man and woman ate and talked, oblivious. The cold power within him uncoiled slowly, dropping the temperature of the room. The woman commented on it to her husband. He smiled and patted his mouth with a napkin before getting up to check the thermostat.

  Sha’ha’Zel let his power stretch out, beyond the kitchen and the couple’s house, beyond the town proper and into the dark forest surrounding it. He felt the evil lurking behind every tree, burrowing into the shadows, and it made him smile inside. This world wasn’t so different than the one he came from. The monsters were all the same. He could sense the terror of the men dying in the woods, their fear as they were eaten alive. There were other horrors, some as old and powerful as himself, but they hid themselves from his questing senses. Biding their time. There was magic, weak and pitiful compared to that which fueled the curse. Like a flame, flickering in the wind. But in Matheson that magic was slowly awakening, as if from a long sleep, and that guttering flame had the potential to become a inferno.

  It was connected to the boy and his arrival here. This place was a nexus of powers, drawing any who had the ability to find and use the various magical nodes that were scattered through the town and the surrounding forests and mountains. That was one of the things that drew the Storm Lord and his ilk to build a home here. Sha’ha’Zel thought of Highgarden and felt his skin begin to itch, crawling beneath the false face that he wore. The boy’s fortress would only protect him for so long before Sha’ha’Zel achieved the strength to pass its borders.

  The time was quickly approaching when he would walk those hallowed grounds and make it his own.

  The woman looked at the demon and smiled. She asked him about his day.

  Chapter 13

  “What’s down there?” Claire asked, pointing at the path leading into the woods. The two of them stood in the center of the rock bridge spanning the creek that was the outer border of HighGarden’s backyard. Claire was dressed in a bright yellow sun dress that left her knees bare, showing off much more of her legs than Brandon was used to seeing. The patch over her eye was blue and had a hint of clouds drifting across it.

  “Trees.” Brandon said, matter of factly. He was tossing small stones into the creek, a habit he was growing more and more fond of, as time went by. In some places the water in the creek was about ankle deep, but Gerrick had warned him that during heavy rains it could wash away a grown man.

  It hadn’t rained since Brandon had arrived in Matheson, more than a month ago. Brandon was still getting used to it. As horrible as the thought seemed to him, Brandon sort of missed the rain. For so long, it had been his only constant companion. He shivered and tossed another stone into the creek.

  At his answer, Claire arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were witty.” She stepped away from the side of the bridge and walked toward the trail. Brandon remembered his uncle’s warning about the woods, but put it from his mind. After exploring the whole town, he was pretty confident that he wouldn’t get lost in his own backyard. He followed Claire, tossing the rest of the stones into the creek. As he sped to catch up, he caught himself looking at the way her behind was moving under the dress.

  Stop, he berated himself. Friends don’t look at other friend’s butts. But it was getting more difficult to think of Claire as only a friend as time went on. They were both old enough to be very aware of each other physically. They both knew that it was only a matter of time before something happened.

  The trail was worn and easy to follow. As they got deeper into the woods, the forest seemed to be trying to press in on them. The trees made a heavy canopy over their heads, blocking out most of the sun’s light. It felt more like late evening, instead of late afternoon. The trail twisted through the woods, winding around deep bends and over rocky outcrops. They saw squirrels scampering up trees and as they crossed a small stream that probably ran into the creek surrounding Highgarden, they saw a deer. It was only a few yards off, bent over the stream. As they crossed the water, it stopped its drinking and raised its head to watch them pass. When they made no move in its direction it just went back to what it was doing, ignoring them.

  After 20 minutes, Brandon found himself breathing hard. Claire was barely winded. She saw him looking at her and smiled. “What’s the matter? Is the air too thin for you?” She laughed, but not unkindly. If she wanted to, she could probably walk him into the ground. Brandon just smiled at her and tried not to look at the way her dress was beginning to get damp from the heat.

  They rounded another bend and were just topping a small rise, when Claire stopped him with a hand on his arm. She asked. “Is that another trail?” She pointed to a small break in the trees, off to their right.

  Brandon started to say no, but stopped. It did look like another trail. It disappeared into the trees, moving up the side of another ridge. He looked at Claire, then up at the bit of sky he could see through the treetops. He remembered his uncle’s warning but they still had a while before dark. “Let’s check it out.”

  Claire grinned and gestured with her hand. “Age before beauty.”

  Trail was really too kind a word for the path they soon found themselves following. In places, they had to push through thick bush and heavy limbs, being careful not to get scratched or tear their clothing. The trees were different too. Thicker and taller, the limbs more determined to smother them. It was darker on the new path.

  Spookier. Brandon was about to give up and suggest that they turn back when they broke through the thickest of the barriers they had found so far and found themselves in a clearing. It was a circle, about fifty feet in diameter, cleared of all trees. It was definitely man made. Laid in neat rows, were eight stone piles. Rough wooden markers stood at the head of each pile.

  A graveyard.

