Arrival of the Prophecy (35 page)

Robin Renee Ray

http://
www.robinreneeray.webs.com
/

http://
robinrray.blogspot.com
/

http://
www.facebook.com
/
robinreneeray

Also
by Robin Renee Ray

Synopsis

Not once in her life did farm girl Renee Crocker, imagine she would
encounter a world found only in the minds of myth-seeking men. Although the
things they sought were not always unheard of in the
1930’s
in other parts of the world, life was just too harsh in the small Texas
community, to pay mind to anything other than raising a healthy crop to ensure
the survival of one’s family. But late one evening during supper, a stranger
comes knocking on the door of the Crocker family farm house and is invited inside.
It doesn’t take long for Renee to discover a great number of things that people
in her
neck of the woods
couldn’t even contemplate.
The dark of night takes on a
whole
new meaning, and
the once vulnerable young country woman finds herself struggling to survive in
a world that demands she live forever in darkness.

The first three chapters of
Bloodbreeders:
Living in Darkness

Bloodbreeders:

Living in Darkness

Prologue

 
I lie in the cold silent darkness
with no way of knowing how much time has passed, for what seemed like an
eternity. Saturated in the putrid demise of others, I feel the absurdities
terrorize what is left of my mind. All that I have to keep me lucid are my
memories of home, and my
ever present
wish that
someone will save me from the unimaginable nightmare that is now my unthinkable
reality. The pain that’s throbbing with every beat of my heart, coursing its
way up from my badly broken ankles is just one of the many obstacles standing
in my way of escape. I know now that he never lied to me. I’ve known it for
quite some time, but I had allowed my vulnerability to sway me into the
deceitful arms of my creator’s long time enemy, and her evil plot for revenge.

Even as I lay broken, both in body and spirit, I know that somehow, I
will one day find my way back home—back to the place from which all this
madness manifested. I know I will never be able to show my family that I’m not
in the grave where they so grievously placed me. They have every right to
believe me dead and rotting in my hand-made coffin, and to them, as well as the
rest of the normal world, maybe that’s exactly where I should be. But I will go
to my final death trying to get back to them, only this time things will be on
my terms and not on those of my maker. Oh, how I have prayed that my body would
die before the setting sun, and that my final thoughts before the dawn that
takes me to my daily death would be my gift for suffering. Then I would at
least be at home with my family, in a sense… or would I be cursed to the final
fire, because he took my soul?

I lie feeling the gore soak into my flesh, while the stench threatens to
steal the already tainted air from my lungs. Bones of others now surround me in
my dome-like cage encasement. The thick slime covered floor will be my bed for
as long as they wish to keep me. I close my eyes to the already black silence,
hoping for a slither of solace in a place filled with nothing but vulgar
brutality—and undeniable death. I still often pray to the Lord, having no way
of knowing if he even listens, that I can someday envision, just once with my
eyes and not in the many dreams of fantasy rescues, that beautiful farm back
home. Slipping deeper into the darkness of my mind, I work hard to find a dim
memory.
One, that
I can vaguely evoke, but desperately
grasp through the misty clouds of my thoughts.

The one that I find and hold is of my mother in the kitchen, what now
seems like centuries ago, with my little sister Edna hanging on her apron
string. I had found my form of escape in that small piece of my mind, and
that’s when I reclined in my desolate domain, giving way to the pain as I
started to recall how it all began.

Chapter 1

I will never forget the night that he arrived at the farm. My family had
already sat down for supper when we heard the knock on the door. Even though it
was late in the evening for company, it was not unusual for a lone traveler to
take on work with my father for room and board. Most would ask to stay for a
few nights and at times end up staying until the following spring, while others
only wanted a short rest, accompanied by a hot meal. So it was no surprise when
my father opened the door to yet another stranger in need. The man standing on
the other side caught everyone’s attention, especially mine, wearing his long black
coat and tailor made gray suit, spruced up with shiny black shoes.

You could tell by his manner and the way he took off his gray silk hat,
tilting his head as he gave us his greeting, that he was a true born gentleman,
apologizing without delay for interrupting our meal.

"Forgive my intrusion," he said softly.

I was so busy staring that I almost missed the accent that carried the
words that he spoke. He was a very handsome man and absolutely not from our
neck of the woods
. From what I could tell, he was somewhere
in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was tall with a slender build,
and his hair was a bit long for what I was used to seeing on a man, but he wore
it well.

The flowing locks were as black as night, pushed back behind his ears
and draping down over the front of his shoulders. His eyes were like a clear
summer’s day, the palest blue that I had ever seen, but they stood out
brilliantly next to his extremely white skin in the glow of our lanterns. His
skin was by no means that of a working man; it looked as smooth as silk from
what little my wandering eyes could see.

When my father asked him what it was that he needed, he only replied, “A
place to rest good sir, for I have traveled far and I am very weary."
Every single one of us had to pick our mouths up off the floor, because not
even my parents had ever heard someone speak in that fashion.

