Ephraim's 'Rainy Day'

He knew the score with vampires ... he'd seen the movies ... read the books. But where the fuck could you get hold of holy water, garlic, a wooden stake and especially bright sunlight ... at midnight, here on board a yacht, moored off shore?

A fucking vampire!!!

He could only watch helplessly, as the creature called Caleb, snarled and writhed before him. Sam also realised that any movement (if he could even manage any) would be useless, as vampires were notoriously fast ... lightning fast.

Before he could blink an eyes, Caleb would be onto him, sinking his teeth into Sam's neck and drinking his blood...

There was a sound ... like glass shattering. Ephraim cursed, snapping his head up. His companion, Barnaby, a huge hulking Bull Mastiff, lifted his old head up and growled, baring his teeth.



"Damned kids," he muttered, snapping his lap top closed, "S'okay buddy, I gotcha."

Usually, Ephraim, once in 'the Zone', could write for hours, often forgetting the time until his eyes started watering from looking at the screen. But not today. Thanks to yet another bout of vandalism, his concentration had been cruelly broken, his creative juices drying up in mid flow.




Just as he was getting to the best part of the story.

He leaned down and scratched behind Barnaby's ear, and was rewarded with a snuffle and a heavy thumping tail.

If it wasn't enough, having adoring ... yet, VERY creepy fans, chipping souvenirs from the gargoyles guarding the front entrance of his mansion. It was drunken teenagers throwing stones at the windows for a dare. Thank goodness they hadn't touched the commissioned window he'd had created. A scene from one of his books no less. If they'd touched that one, there'd be hell to pay.

Being a successful Gothic/Horror writer, was no easy task for Ephraim (real name Julius).

Having to meet deadlines, checking in with his agent for any signing dates he may have missed. Answering his ever increasing fan base. It was little wonder he managed to actually sit down and write stuff. But would he swap this for the world?

Hardly.

This was his chance to shine. And he did so spectacularly.




Thank goodness for his haven. This beautiful 17th century mansion with it's stone work and Gothic influences. He could hide away in here and let his imagination run riot.

There was just one thing that really bothered him. Because of it's apparent 'spookiness'. Darkling Manor had gained its own notoriety and attracted people from all walks of life. But to Ephraim, it was ... home. With it's thickly built stone walls and solid architecture.



However .... even with the security in place, there was always a risk of someone breaking in. He feared the day that a deranged fan would confront him..... or steal away Barnaby, his faithful companion and lifelong friend.


They'd been through so much together. From the minute he set eyes upon this ugly little puppy with its squashed up nose and 'screw you' attitude. That's what brought the two of them together.

Along with his passion for writing, and his love of Barnaby, Ephraim adored his fans... truly. But there were some out there that had difficulty distinguishing real life from fiction. And that's what truly scared him.

It didn't help that he dressed the part too. Especially those piercing, amber eyes and that pale, bone white skin.

They were his trademark, that coincided with the overall 'look'. That was his style and he was comfortable with it. If anybody had any problems with the way he dressed... tough. There was no way he was going to change. Not now, not ever.

He'd been interviewed on several occasions, and each time, the same questions always cropped up.

Are those eye for real? Or are they contacts? Is that make-up you're wearing, or are you truly a vampire? Do you ever go out in the sun? Your skin is so pale.

Ephraim could only smile secretively, saying nothing at all, keeping that air of mystery around him at all times. And it worked.... to a degree.

Pinching his nose and scrunching his eyes, he sighed deeply. He had to take a look, see the damage for himself, and hope that there was nobody standing there waiting for him. Sure enough, laid on the floor was a scattering of shattered glass and in the middle, a mis-shapen rock. The shards twinkled in the moonlight as Ephraim felt the breeze coming from the jagged gap. He was growing tired of this vandalism. All because the mansion itself had a history behind it. He loved the place and was reluctant to give it up just yet.

Sighing again, he went in search of the dust pan and brush, and the roll of duct tape he kept handy too. He was getting fairly adept with quick repairs lately, and resumed cleaning up the mess and taping up the window.

There was only one thing for it.
He had to move.
And the mansion was coming with him.

Dry of his creative 'flow', he went back to his lap top and logged online to check out costs for transportation of the entire building .... and came across an accomplished real estate/property developer called Alec Thompson. His web page had recommendations by the bucket load and his business was indeed reputable. It also mentioned that he was residing in a sleepy little village called Cloverdale.