  Brandon looked at Claire and faked a shiver. She just smiled at him. Were they still on his family’s property? He wasn’t sure, but he thought so. Brandon stepped into the clearing, looking at the graves and their crude wooden markers.

  “Is this what I think it is?” Claire said, her voice quiet. Brandon nodded and moved toward the closest of the stone covered graves. He had only ever seen graves like these in westerns and fantasy movies. The rocks weren’t piled haphazardly, but placed perfectly, like pieces in a puzzle. There were strange symbols carved into the twisted wooden markers at the head of each grave. It curved like an ‘S’, only in reverse and on its back. A small circle was drawn into the curves, like eyes. He didn’t know what it meant. All of them were marked that way, though the symbols varied. He looked at Claire.

  “You’ve never heard of this place?”

  She shook her head. “What is it, some kind of ancient family cemetery? Are these your ancestors?”

  Brandon shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea. But, looking at the wood of the crosses, he felt another little shiver work its way down his spine. The wood was old, but not that old. He said as much and Claire looked at the marker nearest to her and immediately saw what he meant. “So, how old do you think it is? Ten years? Twenty?”

  “I don’t know.” He said, reaching down to touch one of the stones. They felt smoot
h, like polished glass. Brandon looked at Claire. “They feel like quartz, or something.”

  Claire bent to one of the piles and reached out to touch one of the rocks. Before she touched the polished stone, there was a rumble under both of their feet and a skeletal hand burst from the pile of stones. It latched onto her wrist, still partially sheathed in decomposing muscle and flesh, and she screamed. The sound was so shocking in the quiet woods that Brandon was momentarily frozen in place by the sheer force of it. Claire’s eye was the size of a silver dollar, the blood draining from her face, and she tried to pull away. To pull her wrist free. But the thing still held on. As she pulled back with all of her strength, the rest of the stones began to shift and tumble away, revealing the rest of the corpse. Rotted cloth and pieces of dried, desiccated skin fell away as it pulled loose of the rock. The cracked and peeling skull was yellowed with age, clumps of dirt clinging to the hollow sockets where its eyes had been.

  As the thing came loose of the rocks, free to the waist, a sound began to emerge from it. Impossibly loud, it grew in strength, drowning out Claire’s screams, and making Brandon’s head swell in pain. His teeth hurt, down to the roots. The sound suddenly ceased, and Claire’s screams hit home, galvanizing Brandon.

  Without thinking about what he was doing, only knowing that he had to save his friend, Brandon scooped up one of the stones that had shifted loose of the thing and swung it as hard as he could. He caught the skull dead center, shattering it, and sending pieces of bone and dried flesh everywhere. It was over. Brandon looked at his watch, shocked to see that not even a minute had passed. Claire pulled the twisted claw off of her wrist and cradled her hand against her chest. Tears streaked her dusty face, but only on the right side. No tears came from beneath the patch. Brandon realized that he had never seen under the patch, had never asked to, and he never would. His mind went back to the empty sockets of the shattered skull and he shivered.

  “Are you alright?” He dropped the stone he used to smash the skull and went to Claire. She looked at him, her eye wide and frightened. He helped her up and walked her away from the broken pile of stones and the unmoving skeleton. When she spoke it was in a shocked whisper.

  “What just happened? What was that thing?” Her grip on his hand almost hurt, it was so strong.

  He touched her cheek, wiping away some of the dust. “I don’t know. But it’s gone, now. It wont hurt you again.”

  “It moved on its own, Bran. It came to life.” She blinked her big beautiful green eye at him and shook her head. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life, Bran. It just doesn’t happen.” She was breathing too fast, close to hyperventilating. He pulled her to him, holding her tight against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him as her breathing eased up and she began to calm down. After a moment, she pulled away and looked up at his face. “I’m not crazy. Neither are you. That couldn’t have happened.”

  “I know.” He said. He looked at the broken, unmoving skeleton and felt like the world was moving sideways beneath his feet. It was impossible. But, nonetheless, it had happened. And he didn’t believe that he and Claire would pick the exact same day to lose their grip on reality. “I don’t understand it, either. But you’re alright, now, aren’t you?” Claire smiled and ran a shaky hand through her hair. She looked at him, her face thoughtful. “You saved me, Bran. You saved my life.”

  Brandon shrugged his shoulders, becoming self-conscious under her gaze. “I just wish I could have been quicker. I was too slow.”

  Claire ran a fingertip along his jaw, letting it stop under his chin. She turned his face to hers and smiled. “You were fast enough.”

  Brandon’s mouth was dry all of a sudden and he felt a flutter in his chest he’d never felt before. He turned, clearing his throat. “I suppose we should get back. My uncle will get worried.” Claire looked at the skeleton, its shattered skull gaping like a jagged bowl, and shivered. “Let’s go. I’ll clean up at the creek.”

  It seemed to take them half as long to get back as it did to get to the graveyard, though they moved slower. They held hands part of the way, Brandon not thinking anything of it. It felt natural after what they had been through. At the creek, Claire went down to the water’s edge and cleaned herself up as best as she could, using Brandon as a mirror.

