Rain Of Stone (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 1)

by Lesley Woodral

  “Nice and tasty!” Tina said with an evil chuckle.

  Claire rolled her eye and shook her head. “Whores!” But she was laughing too. She wouldn’t admit it yet, not even to herself, but Brandon Merryweather had been very much on her mind all day. He was nice. And had a great smile. And when he turned that smile in her direction, she felt a warm tingle down deep in her belly that quickly spread throughout her entire body.

  Sha’ha’Zel sat quietly at the long counter, pretending to sip his cup of coffee while listening to the girls talk about the boy. The face he wore was old. Seamed with deep lines and wrinkles, it would look kindly to anybody who glanced his way. But a closer inspection would reveal any number of grotesque details that might make even a casual observer shudder in superstitious dread. An inexpressible feeling that the thing in their midst wasn’t human. The John Deere cap on his head was stiff and new and the green matched his shirt. The overalls were stiff denim and looked brand new.

  The demon sat among the other diners and felt flush with power, with the need to unleash himself upon his intended target, but could only bide his time. There was darkness in this town, lurking in the shadows and behind every smile, and he could feel it mingling with his own dark energy. Feeding it. Enhancing his strength and making the mask he wore that much more real.

  Turning, he glanced at the three laughing girls. His gaze touched the one eyed girl and he felt an echo of his own power. There was something about her. Her Aura was flecked with something that the others in the diner didn’t have.

  She was special.

  Chapter 10

  Brandon’s first week at Matheson High went by even faster than the week before. It helped that he didn’t have to go through freshman hazing. It also helped that he wasn’t the only kid starting school mid-term. He was able to slip into the new kid role fairly easily, learning where his classes were and getting to know a few of the kids. A lot easier than Albert was able to. Albert spent most of that first week hiding in his books and following Brandon around at lunch. But Brandon didn’t mind too much. When Albert did talk, he usually said something pretty interesting.

  Claire was the best thing to happen to Brandon that first week. Though Brandon didn’t try to make any friends, Claire was determined to be his. He never asked about her eye, though it tweaked his curiosity, and she seemed to love him for it. They only had that one class period together, but between classes, they were inseparable. They had lunch together every day, as well. She tried to get Albert out of his shell, but he could barely look up from his plate when she was with them.

  She was probably the funniest person Brandon had ever met. Even funnier than Mike, which he hadn’t thought was possible. He wished he could introduce her to his friends back home, but didn’t know how he would describe her. Even with her eye patch, which changed every day or according to her mood, she was really pretty. Prettier than all the girls back home. What would he say to Chad and Mike?

  Well, guys, I’ve got this new friend. This friend doesn’t have much of an interest in X-Box games, but does have a wicked cool eye patch. Oh, and she has really great legs, which he saw because she was fond of shorts when she wasn’t at school. Did I say ‘she’ guys? Oh yeah, did I mention that? My new friend’s a girl.

  A cute girl.

  Brandon could picture the look on Mike’s face. His perverted smile. Almost identical to the one on Chad’s. So, when he instant messaged them, as he did just about every day, he neglected to mention Claire. It was easier than putting up with their jibes. Besides, if they came for a visit, like they planned, Mike and Chad would get to meet her. Brandon would love to see the look on their faces when that happened. It would be priceless.

  Claire lived on the North side of town, a long trek from the school, and didn’t walk home often. Her dad liked to pick her up, so they could talk and tell each other about their day on the way home, so Brandon didn’t get to walk her home as much as he would have liked. It meant a far longer trip for him, but he loved hanging out with her.

  On those long walks, when they did happen, Claire showed him the town. Taking him to some of her favorite haunts. They explored Matheson; like a modern day Lewis and Clark, and after a few of these long days, Brandon found he could navigate the town fairly easily.

  Since it was the tail end of summer, there was still a lot of swimming going on. Brandon found out from his uncle that Matheson was indeed a summer town, with a healthy tourist trade. So the town was kept very clean and well maintained. All of the parks that surrounded the lake were pristine, a four-man maintenance crew working them from April until late September. The rest of the year, it was a two-man job.

