Red Rain: Over 40 Bestselling Stories

by J. R. Rain

  “Cliff!”

  “Hang on, Mon!”

  He reaches for her, but the light is scalding to his touch. He recoils, gasping.

  Meanwhile, the wizard raises both hands...and Monique rises up with them, up off the ground and into the air, still surrounded by the blue light.

  “Cliff! Help!”

  The boy is momentarily at a loss. He gasps, looking for anything that can stop the old wizard, who seems to be regaining his power. Indeed, his dried-out skin is beginning to flesh out, while Monique’s own skin is beginning to crack.

  No, no, no! thinks Clifton. This isn’t happening!

  He desperately scans the room. There, on the wall opposite him, are all sorts of medieval weaponry. He dashes across the room and, gasping and stumbling, Clifton pulls a battle ax free from the wall. But it’s far too heavy for him. He ditches it and next grabs a nearby sword. It was almost too heavy, but he uses both hands to control it.

  With Merlin’s attention focused solely on Monique, who is now rotating slowly in mid-air, her skin drying out at an alarming rate, Clifton rushes the wizard...and plunges the sword deep into the magician’s back.

  * * *

  The dark-haired boy frantically searches the circular room.

  Finally, his wildly scanning eyes fall upon the same hole that Monique had found earlier. A quick examination reveals fresh ash and silt around the opening. Thinking hard, his eyes next settle on one of the many torches embedded in the circular wall. He immediately grabs one, brings it over to the opening. Black smoke trails behind it.

  Just then, a hideous shriek erupts from behind the wall.

  The dark-haired boy gasps, then jams the torch inside the opening.

  * * *

  Merlin shrieks.

  The mummified wizard drops to his bony knees, grabbing the protruding point of the sword as he does so.

  Now, with his connection to Monique broken, she falls to the hard stone floor, landing hard. Immediately, Clifton is at her side.

  “Mon! Are you okay?”

  But she can’t speak. In fact, her withered face looks more like that of an old woman. Or a mummy.

  Oh God! “Monique!”

  A frantic Clifton turns in time to watch Merlin reach back and pull the sword free from his back.

  “Oh, shit!” he looks back at his cousin. “C’mon, Mon!”

  And just as he’s about to pick up his depleted cousin, Merlin the Great appears before him. The once-great wizard appears younger, fresher. After all, why shouldn’t he? He’s consumed Monqiue’s life-force.

  More disturbing is the blood that appears from the sword wound. Clifton is certain that this old bag of bones hadn’t bled in a long, long time. That, in fact, the blood belongs to none other than his cousin.

  It’s about at that moment the very same sword that Clifton had plunged into the wizard’s back appears suddenly, slashing through the air, like a silver, one-winged hawk. The sword is being controlled by none other than the ungrateful wizard.

  Unfortunately, the sword is also hurling straight at Clifton, who dives just in time to avoid being impaled by it. Instead, the sword point buries itself deeply into the stone floor next to him, its handle wobbling like an arrow in a bull’s-eye. As the boy scrambles to his feet, the sword slides free on its own volition.

  “Not good,” Clifton says.

  The sword slashes again—and Clifton dives again, rolling across the dusty floor. He scrambles to his feet and sprints to the far wall, where he grabs another, similar sword.

  Just in time, too. The magically compelled sword is hurling straight for him, point first. A blow meant for Clifton’s heart. Except Clifton had spent a lifetime playing swords with his older brothers and friends. Hell, Clifton had always always wanted to be a pirate or a knight.

  Using both hands, Clifton times his swing just as the flying sword appeares before him. He heaves as hard as he can...and sparks fly. And so does Clifton. The force of the flying sword is enough to knock him off his feet. But at least he’s alive. For now.

  He barely has time to find his feet before the sword is back, flashing and striking and cutting. It is all Clifton can do to defend himself. But the magic behind the sword is too strong. The blows are too powerful. Each one sends him reeling and stumbling...

