shadows and stones - an original fiction series of gothic, horror, dark fantasy

I think I finally figured out the real reason Rath wanted me to move into this house with him. He needed someone new to answer the door. Seems like every time I settle down to read a book or get on the Internet, the damn doorbell rings. Without fail, Melanie is off in the upper reaches of the house, while Ursula has her hands up to her wrists in bread dough or something, leaving me to answer it. Obviously, it’s written somewhere that younger siblings must double as butlers.

This particular day, I’m on the Internet doing research when the doorbell rings. I pause, count to ten, then hear it ringing again. It’s going to be one of those days. Fortunately, I’m using my laptop in the library, so I have only a short way to go to reach the door. By the time my hand is on the latch, I’m fairly well convinced it must be a delivery of some sort.

Apparently, we’ve got ourselves the best-dressed deliveryman in the country. For all of twenty seconds, I’m impressed by the man standing before me. At about six-foot-four he’s an imposing specimen. I can tell he must work out based on the muscular bulges which manage to show despite his loose fitting dress shirt. The definitely firm muscles displayed by his slightly too tight slacks are a giveaway as well. Not that I am fond of the body builder type; on the contrary, they tend to gross me out, but he isn’t quite that overbuilt.

The stranger must have seen the split second of admiration in my eyes, because he instantly throws himself into Stud Pose #5: chest swelling to cause button strain, left hand casually resting on hip, chin slightly up, eyes half open and throwing an intense “come hither” look. Only twenty-one seconds after I’ve opened the door, I already want to hurl. Then he makes a real mistake.

The doorway is not at ground level. Three small steps give it about a two or three-foot rise off the ground. Up until now we were both on that level, but in an attempt at what I can only assume is meant to be gallantry, mystery man backs down putting one foot on the ground and the other on the middle step. Stud Pose #3 is completed with a slight bow: a mistake since it affords me a wonderful view of the bridge of hair struggling valiantly to keep his receding hairline from becoming intimately acquainted with his bald spot.

I suppose I am meant to be swooning in adoration. Any faintness I feel, however, is caused by wave after wave of nausea brought on by the performance. If that weren’t bad enough, I start itching like I’m wearing a wool sweater. Rath refers to that as my “loony alarm,” an extra sense I seem to have when approached by certain types of “sensitive” people. The last time I itched like this, two women tried to kill me. I find myself wishing very strongly that Rath would show up to help.

“Yes?” I finally ask, trying to sound pleasant which isn’t easy to do when your skin is crawling.

“Are you the owner of the house?” His lack of accent marks him as an American. Funny, that fails to reassure me. This isn’t a normal tourist route.

“No. I’m afraid the Lord and Master is out beating the peasants right now, would you like to leave a card?”

Not even a flicker of reaction to my comment. I wonder if this guy is really human.

“Perhaps you can help me? Are you the housekeeper?” Yea, right, English housekeepers always do their work barefoot while wearing black leggings and a Colorado hockey jersey.

“Maybe and no. What is it you need?” I’m hoping my rudeness will discourage him, but no luck: this guy is persistent. With a flash of teeth that must have cost a fortune to straighten and a toss of his badly bleached hair, he launches into his mission statement.

“I am looking for two friends of mine who were traveling in this area a few months ago. Their rental car was discovered abandoned in a ditch about 32 kilometers from here.” He pulls the top sheet from a stack of papers he’s been holding in his right hand and gives it to me. “I am trying to trace their route without much success. Have you seen either of them in this area perchance.”

Mama once told me I had a face a blind man could read without using his hands. Since then I’ve been practicing to keep it expressionless, but this is really testing my skills. The images of Cindy and Darla stare up at me with smiling good cheer. Not only have I seen them, I saw them being dismembered by my brother Rath. It was self-defense, sort of. The women had been trying to kill us, believing us to be common Werewolves and vulnerable to silver bullets.

They had been part of some bizarre cult. Obviously another member is on our doorstep. Is he telling me the truth? Is his visit really a coincidence, or did the women notify someone of their intended victims before Rath silenced them that night? The itching on my arms warns me to be cautious. Before I have to answer the stranger’s inquiry, a bird which had landed a few moments ago on the walkway behind him, shapes itself into Rath.

“May I help you?”

Apparently, the stranger is not a sensitive like Darla, despite my itching. He spins sharply at the sudden voice from behind him, but loses his composure for only a moment.

“I hope. You are, I presume, the Lord and Master of the house, returned from bloodying the peasants?”

“I see you have been speaking to my sister. In the absence of our Uncle, the actual owner, I am in charge.”

“He wants to know if we’ve seen his friends.” I pass the sheet with the images to Rath. A far better actor than I, he doesn’t give a hint that he recognizes the women.

“I’m afraid we can’t help you, Mr.…?”

“Dieter. Wolfgang Dieter.”

