Free Blood and Rain by Glenn Rolfe Page A

enough to survive another nightmare. Since falling off the wagon, Stan’s dreams had not been so kind to Mr. Barnes.
    â€œWhoever you are, you’re on state property and I’ve got every right to drop you on sight.”
    Stan shuffled left, hidden behind the large stone at the edge of the pond. The forest at his back held its breath as the beast in him prepared to introduce itself to the unsuspecting night watchman. Saliva pooled above the fingers he had firmly planted in the lawn. The change was swift, faster than it was in real life.
    â€œOh…my…God…” The light dropped from Harold’s trembling hand and rolled down into the black pond.
    Owooooooo
    The beast rose to its feet. It was a hulk in the darkness. Harold’s lips moved, but no words came out.
    The beast jumped the man-made pond and reared back a clawed hand.
    â€œNo, Stanley, no.”
    The monster ripped out Harold’s throat in one swipe, nearly decapitating the man. Harold’s body dropped to its knees, falling forward.
    The beast roared up at the heavens before descending upon its kill.
    Stan Springs awoke. His bedsheets clung to his naked form. He wiped at his mouth. Harold’s blood was not there. The dreams—he no longer considered them nightmares—were so vivid he could hardly tell them apart from the nights he surrendered to the monster within.
    He stretched, then swiveled his feet to the hardwood floor. At his age joints should pop, bones should creak, and his muscles should ache after the kind of night he’d had. His secret held those problems at bay. Secret. The dark, dirty, not-so-little secret secured him from the degenerating effects brought on by old age. It also left him alone and fucking hostile.
    For years he’d held the rage in check, managing to drown the beast in a concoction of Klonopin and other similar drugs that kept him next to dead on the nights of a full moon. The true surprise came after he left the facility sans drugs. He came home to Gilson Creek, ready for whatever fate awaited him. Should the beast return, he was confident Sheriff Fischer would put him down for good.
    The full moon came and went. The change, MIA. He’d read about a cursed Lithuanian priest who claimed a similar dormant state, but Stan had just swiped the story aside with the plethora of false myths he’d studied. The priest was said to have died alone in the mountains.
    Despite returning home, Stan adopted the priest’s solitary lifestyle. He spoke to no one. And they returned the favor. Even Fischer, whom he thought would engage him, seemed to sense that something wasn’t right. As if he gave off a certain scent. A distinct pheromone. And maybe he did.
    Whatever the case, Stan had managed to hide away from the monster and the town. Until last night.
    A storm had raged outside and within. This time he relished the curse. He’d grown nasty in the years since he returned home. In a way, he’d hoped for the beast’s return. The dirty looks from the people in his community, the way the punk kids giggled and mocked him as if he were no better than that dead fuck, Old Mike. While he’d initially been relieved by the sheriff’s distance, there came a time when you acknowledged old friends, out of respect, if nothing else.
    No, this town had grown putrid. It was the town that was cursed. It was his job to deliver the dark enchantment’s promise. It was his job to bring Gilson Creek to death’s gate.
    â€œYou gonna knock?” Wes nudged Joel in the back.
    â€œAll right, man, but if his mom doesn’t answer because there’s a strange dude with a Mohawk at her door, that ain’t on me.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure she knows what kind of bizarre shit her twenty-nine-year-old son is in to.”
    â€œFuck yeah, good point.” Joel knocked.
    A short, dark-haired woman with glasses and her hair pulled back in a tight bun answered.
    â€œHey, is