  * * *

  The dark-haired boy takes a deep breath...and pulls hard.

  Once again the circular room rotates, revealing the secret chamber beyond. The dark-haired boy watches, stunned. Then he sees the chaos in the room beyond. There, lying on the floor, is the same girl he had seen earlier. There, beyond is the boy—who’s fighting a sword with no body.

  “Bloody hell?”

  And there, perhaps most disturbing of all, is something old and ancient and clearly from a world of nightmares.

  He stares for only a moment before springing into action. He dashes through the doorway and finds another sword on a nearby wall. He grasps it, pulls it down. So far, the ancient wizard hasn’t noticed the newcomer, so intent is he on compelling the magical sword to fight the boy.

  Now the dark-haired boy creeps up behind Merlin. Monique awakens now, turns her head, watches the scene unfold. She stifles a gasp.

  The dark-haired boy is suddenly not sure about this plan. He pauses, swallowing hard. The sword falters, shakes. But still he raises it over head—

  And just as he does so, the wizard turns to face him.

  Too late, the boy is already swinging the sword as hard as he can—

  The wizard raises his hands—

  The sword flashes as bright light erupts from Merlin’s fingertips.

  Wizard and boy stare at each other.

  In the back of the tomb, the disembodied sword that Clifton had been battling, promptly clatters to the ground.

  Back to the dark-haired boy as he stares down the great wizard. And we see that a red slash has appeared across the magician’s throat. A throat that had been looking younger and younger.

  Now the red slash turns into a stream of blood.

  And the wizard’s head promptly falls off to the side, and the body collapses.

  * * *

  Clifton, out of breath and sweating, dashes over to his cousin who’s still lying on the floor. He lifts her head, cradling it. Her skin is rapidly reverting back to normal, and young Clifton watches in fascination and relief as her aged face grows young again.

  “Clifton?” she mumbles.

  “You’re going to be okay.”

  He helps Monique sit up against the arched opening. Once done, the young adventurer heads over to the dark-haired boy who’s still holding the sword and staring down at the wizard’s headless body.

  “Thank you! But there’s no time to waste. We need to light the candles again. And get him back in the sarcophagus.”

  “The what?”

  “The big casket.”

  “Oh, right.” But the dark-haired boy still sounds dazed. “Why?”

  “Just trust me.”

  Using the torches the two boys light the candles again. Next, they drag the headless body back to the sarcophagus. A grim business. Both boys frown and look away. Finally, a brave Clifton picks up the head by its long hair, holds it out before him, and looks away as he carries it back to the ancient casket. Once there, he tosses it inside, and both boys close the lid.

  “Let’s get out of here!” says Clifton.

  No one disagrees. The three of them exit the hidden chamber, with Clifton supporting his cousin. Once in the circular outer room, the dark-haired boy promptly pulls the lever/torch in the wall. Almost immediately, the room rotates again, sealing Merlin’s chamber closed—and opening the far tunnel. Their exit.

  Before leaving the circular chamber, the dark-haired boy breaks off the tip of the wooden torch within the opening, jamming the lever. He looks at his handiwork, grins. “That should do it.”

  Torch in hand, they head back through the long tunnel. Once at the winding stairs, Monique has regained her strength enough
to climb on their own. Long minutes later, each is out of breath when they reach the altar again. The dark-haired boy kicks open the secret entrance and, as they scramble through, another priest spots them.

  “Come on!” the dark haired boy says. “I know another way out of here!”

  As the trio dash through the sanctuary, the boy snatches up his sketching pad. He leads them through a side door, down a side hallway, and soon the three of them emerge into an alley—and into the afternoon sunshine. They keep running and soon turn down a busy street, where they disappear among the throngs of people.

  A short while later, the three of them step down another alley, each hunched over, winded, and laughing.

  “Thanks for helping us,” Clifton finally says when he catches his breath. “That was really brave.”

  “And you were really stupid,” says Monique, elbowing her cousin.

  The dark-haired boy grins. “No problem.”