I note that he doesn’t offer to shake hands with the introduction, an unusual omission.

“Are you certain they have not been by? Darla and Cindy both love touring fine houses such as yours, Mr.…?”

“The house is not open to the public, and no one has requested to view it in a very long time.” Rath gives the paper back to Wolfgang, and in the process deliberately makes contact with the man’s hand.

We both make note of how he flinches at the touch. Maybe he is “sensitive.”

“Better luck elsewhere, Mr. Dieter.”

“Thank you. I will not take up any more of your time then.”

Rath moves to stand beside me in the doorway as our unwanted visitor returns to his rental car. Neither of us says a word nor takes our eyes from the vehicle until it’s only a speck in the distance.

“I suppose this means we’re going to be locking all the doors and windows again?.”

“Except one.”

“If at all possible, could you resolve this situation without making a mess in the vestibule? There are still bloodstains on the grout.”

Rath glares at me. “Since when is that your concern?”

“Since I live here too.” I glare back. I’ve been learning to do it well.

“Then you can handle the lockdown,” he smirks, then wanders back off to wherever it was he had come from.

Sometimes I hate that bastard.

A few minutes later I’m with Ursula, in the kitchen. No longer kneading bread dough, she is now arranging cold sandwiches on a platter. Before I can say a word, she points at a section where each half sandwich has a toothpick stuck into it.

“Those are all peanut butter,” she says. Bless her heart, Ursula knows I can’t stand cucumber sandwiches, which seem to be standard fare here. For Christmas she had given me an enormous jar of Skippy which I treated like gold until she showed me the entire shelf full in the pantry. Rath had tasted one sandwich, declared it an abomination, and insisted that Ursula mark them in the future so he wouldn’t accidentally eat one again.

“Thanks, Urs, you’re a gem. I’ve got some bad news though.”

“Out with it, then,” she commands as the last sandwich is placed on the tray.

“Remember those two women who showed up a couple months ago? The ones who tried to kill us?”

“Not again.” Her tones are long suffering, which, in Rath’s household, must be a given state of mind.

“Yep. Looks like he might be their boyfriend or leader.” With a heavy sigh Ursula passes me and pulls on the huge cord I like to refer to as the Summoning Rope. It simultaneously sets off every one of the little bells that have been installed in the various rooms of the house, alerting Melanie to the fact that she is wanted. An intercom system would have been more efficient, but I suspect Melanie considers the bell pull to be an inviolable tradition. She’s weird that way.

“I’ll have my husband bring me my healer’s bag just in case. When dark falls, we’ll stay in Hannah’s room until it’s safe to come out.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be somewhere else? Just in case he manages to get through us?”

Ursula bursts into laughter. I have to admit she has a point. While Wolfgang Dieter would probably stand a chance against me, he hasn’t got a prayer against Rath.

Nightfall. Once more I’m hiding in one of the recesses beside the main door of the house. Rath is hiding in the other, and we are both watching the single window which we have left unlocked. Unlike last time, we have taken care to move all of the furniture out of the way so it won’t get damaged if Rath goes on a rampage.

“Rath?” I whisper in the darkness.

“What?”

“Would you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t kill him.” I know Rath felt killing Cindy and Darla was justified, but I’m not so reconciled to murder as he is. If there is any way to save Wolfgang Dieter’s life, whether he deserves it or not, I have to try.

“I can’t promise that, Eva.”

“Please, Rath. You told me before you’d been able to scare people like him into leaving, maybe it’ll work now too.”

Rath is silent for a long time before answering.

“You care that much?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try.” It’s not a promise, but it’s the best I’ll get.

The hall clock chimes 3 a.m. before our unwanted guest decides to make his appearance. I’d almost given up on him. In an eerie echo of his friends, he first tries the door. Finding it locked, he methodically tests each window until finding the one we have generously made available for entry. With far more skill than his predecessors, he slips inside. Even in the darkness I can see Wolfgang is holding a flashlight in his right hand, nothing in his left. A skin-tight black muscle shirt and black jeans have replaced the shirt and slacks he wore earlier – the better to look studly in, I imagine. As he turns his back to the door preparing to move further into the house, I spot the handle of a gun protruding from the waistband of the jeans. Rath gestures to let me know he’s seen it too. Then he moves.

“I believe I told you earlier, Mr. Dieter, that we do not make this house available to the public.” Rath steps out into the vestibule, and I throw the switch to flood it with light. “Even if it were, the tours would be supervised and held during daylight hours.”

Wolfgang starts, then turns to face us. I can see anger in his eyes; he’s not happy that we’ve surprised him again. Then he smiles one of those cocky smiles I’ve learned to identify as overconfidence. Casually, he shuts off the flashlight, crossing his arms as though he hasn’t a care in the world. Part of me feels sorry for him: the bravado may impress and intimidate the average person, but it will have no effect at all on Rath or me.