  Gerrick was on the front step, smoking a hand rolled cigarette and watching the sun as it made its lingering journey down into the west. He glanced at them as they stepped through the front door, giving Claire a nod. “I trust you both had a nice walk?”

  Brandon opened his mouth but Claire talked over him. “Don’t be mad at Bran, Mr. Merryweather. I talked him into showing me the path, even though he told me we shouldn’t. It’s my fault.” From his face and posture, Brandon saw that his uncle was amused. He waved his hand, as if to say ‘no worries’. “It’s getting late, don’t you think your parents will get worried? Brandon, how about you walk Claire home before it gets too late?” He looked up at the fading light then glanced at Brandon. “Don’t be too long. I don’t want to worry either.”

  Brandon nodded. He saw the steel in his uncle’s gaze and knew that he would have questions to answer when he got home. He looked at Claire. If she noticed the little by play between him and his uncle, she gave no sign. He said. “Gerrick’s right. We should get you home.”

  The walk to Claire’s house wasn’t a long one, not compared to their earlier hike, but they took their time. They didn’t talk about the woods or the graveyard. Instead, they talked about their homework and whether or not they would go to the movies next weekend. They talked about anything to keep from bringing up the strange bone yard and the skeleton that had seemed to come to life. Dwelling on something like that was a good way to end up in the booby hatch.

  They reached Claire’s house as the street lamps were beginning to come to life, painting golden circles on the empty street. Brandon looked up at the dark sky and sighed. “I guess I’ve got to head home.”

  Claire looked at him and smiled. “You were very brave today, Bran. I’ve never had anyone do something like that for me, and I don’t just mean the part about the skeleton coming back to life. Nobody’s ever stood up for me, before. Except for my dad.” She leaned forward and kissed him. He didn’t have time to move or pull away before her lips were touching his. It was a chaste kiss, her mouth lingering on his for only a few seconds before she pulled away. But he was breathless. Her smile was beautiful. “Good night, Bran.”

  He watched her go inside, the door closing behind her. He touched his lips. He felt the big goofy smile on his face and wanted to laugh. He wanted to sing. He left her house, running, hardly aware of anything in the world, except for her and the kiss.

  That was Brandon’s first kiss. He ran down the darkened sidewalk, all of his tiredness from the rest of the day seemingly gone. He could hear a silly song trying to slip from between his lips. He had never felt so alive. So happy.

  Brandon was so concentrated on the feelings coursing through him that his mind failed to grasp what was happening to his body, even as it happened. He smashed into the pavement, breath exploding out of him, before he realized that he’d been tripped. He tasted blood.

  Rolling over onto his back, Brandon tried to sit up and winced at pain in his shoulder and arm. Stepping out from behind the big oak where they had been hidden, the Kruegers laughed identical laughs. The skinny one, Perry, snickered. “Well, what have we got here?”

  Luke snorted. “The wuss doesn’t even know how to run right. Look at him, all bleeding and shit.” The two boys stood over Brandon, watching him with their mean little eyes. Brandon tried get up but Perry pushed him back down with his boot. Luke laughed and said. “What’s your hurry, pansy?”

  “Yeah, wussy?” Perry chimed in. “What’s got you so wound up? Did the cyclops suck your little pecker?” He laughed at the look on Brandon’s face. “Lookit’ that, Luke. I bet she did suck it. Was she any good, cry baby?”

  Brandon barely
heard the fat one’s laugh. Lashing out with his right foot, he caught the skinny one in the crotch. Perry hit the pavement almost as hard as Brandon had, gagging and trying to puke. Brandon tried to stand, thinking he might have half a chance, and Luke punched him in the side of the head. He went down, the world spinning and seeming to wink on and off, like a bad television signal. A heavy boot hit him in the side and he felt like his body was about to explode. It was pain like he’d never experienced before. It exploded through his entire body. He barely felt the second kick through the pain of the first but it sent him over onto his back. Perry was on his feet, his face bright red. Hunching over from the pain in his groin, he caught a hold of Brandon’s hair and wrenched his head up. His fist smashed into Brandon’s face once, twice; both shots rocking his head around and making the world tremble. He let go of Brandon’s hair and the back of his head bounced off of the pavement. Perry leaned down close, so Brandon could see him through the darkening circle of his vision. When Perry spoke, the voice seemed to come from a hundred miles away. “You best learn your place, pretty boy.” He rapped his knuckles on Brandon’s forehead. “You mess with us, and we’ll permanently rearrange your face. And your girlfriend’s. Understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Chuckling, the Krueger’s disappeared into the darkness, leaving Brandon alone with his pain. And with his anger.

  Brandon lay there for a long time afterwards, holding onto his stomach and trying to catch his breath. It was dark, the nearest street lamp throwing its cone of light away from the tree he lay under, and he couldn’t tell if all of the darkness was from the lack of light, or if some of it was from the blows to his head.