"Why don’t you join us? You must be
starvin
’,
and we got plenty," my mother asked, getting up from the table.

"That is most kind, but please do not worry yourself, I have need
only for rest," he replied, then looked back at my father.

My father grabbed his hat from the nail by the front door and put it on
before taking our guest—the most intriguing thing to cross my path since I've
had one—to our bunkhouse, where we boarded those who stayed. The hat was just a
ritual and something my father did whether he was going to work in the fields
or out back to the outhouse. God love my parents, they never turned down
anyone, not one single soul. My mother, being the sweet woman she was, made me
take a plate of food out to him, regardless of his choice to decline, along
with some extra blankets. Needless to say, I was scared to death. I had never
seen a more beautiful man in all my days, and I guess you could say I already
fancied him just a bit.

It wasn’t often a man could turn my eye. I knew my family needed my
help, so it was just something that I tried not to think about. But while I
gathered the blankets, I couldn’t stop hoping that I didn’t look as bad as I
knew that I did.
Sloppin
’ pigs and
milkin
’ cows wasn’t something to curl your hair for.
 
God knows I didn’t have time to fix the
strands of hair that had made their way out of the tightly woven braid that had
been wrapped in a bun at the back of my head all day, nor did I have a
snowballs chance of changing my soiled dress. So, I pinched my cheeks to give
myself some color, smoothed my hair best I could, and out the door I went. I
remember to this day how stupid I felt on my way to the bunkhouse, thinking to
myself,
Do
I say ‘Howdy, sir’ or ‘How are you? My name
is
Renee.
’
?
What actually came out of my mouth made me seem like a stuttering
fool.

I walked through the open door to the bunkhouse, and didn’t see him
anywhere. I took a few steps in, and as I opened my mouth to say the words
‘excuse me’, a voice with a foreign tongue from behind me said, “Yes?” I jerked
around, somehow managing not
to
 
scream
, but at the same time lost my
footing. The man reached out, taking hold of my arm to keep me from falling,
simultaneously grabbing the stack of items that I had in my hands. When I was
once again steady on my feet, he handed me back the stack that was meant for
him in the first place. I swallowed the lump that had firmly cemented itself in
my throat and smiled.

“Oh, hey, I was just bringing you some blankets to eat.”
You blooming idiot
, I thought to myself,
immediately feeling the blood rush in massive amounts to my cheeks. “Um... I
mean, I brought some food to keep you warm.”

I closed my mouth, biting at my bottom lip to keep any other dim-witted
ramblings from slipping out, and just stood there looking as ridiculous as I
felt. As soon as I saw the corner of his lip start to creep up, I held the
items out in front of me. He smiled a small gentle curve with his luscious
lips, as he leaned down, taking the items for the second time. The moment my
hands were empty, I spun on my heel and bolted straight toward the house
without so much as a backward glance. I was almost there when he called out,
“Rest well this night... Renee.”

I turned back to look at him, not recalling introducing myself, but
didn’t put as much mind to it as I’m now sure that I should have. His beauty
was a snare and it had me trapped. Absolutely frozen where I stood, I watched
as he slightly lowered his head, never once taking his eyes
off
of
me. He continued to gaze at me as he slowly turned and walked back
into the bunkhouse. I blinked a few times, feeling almost dazed, like I wasn’t
sure how long that I had been standing there or how long he had been gone. I
shook the feeling off and turned in for the night, thinking of nothing else on
the matter, other than the captivating color of his eyes.

The next morning, I woke to the smell of bacon frying. My mother always
knew how to wake us up, and today I wasted no time. I hopped out of bed, and
went straight to the mirror. I wasn’t about to let the beautiful wanderer see
what he had last night. I pulled my hair into a tightly braided bun and
splashed water onto my face. I wasn’t one for makeup—didn’t even own any, so
that was the best I could do. I decided to give my cheeks a nice hard pinch for
good measure. I headed downstairs, said good morning, and then headed out the
door.

Chores came first on the farm, even before breakfast, and today was no
different, other than I moved somewhat faster. My first chore of the day was
milking the cow, so we would have fresh milk for breakfast. Normally, I would
mosey on out, taking my precious time. Today, I practically sprinted. After
all, the barn was right next to the bunkhouse. I peered in as I walked by and
was disappointed to see that the stranger had already left. There was a five
dollar bill lying on his bunk, and that was a lot for one night. It was
actually more than enough for the whole month. The plate of food that I had
taken out the night before sat atop the folded blanket, completely untouched.
As usual, while we were having breakfast, curiosity got the better of me.

“Pa?” I started, in a voice almost too low to hear.

“What is it, child?” he asked.

“How come that gentleman left so early this
mornin
’?”
When the look of disapproval flashed across my father’s face, I tried to come
up with a reason for asking. “I mean, he didn’t even get to eat breakfast,
that’s all.”

“Eat your food, girl. This
ain’t
no
time for you to be
askin
’ about
some stranger’s business,” he said in a very serious tone.