“Perhaps if you had told me the truth earlier, I would not have had to take such an extreme measure. Now, if you will just tell me where Cindy and Darla are, Mr…. What did you say your name was again?” Something in how he says that makes the hair on my neck rise: he knows more than he is saying.

“I did not give you may name, just as I did not invite you into my home. I also did not lie to you Mr. Dieter. My words were ‘I am afraid we cannot help you.’ A statement of fact.” Rath mimics Wolfgang’s crossed arms pose, but whereas Wolfgang is relaxed, Rath is prepared to attack.

“Mere semantics Mr. Ratheson. Cindy and Dar are two of my best Stalkers. They never confront a Lycanthrope without first sending me a full report containing the suspect’s name, location and the projected date of termination.” I crouch, ready to leap as he reaches back to where the gun is waiting. He pulls a folded sheet of paper from a pocket though. “According to their last communiqué, they located a den containing at least three, possibly four lycanthropes and a minimum of two other non-human entities.”

I can’t believe how slowly, almost arrogantly, he unfolds the paper. Does he really believe we are of no danger to him? Does he honestly think we will not protect ourselves? Rath is still as the stones, waiting for the moment to attack.

“As you can see here, Michael Ratheson, your name, as well as that of your sister, Eva Ratheson, is listed. They also provided me with the address to your charming home. Cindy specified they had already been in the house and would be returning in the evening to perform the terminations.”

Casually, he refolds the letter, tucking it back into his pocket. Meanwhile, I notice Rath slowly beginning to shift – a sure sign of his growing anger. Less observant than myself, Wolfgang merely resumes his casual stance.

“Now, no more lies between us, Ratheson. Tell me where my Stalkers are and I promise I will be as gentle as possible when killing your sister.”

“How generous.” Normally I’d let Rath handle this sort of thing, but I’ve had enough of this idiot’s arrogance. While I’ve grown to despise him completely, I’m not ready to let him push Rath into another killing. “First off, Wolfgang, my name is Lockwood, Eva Lockwood. That,” I move from the alcove, pointing at Rath as I walk, “is my half-brother. Different mothers, you see.”

Taking a chance I place myself mere inches from Wolfgang’s face. I expect Rath to pull me away, his normal overprotective reaction, but he still doesn’t move; tacit permission for me to continue. Meanwhile Wolfgang edges backwards, ever so slowly. It dawns on me that, while he puts on the tough guy act for men, female aggression is something he has trouble dealing with.

“You want to know about Cindy and Darla? Well I’ll tell you about them. They entered this house the same way you did, through a window we were generous enough to leave open for them.” I see comprehension in his eyes, though his expression doesn’t change. “Duh, didn’t think we were that smart, did you Wolfgang?”

“Well neither did they, so we confronted them the same way we’re confronting you. Darla put on one of her drooling, moaning acts and Cindy…well Cindy made the real mistake.” I give Wolfgang a demonstration of exactly what he’s dealing with by reaching back and removing his gun before he even has time to uncross his arms.

“Cindy pulled a gun, a lot like this one, and aimed it at my head. Now, my brother here, he doesn’t take very kindly to people threatening his family, and he has a really short, really violent temper. When she shot at me and missed…, well, it wasn’t a real pretty sight in here afterwards is all I’ll say.” Wolfgang backs away a little faster now, and I note that his hand clutches the flashlight in a white-knuckled grip.

“Now Darla, she probably could have just walked out of here and gone on to lead a productively lunatic life. But no, she had to be a tough chick, she had to succeed where Cindy failed.” I raise the gun and take pleasure at Wolfgang’s flinch, but he needn’t worry. After a few seconds fumbling I manage to empty out the silver bullets. Wolfgang flinches again as they strike the stone floor.

“Ever been shot before, Wolfgang? I have. Three times that little bitch got me, and it hurt like someone had set fire to those points on my body. I’ll bet she hurt a hell of a lot more though. How do you think my dear brother reacted?”

“They are dead?”

“Bingo, give the man a prize!” I hear Rath’s snort of humor behind me. “Yes, they’re dead. They’re dead and I’m not. Three silver bullets and I’m not dead. What does that tell you, Wolfgang? Can’t guess?” He actually shakes his head in response.

“It means I’m not a Werewolf you idiot. I’m not one, my brother is not one, and no one in this household is. However, we aren’t human either, at least not by your definition. If you want my advice though, Wolfgang, you won’t let that trouble your little mind. You’ll turn around and leave this house. Chalk up the loss of your Stalkers to their complete stupidity and forget this house and that any of us even exist.”

Then, just to make sure he understands what I’m saying, I shape myself with powerful muscles, hold the gun directly in front of his face, and crush it with my bare hands. For the first time since this began, a trace of sweat runs down Wolfgang’s face. Maybe he is grasping the enormity of his situation.