  Of all of the places that Claire showed him, Brandon liked the old Kirkman Feed Mill the best. He went out there sometimes by himself, exploring for hours. Climbing the rusted iron rungs that ran the length of one of the two empty silos, he would sit on the top, his legs dangling over the edge of the 3-story drop, and survey his domain. He couldn’t see the whole town, a lot of it was covered by thick trees, but he could see the length of the lake. He watched the kids, looking like scurrying ants, as they played in the water. There were paddle boats and canoes in the water.

  What Gerrick thought of Brandon’s new friend and his daily explorations, he kept to himself. He gave the boy certain chores to take care of at HighGarden, and Brandon didn’t grumble or complain. Brandon helped on some of the bigger jobs, following orders like a good soldier, and it seemed he would adjust to his new life just fine. Some nights, Gerrick stood outside the boy’s door, listening to him in his room. Crying.

  It would take time, Gerrick knew, for Brandon to completely overcome his grief. He would give the boy space, until then. Though he didn’t exactly approve of the boy’s friendship with the Moody girl, he tolerated it. The couple of times she came by the house, with Brandon giving her the grand tour, she seemed appropriately impressed with HighGarden, as well as very modest and polite. Even shaking Gerrick’s hand upon meeting him.

  There would be no overnight stays, of course, the very idea ridiculous, but Gerrick didn’t see any harm in the girl and boy being friends. Sooner or later they would begin to feel differently about one another. This, Gerrick knew, was a certainty. He wondered how long it would be before they started kissing and holding hands? How long before they were asking to go out to the movies, together?

  And, while it would be some time before the kissing and the hand holding started, the movie trips started early on. The two of them walked downtown to the Liberty Theater that first Saturday and watched a matinee together. A horror picture. The Liberty only had two screens, usually showing one horror or action picture and a romance or comedy. Or a romantic comedy.

  After the movie, the two of them wandered town for a little while, ending up at the Kirkman Mill. They climbed the iron rungs, Brandon going up first to make sure the rungs were still holding, and reached the top without incident. The doors to the silo were welded shut to make sure curious kids, just like Brandon and Claire, didn’t get themselves locked inside. There was an access on top, also welded shut, though the roof of it was so rusted that the two kids ran the risk of falling through if they tried to cross it. So they didn’t. Once reaching the top, the two of them found a perch and sat, breathing heavily from the climb up. Usually, they didn’t say much, the view taking up their thoughts, but today Claire looked over at Brandon, her face serious. Her patch was gray, today, with a star and a thumbnail moon painted on it. She had hundreds of different patches. She looked at Brandon and said. “So, how do you like the town, so far?”

  Brandon looked out across the lake, the setting sun turning it gold and red, and smiled. “I think I’m beginning to like this place. It’s beautiful.” He looked over at Claire, his voice going soft and somber. “I wish my dad had brought me here. Mom and me. I wish you could have met them.”

  “So do I.” Claire said, looking sad for a moment. “Bran, how did your parents die?” Her face went crimson. “I’m sorry, you d
on’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  Brandon shook his head. “It’s okay. I need to talk about it sometime, don’t I?” He thought about his parents. About that last night. “They died in a car accident. My dad was driving. It was raining, the way it always seemed to rain back home. My dad lost control and the car went off the road. It hit an abutment and they both died.”

  Claire was quiet a long time, then laid her hand on his leg and said, in a soft, understanding voice. “I’m sorry, Bran.”

  Brandon smiled, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “For what? You didn’t make the rain.”

  She touched his shoulder. “Neither did you.”

  Brandon looked at her, his two gray eyes peering into her single green, and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. To lean forward and plant his lips on hers.

  But why would she kiss him? He was just a stupid kid. He looked at the darkening sky and sighed. He said. “We’d better get down before it gets dark.” Claire nodded, her eye never leaving his face. Did she know what he had been thinking? Could she read it in his face? The biggest part of Brandon hoped not, hoped that she only saw the friendship that he felt for her and nothing else. But there was a small part of him that kept thinking of her lips and wondering what they would feel like. He could have silenced that whispering voice, but found that he didn’t want to.