From what he'd seen....
.... surrounded by mountains, a great black lake and plenty of acreage everywhere....
... it was idyllic....
Actually, it was perfect....




There was just a small matter of finding out if Alec was up to the task.
Money was no object, as Ephraim had spent little of it, saving the rest for a rainy day.

And today, that rainy day had just arrived.
In the nick of time.

Chapter Five - Father Comes to Stay

The sun shone brightly, bringing out the vibrant colours in the garden.
Brooke stood up, stretching her strained back and looked proudly upon all her hard work.


She felt the sun, prickling on the back of her neck and was thankful that she'd remembered to thicken on the sun cream.


"There," she thought, wiping the soil from her hands, "that looks a lot better."

The garden was her pride and joy, and everybody who passed by, made comments of approval at Brooke's green thumb.

The only one she really needed to please....

.... was her elderly father.

She looked at her watch and her heart sank.
He'd be here, any time soon.

Brooke kicked off the gardening shoes at the kitchen doorway and sprinted indoors to freshen herself up.

She changed from her usual 'slobs' as she called them, into a pretty outfit, brushing her hair out.

She never put make up on.
It was lost on her father, who disapproved of everything Brooke did.

From as far back as she could remember, he would ritually direct comments of disapproval at her.

"What are you wearing THAT for? It makes you look too fat!"

"You're putting far too much lipstick on. That colour looks as though you've got a gash instead of a mouth."

More recently, it turned into ....

"I can't see how you're ever going to get married if you work all those hours."


"You're working yourself too hard. look how skinny you've become, you'll waste away to nothing if you're not careful."

And his particular favourite....



"I don't know what you see in that Deano Gray, he's trouble I tell you. And what sort of name is Deano, for goodness sake? Why don't you go out with someone nice.... like that Alec Thompson. He's rich, has his own house and is single."

It always ended up with Frank pointing out the obvious.

But Brooke regarded Alec as 'boring' and 'dull as dishwater.'

Brooke fussed around the house, checking to see if everything was just right.

She grimaced at the old, worn chair that had arrived last week, but she knew that it was going to be a permanent fixture from now on.

After his wife's death, three years ago, Frank had struggled to cope on his own.
Sadly, one cold Winter's day, he fell down the stairs and broke his hip.

The house that Brooke lived in, was more than substantial. So, reluctantly, she agreed to let her father move in.

What used to be her 'crafts room', was now converted into a bedroom. Some of her father's treasures and furniture, had been brought in. The rest was either donated to charities, thrown out or the most valuable items sold.

The profits made from the sale of the family home, boosted up his bank account substantially, but still, he insisted on wearing the same, shabby clothing day in day out.

Brooke peered out of the window, just in time to see the taxi pull up.
Even before he opened the door, she heard his loud protestations and complaints.

Brooke groaned inwardly.

Her father was in a bad mood and she knew he'd be like that all day.

What was she letting herself in for?

Meanwhile, Frank sat complaining about the costly taxi fare.


He was dreading this.

He knew that Brooke didn't want him there at all.
She made that quite clear, the moment she picked up her bags and moved out of the family home, all those years ago.

But circumstances, and a fractured hip, soon put paid to his own freedom.

Still, he couldn't help marvelling at the beautiful countryside, as the taxi zipped past.

He remembered how this was all farmland, as far as the eye could see.
It was a shame that this land had now given itself up for developers.

His own daughter had been one of the first people to snap up the first houses built, and he was prepared to hate it with a passion.

But he was taken by surprise, when he saw the pretty little garden at the front of the property.
It wasn't quite as wild as Frannie's, his late wife's garden, but it was stunning all the same.

At least Brooke had inherited something from them anyway.

If only she'd get her head out of the clouds and see for herself, what her future could be like.

She didn't go to University just to become a waitress.

That business degree was gathering dust, as she plodded on.

And that no good Deano guy.

He had Brooke wrapped around his little finger, and Brooke was so blinded that she couldn't see it at all.

Brooke stepped out of the front door to greet him, her jet black hair long and loose.
For a moment there, he was taken back a few years.

She looked just like her mother, standing there in the bright sunlight.


But he STILL couldn't resist a typical moan and groan.

"Why haven't you fenced this all in?" he complained, crossing his arms, "you know how strays are. They'll come in here, dig it all up, urinate all over and generally ruin everything."

Brooke shook her head.


Nothing had ever changed.