In the Rain with the Dead

By Mark West

Ten years after the incident with the Ouija board, Nadia and Jim meet at a friend's funeral and fall in love again. This time, their love will be real and lasting. But their friend had raised a disciple of Satan from the dead. When this Magellan smells the purity of Jim and Nadia's affection, his master orders him to rend and corrupt their love. Magellan obeys with relish.

In the Rain with the Dead is both a horror novel and a romance set in the tired English town of Gaffney. But be warned, this is not a vampire-lite paranormal romance. Satan's undead disciple is pure evil; there are a few very strong scenes indeed!

In the Rain with the Dead was originally published by Pendragon Press in 2005. This Greyhart Press eBook edition has been substantially revised since the original.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GreyhartPress
• Release date: Oct 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466069626

Mark West

Mark West was born in 1969 and lives in Northamptonshire, England with his wife, Alison and their young son Matthew. Writing since the age of eight, he discovered the small press in 1998 and since then has had almost sixty short stories published in various magazines around the world. His first collection, Strange Tales, was published by Rainfall Books in 2003 and they also published his short novel, Conjure, in 2009. His debut novel, In The Rain With The Dead, appeared from Pendragon Press in 2005 and following this — and the birth of his son — he spent two years wrestling with writer's block. This was broken when his story The Mill, which Mark Morris called 'one of the most moving pieces of writing I have read in a long time', appeared in the acclaimed five-author collection We Fade To Grey, edited by Gary McMahon.

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Praise for In the Rain with the Dead

Note, these reviews refer to the original, 2005, edition

...the story manages to take an old theme (teenage seance) and lift it to new levels. — The Black Abyss

His crisp, economic style reels you straight in, and the horror hits you hard and quickly and refuses to lay off. — Award-winning author and scriptwriter, Paul Finch

In The Rain With The Dead will grab you from page one and keep you in its clutches until the very last page! Mark West does what he does best - he scares the living daylights out of his readers! — author T. M. Gray

"You hear people say that they were ‘sitting on the edge of their seats’... That describes what it's like reading this book." — Future Fire

Praise for Other Mark West titles

Conjure: ... is a great story with well-developed characters, and a great sense of place. — Xomba

Strange Tales: The bottom line is that if the stories in this collection do not scare you, they will disturb you. And if they do not disturb you, they will make you want to vomit. — Rambles

The Mill (short-listed for the British Fantasy Society Award): this one grabs your heart-strings and twists them like a knife. — Matthew Fryer’s Hellforge

Publisher’s Warning!

This book contains intense and shocking scenes.

Do not read if you are easily disturbed!

When the author, Mark West, submitted In the Rain with the Dead for me to consider publishing, I was excited because I had read and enjoyed some of his other stories. Mark likes to show his tales through the eyes of very real people, normal people that you know from the pub or from work; they live just round the corner, and they’ve got a friend who was in your class at school. They have their problems, but also their hopes and victories; just like you.

Mark is so unfair because once you’ve got to know and care for the people in his stories, he does bad things to them. In this novel, very bad things happen. A couple of scenes were so intense that when I first read them I flinched. But I kept reading anyway; I couldn’t help myself. You see, I wanted to know what happened next...

And that is why I am publishing this story: the intensity is an integral part of the storytelling that I hope will propel you breathlessly towards the final paragraph, just like it did with me.

Tim C. Taylor - Publisher

Prologue

The smell of burning woke Jim Crenshaw up.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling and the wedge of dirty light that came through the curtains, colouring the room grey.

The clock read 4:05. He looked around the room. It was definitely something burning, but he hadn’t used the hob for a couple of days so it must be outside. Still, he ought to go and check. He sat on the edge of the bed, yawning and rubbing the back of his head briskly. As he did, one of the stairs creaked.

His bedroom led onto the landing and the top of the stairs was no more than a pace away from the open door. Through it, he could see halfway down the stairs, the dusky grey broken only by a small orange patch on the wall, cast by the streetlight.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There was nothing there; it was just his imagination.

Another step creaked.

He stood up and saw her, his heart slamming in his chest. It took him a moment to take a breath and he sat heavily on the bed, his limbs like lead weights. His heartbeat seemed to pound everywhere.

Theresa Jones stood on the stairs, wearing a well-cut navy blue suit. Her hair was neatly brushed away from her forehead. Her face was an unnatural mask. The make-up artist at the funeral directors had done a good job, breathing life into her with pancake and rouge, but could do nothing about her sunken eye sockets or the tautness of her skin over her cheekbones.

Oh my God.

Theresa Jones, dead for fifteen years, stared at him. He’d never seen her in life, but had seen a couple of pictures and heard a lot of stories about her from Nadia. But now she was here, in his house, looking how she must have done in the chapel of rest, before being fed to the crematorium fires.

Jim pulled himself backwards over the bed, away from her.