  Chapter 11

  “What’s that noise?” Charlie said, looking at the other two men. Jim and Lester looked up from the deer they were skinning, frowning at their friend. It was the 3rd or 4th time Charlie had asked the same question.

  “What in the hell are you babbling about?” Lester said, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm. His hands were covered in blood. In his left hand he held a blood drenched knife. In his right, the hide of the dead deer hanging in front of him. The skinned carcass hung from the heavy limb of a cedar tree, tied to it by a thick steel cable. Its intestines lay in a steaming pile on the forest floor at his feet.

  “Yeah.” Jim said. He was holding an electric lantern over his head, trying to keep the cone of light around the 3 men and their prize. “You done said that already, dipshit. And we done told you, we didn’t hear nothing.”

  Charlie was holding his rifle in the crook of his arm, staring out into the forest. The 3 of them were a few miles south of the Matheson city limits, close to where the Merryweather property and the Briar woods merged. Charlie looked at his two friends, his eyes wide. “I’m telling you there’s something out there.”

  “Then why don’t you go out and see what it is?” Lester said, impatiently. He started quartering the deer, starting with the shoulders.

  Jim said. “Yeah, Charlie. It’s probably a coon or something?” He gestured with the lantern. “See if you can go find it.”

  Charlie shifted his grip on his rifle. He said. “I don’t know, fellas.”

  Lester said. “Goddamn it, Charlie.” He dropped a slice of the deer’s shoulder into the cooler sitting on the ground at his feet. “You’ve got a gun. Go check it out.”

  Charlie didn’t say anything. He checked his rifle, making sure it was loaded. Then he looked at his friends. Lester was back to quartering the deer. Jim was holding the lantern and watching Lester work. Wetting his lips, Charlie looked out into the dark woods and said. “I’ll check it out. You guys are right, it’s probably just a coon? Or a squirrel?” Listening hard, he took a step out of the cone of light. “I’ll go check it out.”

  The other two men weren’t paying any attention.

  Charlie held the gun in his hands, thumb running along the reassuring coldness of the barrel. The woods were silent now; preternaturally so. Charlie could hear the snap of leaves and twigs breaking underfoot as he walked deeper into the woods. Further from the reassurance of the lantern light and his friends. He could hear his heart pounding.

  Jim watched Charlie vanish into the woods, disappearing into the darkness. He looked over at Lester. Lester shrugged, then shouted into the woods. “Hey, Charlie. If you shoot, aim away from the light.”

  There was no answer.

  Charlie looked back at the dwindling light of the lantern and was afraid. Not a lot, but enough to feel some shame. He hunted his whole life and never felt fear of the dark, not in the woods. Not with a gun in his hand. There was a sound, from off to his right, and Charlie turned, bringing his gun up. It sounded like something moving through the underbrush.

  Something bigger than a raccoon.

  He was about to shout at his friends when there was another sound. This time behind him. He spun around, about to pull the gun’s trigger. A rustle to his left, something moving his way. Charlie twisted and shouted. “What are you?”

  A gleam of what might have been eyes winked at him from the darkness. It moved forward fast. There was a sound like quiet laughter. Then a growl, from behind Charlie. He turned and screamed. He pulled the trigger as the thing brought him down.

  Jim and Lester spun when Charlie screamed. Lester said. “What the?” Charlie’s gun went off, shattering the silence of the woods. Jim jumped, nearly dropping the lantern. “Jesus.” He looked at Lester. Lester started to say something, but Charlie’s scream cut him off. It was long and guttural, and seemed to go on for a long time before dying away to a loud gurgle. Lester held his bloody skinning knife in his hand; the deer meat in his other dropped to the ground. He watched the woods in the direction that the scream came from.

  Jim and Lester’s own rifles were leaning against the tree that the deer was hanging from. Lester went and grabbed his, blood smearing across the cobalt steel, and he looked at Jim. “What the hell is going on?”

  Jim didn’t answer. Instead, he shouted into the woods. “CHARLIE?”

  The only answer was a breaking branch somewhere in the darkness. Lester spun in that direction and fired into the darkness. The shot was loud, echoing through the trees. Jim hissed at Lester. “Stop shooting, jackass. You could hit Charlie.”