  “I’m Clifton. This is my cousin, Monique.”

  The dark-haired boy grins and shakes their hands. “Pleased to meet you,” he says in a thick, German accent. “My name’s Adolf. Adolf Hitler.”

  The young Hitler holds up his drawings of the church’s interior. The drawings are surprisingly wonderful. He smiles, but there is a distant, haunted look in his eye.

  “I’m an artist.”

  The End

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Samantha Moon

  Guest Blog

  Some call me a vampire.

  I say, why use labels? I’m uncomfortable calling myself anything other than a mother. That’s the one label I am comfortable with. I’m a mom first and foremost. A private investigator next, even though that is fairly recent. Seven years ago, I wasn’t a private eye, but a federal agent.

  So, even that was subject to change. Perhaps someday I might find myself better suited for a different job, although I will always help those who need help. Although I’d always admired Judge Judy, I would never want to be in her position: to judge the actions of others. That took wisdom...a lifetime of wisdom. Technically, I’m only in my mid-thirties, although I look much younger. Still, far too young to judge others.

  Truth was, my current lifestyle was perfectly suited to private investigation. Other than meeting new clients, who tended to want to meet during the day, I got along just fine working the night shift.

  So, yes, one of the constants in my life was that I was a mother. Of course, even that was threatened just a year or so ago, when a rare sickness almost took my son from me. A son who was growing so fast.

  Supernaturally fast.

  Don’t ask.

  I have a daughter, too. A daughter who offered many challenges, the least of which was that she could read minds as easily as she read her Facebook newsfeed.

  Yes, I was a mother...and a sister. My sister has had a rough time of it, of late. She’s recently been introduced to some of the darker elements of my world, and might be holding a grudge against me. But she would get over it. She’s better. I need her in my life.

  Of course, there was another constant in my life...a constant that I ignored. A constant that I denied. And, as they say, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.

  Denial is my sanity.

  You see, I have to deny what I am. Who I am. Or I would go crazy. I know I would. In fact, a part of me is certain that I just might be crazy. But let’s not go there.

  Yes, call me anything. But please, just please, don’t call me a vampire.

  At least, not to my face.

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Dark Side of the Moon

  The kids were away, and I wanted to fly.

  And I mean really fly.

  Maybe I was inspired by my kids going to Space Camp. Mary Lou’s kids were supposed to go, but they had the mumps, so Tammy and Anthony got to go in their places.

  So here I was, alone. Free.

  For some time now, a very simple question had been in the back of my mind: Just how high could I fly?

  It was a legitimate question, one that not even Fang could answer. Yes, Fang was back in my life now, kind of. Feelings were raw, open and unexplored. We were both hurt. We were both confused. For the most part, Fang was not the same Fang I remembered. He was colder now, more calculating, more confident. He was also closed off to me, and so that beautiful telepathic bond we’d once shared was gone. But we had, of course, a different kind of bond.

  A supernatural bond. A vampiric bond.

  Fang was, in fact, the only other vampire I associated with, now that Hanner was gone.

  But that’s another story, for another time.

  For now, I wanted to fly, as high as I possibly could.

  I wanted to test my abilities, test my limitations, and explore myself fully.

  It was crazy. I knew that.

  I should be at home, doing laundry, or working a case. Not flying high above the treetops. Hell, in the very least, I should be powering through my DVR recordings. I had a whole month of Nashville episodes waiting for me. No, I didn’t watch many of the vampire shows. They often got it wrong, or focused on issues that were foreign to me. I didn’t sparkle or keep a diary. And I wasn’t like those other vampires who were played by beautiful, young actors. My God, I had kids. A dead husband. A sister who was still traumatized by the events of last month. She was getting better, yes. She was coming out of shock, slowly but surely. But for a few weeks there, she wanted nothing to do with me. She only wanted to be around her family: her kids and her husband.

  She didn’t blame me for her kidnapping. She blamed the situation that I had found myself in, the situation she had been drawn into.