Theresa slowly raised a bony index finger to point at him. Her dry, thin lips cracked like parchment and he heard her say, faintly, Nadia.

He hadn’t thought about Nadia for a while, though his memories of her were powerful. What about her, what’s happened to her?

Theresa shook her head and began to fade into the walls, the grey light absorbing the colours of her cremation suit. Within seconds, she was gone.

Jim, his heart still thumping, crawled back into bed and pulled the duvet over his head.

*

The alarm woke him and images of his visitor flooded back. He felt a cold sweat on his forehead and looked to the window for reassurance — the bright morning light cut a shaft through a gap in the curtains and stretched across his duvet.

On his way to the bathroom, he stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down.

His breath caught in his throat.

Footprints led from the front door, across the hall and halfway up the stairs, the shapes made from a dark substance, as if the person had trodden in a pile of mud or ash.

Chapter 1

Ten Years Ago

James Crenshaw later came to believe that he fell in love with Nadia Jones the first time he saw her but that wasn’t the case.

Jim was eighteen, tall and gangly, his long face relatively untouched by acne, his hair artfully distressed with gel. He was studying computer science at Gaffney Tech and, even though he spent most of his time staring at a monitor, away from other students, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed her before.

She was about five five, with chestnut hair cut into a bob, skin the colour of good quality paper and green eyes that seemed to burn into whatever she was looking at. Her mouth was a thin line and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile. She always seemed to wear knee-length skirts and cardigans and he longed to see her in a T-shift, pulled tight over her chest, her bra-straps visible through the material. Or, better still, not there at all.

They had shared a maths class for more than six months but the first day he really saw her was a Tuesday in May. She was at her desk, pushing the chair in, and the sun, reflected off a window somewhere, created a halo around her. He watched, transfixed, as she reached up and rubbed her neck, then tossed her head quickly from side to side. The sun seemed to pick out each strand of hair, making it flare, before it rejoined the glowing mass.

Jim was instantly smitten.

For the rest of the week, he saw her often. She walked everywhere with her head down and the folder for her next lesson hugged to her chest, as if she was trying to make herself invisible. Most people seemed to respect that and kept out of her way. Others muttered things about her but he liked that she kept to herself; for some reason it made her seem more together.

Over the weekend, he planned what he’d say if they finally got to meet face-to-face. He went up to the Spot-On pool hall on Saturday afternoon with his friend, Danny Arthur, whom he’d known since infant school.

Great night last night, said Danny, grinning as he lined up the cue ball. He’d been seeing Jenny Andrews for almost six months and told Jim just about everything.

Jim scratched his chin with the tip of his cue. Honestly, mate, you don’t have to go into graphic detail.

Danny took his shot, breaking the pack all over the baize. He watched a spot drop and lined up another shot. Jen’s mum and dad have got this video and, Jesus, it’s fucking hot.

Just take your shot, muttered Jim. His mind kept showing him Nadia, sunlight in her hair making her an angel.

There’s this one position, can’t remember the name of it, but she’s on top and… He shot, watched another spot go down and waited for the cue ball to come to a halt. Intense, it was mate. Absolutely intense.

Jim watched his friend lean over the table and said, before he thought better of it, Do you remember a girl called Nadia?

Danny potted another spot. Nadia who?

Nadia Jones. She’s in my maths class at Tech and I don’t remember seeing her at Montvale.

I don’t think so. Another ball disappeared. Why, you got a crush on her?

He had no idea why, but Jim felt a blush creep up his cheeks. No, I noticed her in class the other day and she looked nice and I thought I might talk to her.

Danny sank another spot and watched the cue ball bounce from cushion to cushion. Fair enough. If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’m here.

Jim smiled and took a sip of his pint. Thanks, mate.

Just make sure you speak to her, alright?

*

The first time he and Nadia spoke wasn’t exactly as he’d envisioned it. He’d spent Monday morning in the computer suite, doing some programming for his first year project and had decided to go and grab a bite to eat. He opened the door and looked up the corridor. Nadia was coming towards him, head down, folder clutched to her chest. If he turned right, he would be walking towards the refectory in front of her. If he stopped where he was, he could wait for her to go by and then, perhaps, risk speaking to her.

She was six feet away when someone burst out of the server room and knocked her flying. With a vague sorry called over their shoulder, they kept running and people in the corridor stopped and stared at Nadia, sprawled on the floor, papers from her folder spread around her.

Jim rushed over. She looked up, tears in her eyes and seeing her that way broke his heart — he was overwhelmed by a need to protect her and keep her safe. Even as he thought it, he knew it was an eighteen-year-old’s way of thinking, not something that could be serious or meaningful.

He knelt down, gathered her papers and helped her up. Her skin felt warm through the wool of her cardigan.

Thanks, she said, tucking some hair behind her right ear.

That’s okay, he said, trying to look nonchalant, are you all right?