  Lester didn’t look at Jim. He was watching the woods. He chambered another round. The sound of the gun’s bolt action was reassuring, even to Jim. Lester shouted. “CHARLIE, YOU DUMB SHIT. GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE, BEFORE WE BLOW IT OFF.”

  Another sound.

  It sounded like giggling.

  Jim looked at Lester, then went and retrieved his own gun. The light from the lantern rippled across the trees and Jim thought he saw furtive movement in the shadows. He swallowed hard and put the lantern on the ground, close to the tree. Lester was peering hard into the shadows, aiming his gun into the trees. Jim decided to do the same. He sighted down the barrel, watching for more of that strange movement, but saw only his own distorted shadow, moving over the trees. “Maybe it’s a mountain lion?” Jim said, glancing at Lester. Lester shook his head. “No mountain lion could make Charlie scream like that.” He squinted his eyes at the darkness. “And I’ve never heard an animal laugh like that.”

  Jim nodded. He knew what Lester was talking about. He blinked as something moved at the corner of his vision, at the edge of the lantern light. He turned as it slid back into the shadows, but not before he saw part of its face and body. “Oh God.” Jim said, almost reflexively pulling the trigger. “What in God’s name was that?”

  “What did you see?” Lester said, looking Jim’s way. When he did, something leapt from the darkness, hitting Lester in the chest. He screamed, falling backwards, and his gun went off. The creature on Lester’s chest was all teeth and fur as far as Jim could see, but there were also bits of metal glinting in the light. It seemed to be vaguely humanoid, but Jim couldn’t be sure.

  The thing was tearing at Lester with its hands and it took Jim a moment to see the bloody knife in its hand. Lester was squealing as he tried to pry it off of his chest. He punched at it with his fist, but that didn’t seem to phase it. Jim ran to his friend and gabbed at the thing, hoping to pull it loose.

  Snarling, the little critter twisted and slashed at Jim with its knife. Jim barely got his hand up in time. The b
lade raked across the inside of his palm, slicing his fingers open and severing all of the tendons. His index and middle finger were cut off completely. Jim’s fingers dropped and he stumbled back, clutching his hand to his chest and screaming. His gun fell to the forest floor.

  Lester used the distraction to grab at the thing, catching it by the throat and yanking it off of his chest. He hurled it into the trees, where it tumbled and crashed in the darkness. He turned to Jim, shouting. “It had a dog’s face. It looked like a fucking dog.”

  Jim started to answer when another of the creatures dropped out of the tree above them and landed on top of his head. It was covered in glossy black feathers and Jim caught only a glimpse of its curved beak before its head snapped forward and the thing pecked out his right eye. Jim howled. He went crazy, smashing his fist into his head, trying to hammer the thing loose. He felt its beak, buried in his eye socket, trying to open and close.

  Lester screamed and ran at his friend, but it was too late. While Jim hammered at the thing’s head, it used a curved hook held in its twisted talon to tear open his throat. Blood sprayed from the wound, hitting Lester’s face as he stumbled to a halt. He had one of his hands pressed tight to his side, where he’d been stabbed by the dog thing. He gagged and turned to run, swallowing some of Jim’s blood as he did so.

  Something streaked in from the shadows, moving too fast for Lester to dodge. It swerved as it reached him and hot pain lanced up his legs as it sliced his hamstrings in passing. Lester hit the ground, landing in the pile of cooling deer intestines that he had left on the forest floor. Screaming, he somehow found the skinning knife lying where he dropped it as he went to get his gun. Clutching it tight, he tried to make his way to where Jim lay, the bird thing straddling his head.

  Jim had stopped screaming. He twitched as the bird pecked and pulled at strings of nerves and sticky goop that hung loose from his gored out eye socket. Lester swung the knife at the things back and shouted. “Get away from him. Get away.” But the bird didn’t stop its pecking. Lester didn’t feel the presence of the thing behind him until its hot breath washed across the back of his neck. He twisted, his teeth bared in a snarl, and tried to bring the knife around to meet the creature’s attack.