  Mostly, she was in shock. Her world had been irrevocably rocked, shaken. The poor thing had thought she would die. Or, in the least, turned into a creature like me. Then, of course, she had been there when my ex-husband had been killed.

  Yeah, that had not been a good night for Mary Lou.

  I’d told her that I was there for her if she needed me. She didn’t, not now. She needed her family—mumps and all—and I understood that.

  I continued flying, gaining altitude. It was colder up here. I didn’t mind the cold. Hell, I enjoyed the cold. My God, I lived in perpetual cold!

  Anyway, the temperature was dropping to near freezing. Near freezing didn’t bother me much either. So, I continued up, higher than I ever had before. Higher and higher. My breath didn’t form vapor puffs before me, as the creature I became didn’t need to breathe much.

  I liked flying because it gave me a chance to reflect on my life—where I had been and where I was going.

  I finally realized something: I had accepted Danny’s death.

  My kids were another story. They had, of course, lost their father, and my heart broke for them every time I looked into their faces.

  At first, I listened to their crying at night. I had often caught Anthony crying alone in the bathroom, of all places. With the door locked, he had let it all out. Tammy was inconsolable in that dramatic way that adolescent girls had. She didn’t hide what she felt like Anthony tried to. He was trying to be such a little man. And he had been. I had let them weep. They had to weep. It had been a while since Danny’s death and now I hoped their trip would distract them. They had been excited to go.

  When alone, I cried, too. Once, and then let it go. Danny was a bastard in the end, and a lot of my love and compassion was long gone. But I wept for the young Danny I had fallen in love with, the young Danny I had married and started a family with...and then, that was all the tears I had shed. No, he didn’t deserve what had happened to him; the poor sap hadn’t realized he was being used as a pawn. That he had aligned with Hanner to take me down should have been reason enough to not cry at all. But Danny was an idiot and he had been scared. Of me. He based many of his decisions on fear, which was never a good idea.

  No, I chose to remember the Danny who had proposed to me with a mood ring as a stand-in because he was too poor to afford
a real engagement ring. I still had that mood ring in my jewelry box. I’d often considered ditching it; now I wouldn’t. I hadn’t kept much of our sentimental stuff, but I would keep that.

  Mostly, my heart broke for my kids. I couldn’t imagine what they were going through. Worse was the secrecy of it all. Yes, not only had their father been killed—murdered—but they were being asked to cover up his death.

  To pretend it hadn’t happen.

  To pretend that their father had simply disappeared.

  He hadn’t disappeared. He was entombed in a cavern, along with two vampires, both dead.

  I flew faster now. Faster and higher.

  Indeed, I was more upset over my kids—and what they were presently going through—than with Danny’s death. Did that make me a bad person? Maybe, maybe not. I grieved for Danny, yes, but I wept for my children.

  They hadn’t asked for any of this. Neither had I, for that matter. Still, they were just kids. Jesus, how were they going to move on? How were they going to heal?

  I didn’t know, but I knew they had to.

  I had to trust that I was doing the right thing for them, even though I was asking the world of them, to keep their father’s death a secret. At least, for now.

  My kids are special, I thought as the wind thundered over my perfectly aerodynamic body. They can make it through this.

  I knew that most mothers thought their kids were special. But my kids weren’t like most kids. In fact, they weren’t like any kids.

  Indeed, my son had all the strength of a vampire, without actually being one...and my daughter was growing more telepathic and more psychic every day.

  We’re the Addams Family, I thought. Only cuter.

  Higher I flew, higher and faster. I never got tired when I flew. The creature I became seemed to have endless energy. Supernatural energy.

  I noted that the temperature was dropping rapidly, but the dropping temperature didn’t affect me. The creature that may or may not have been summoned from another realm, another dimension, did not get cold or fatigued. As best I could tell, the creature had armor-like skin. Scales, perhaps. A true dragon. In fact, creatures such as this—creatures such as me—were surely the source of dragon legends.