“Cindy and Darla must be avenged.” Then again, maybe not.

“Look, you reject from a low-budget action movie, get it through your thinning hair that you only have two choices here: live or die. Are your testosterone levels so high they are poisoning what passes for your brain?”

“You can’t hurt me.”

I scream. I can’t help it, obstinate stupidity really pisses me off. With my own hands, my own arms and my own muscles, I haul off and slug him with a right to the face. Since there are two feet between him and the wall my blow sends him hard into it. Blood streams from his nose as he slides to a seated position on the floor. Following up on my initiative, Rath grabs Wolfgang by the shirt, dragging him over to the door. I open it quickly. Heedless of any harm he might cause, Rath throws our unwanted guest out onto the landing, then kicks him down the three steps to the ground.

“Leave. Now.” Rath growls.

“He won’t give you another chance, Wolfgang, not even if I ask him politely.”

Picking himself off the ground, Wolfgang takes a moment to wipe the blood from his nose. Somehow, throughout this all, he has managed to keep the flashlight in his grasp. Now he levels it directly at Rath and me.

“You can’t keep me away forever. I’ll be back and I will have my revenge.”

“One more chance, Eva.” I hear Rath whisper. Part of me wonders if it is even worth trying, another part of me enjoys the confrontation. I let that part take over.

Stepping onto the landing I shift into half-cat form. Blond fur erupts from exposed skin, engulfing my clothing. Fingernails become sharp curving claws while my ears pull back and upwards until they extend above my hair. My jaw and nose push forward, fangs protrude from beneath my whiskered lips, my tail lashes violently against my powerful long legs. Wolfgang Dieter finally drops his flashlight.

“This is the last time I’m going to explain this, so you’d better listen.” A purring undertone to my voice belies my seething anger. “First off, I’m tired of being threatened by bigoted fanatics. Second, I’m not impressed by your well-practiced posing and clìched dialogue. Third, unless you want to be buried in an unmarked grave with a six-pack cooler for a coffin, I suggest you take your act to another venue. Otherwise, I might be tempted to rip you a new asshole so my brother will have somewhere to shove your head once he tears it off.”

I can feel Rath behind me and the expression on Wolfgang’s face tells me quite clearly that my brother is also in his most menacing form. Both of us are tensed, prepared for any reaction other than the sensible one we wish our visitor would take. A deep, guttural growl signals Rath’s impatience; he will not wait much longer.

If Wolfgang was not afraid before, he is now. Visible trembling wracks his hands as he reaches down to retrieve the flashlight. Step by slow step he backs away from us and out of the halo of light caused by the doorway lantern. On the very edge of the darkness, he pauses to sketch the sign of the cross in the air, then turns to race away from us into the night. With sharp feline eyesight, we watch until we are certain he will keep running.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” I ask.

“Probably, but not for a long time. He’ll need to build back his courage and find more followers.” Rath looks down to me and smiles a toothy feline grin. “Now he knows enough to not take us on alone.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not particularly.” Shifting back to his normal form, Rath takes my arm, guiding me back into the house. Together we start putting the furniture back before heading up to tell Ursula that all is well. “People like Wolfgang and his followers have been around for longer than I have been alive. We can either live in fear of them, thus allowing them to control our lives, or we can deal with them as they come and enjoy the time when they are not around.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Here,” Rath tosses something towards me. I catch it instinctively. It’s the metal ball that had once been a gun. “A souvenir of your most impressive display of temper yet. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Neither did I.” I spin the metal ball between my palms. “I understand why you can kill people Rath, but I don’t want to be that way. I don’t want to kill.”

“Then you won’t.” I look up, Rath is smiling at me.

“Eva, you were angry and you frightened him. If I’d thought you were doing to do him real harm, I would have stopped you.” We had been climbing the stairs, but now Rath pauses and touches my arm. “I was born into a violent era, where fighting and death were a fact of life. If you did not kill you would not survive – and so I am the way I am. You were born into a time when life is considered sacred, where taking the life of another human is a crime – and so you are the way you are. Killing is not in you, Eva and it never has to be.”

“I hit him.”

“He deserved it.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Probably.”

Laughing we continue up the stairs and head for Hannah’s room. Time to let the others know they can come out now. Everything is safe and no one has been hurt or killed. For now.

�

episode i: journey into darkness - episode ii: tea party - episode iii: awakening
episode iv: the book of grief - episode v: paterfamilias - episode vi: breaking points
episode vii: the dark of the mind - episode viii: decisions
episode ix: momentary distractions - episode x: exorcising demons i
episode xi: porcelain visions - episode xii: the nature of jackals
episode xiii: exorcising demons ii - episode xiv: the invitation
episode xv: body & soul - episode xvi: mothering sunday
episode xvii: imbalance of power - episode xviii: interlude
episode xix: between life and death

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