I’m fine. She looked uncomfortable. Thank you, again.

No worries. The conversation was dying and he couldn’t figure out how to get it back on track.

She pursed her lips in an attempt at a smile, took her papers from him, and then turned and headed towards the stairs. She wasn’t even out of earshot when Jim heard someone behind him say, Hey, the weirdo’s found a friend. He turned around quickly, his face reddening, but the small crowd just stared him down before walking away.

He looked back at the stairwell but Nadia was gone.

Shit. He put his hands in his pockets and walked to the refectory.

*

In typical English summer style, where Monday had been gloriously sunny, Tuesday was drizzling and muggy.

Jim picked up a sandwich from the refectory and ate it on the quad, sitting under a stairwell.

Do you like the rain? Nadia standing a few feet away from him, her arms crossed over her chest. I do, she said, I think it’s cleansing.

I prefer the sun, but I like the smell when it rains on a summer’s day.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head and the movement, completely out of character from everything he’d seen her do before, made his stomach quiver a little.

The rain makes the world brighter, she said, it paints the colours deeper.

If you say so. He couldn’t believe that she’d come over to talk to him. He also couldn’t believe that he still felt in control of his mouth.

She smiled and it lit up her face, making her eyes sparkle.

I’m James, by the way, but everyone calls me Jim.

Nadia.

He smiled and wondered if he’d have the bottle to keep going. Listen, are you doing anything later? Like, after college, I mean. He cringed — his mouth had remembered it was supposed to screw everything up — and had one last go. I mean, would you like to go out somewhere?

She looked at him with an expectant expression, as if waiting for a punchline. Where?

His stomach rolled — he hadn’t expected that as an answer. Anywhere, really. To the cinema, for a drink, for a bite to eat.

She watched him steadily. Are you serious?

Of course.

Don’t mess me about, James, because playing with people’s emotions isn’t funny. She said it like she knew how it felt.

I’m not, honestly, I want to go out with you.

She seemed to mull the idea over. Okay, tonight. I’ll be at the War Memorial at seven and we can decide what we’re going to do.

Great. He couldn’t believe this was happening. That’s great.

She smiled. I’ll see you later then.

Yeah, take it easy.

She turned and walked back into the main building and he watched her go, unable to believe his luck. She didn’t seem like the type of girl who’d leave someone standing around at the War Memorial, but there didn’t seem to have been any hassle arranging the date either.

He smiled and took a bite of his sandwich.

Chapter 2

Nadia put her hairbrush down on the dressing table and smiled at the picture of her mother. The frame, bought at a craft fair, was ceramic and decorated with clay flowers. Nadia’s dad had assured her that her mother would have loved it, so Nadia bought it.

The picture showed a five months pregnant Theresa Jones, standing in front of an ornamental garden at Alton Towers, shielding her eyes from the sun and smiling at the camera.

He seems nice, she said.

Her mother just smiled at her.

Nadia opened her wardrobe and flicked through her limited collection of blouses, selecting a white one with red piping at the neck. What to wear with it? None of her skirts grabbed her attention, so she picked a pair of black jeans. She adjusted herself in her bra, got dressed and sprayed on some perfume.

What do you think, Mum?

In her mind’s eye, Nadia saw her mum wave and wink at her.

She picked up her clutch bag, bought for just such an occasion over a year ago (and unused until now) and walked downstairs with a lightness in her step that she couldn’t remember having before. She went into the garden where her dad, his back to her, was pruning his roses. She walked up to him quietly and draped her arms over his shoulders.

She felt him jump a little and he turned around, whistling appreciatively.

Very nice, Nadia, very nice. So, who’s the lucky boy then?

James, she said and fiddled with her clutch bag, not wanting her dad to see her blush. Just a boy in one of my classes at college.

Is he okay?

Nadia saw the genuine concern in her dad’s expression and looked at her bag. Yes, I think so. Please don’t worry, I’ll be home by ten.

You don’t need to be home that early, he said, just don’t be too late.

Nadia stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Thanks, Dad, I’ll see you later.

*

Simon watched his daughter go into the house and felt a twinge in his stomach. Ever since Theresa had gone, he’d tried his best to raise Nadia properly and thought he’d done a pretty good job. Yes, she was very quiet but he supposed that was only natural — she’d lost her mother at an age when she really needed her. She was a normal teenaged girl and that scared him more than anything — he remembered how he was at that age and knew that Nadia was sometimes too naïve for her own good.

But he had to let her make her own choices, that was important. He hadn’t told her about his transfer to London yet and wasn’t sure what she would do, but knew that it had to be up to her.

Bye, Dad, he heard her call as the front door slammed.

Don’t slam the door, he said quietly and went back to his roses.

*

Jim was at the War Memorial by quarter to seven, wearing his best shirt and chinos, his hair slicked back. His dad, watching the news, had offered some advice and Jim had half listened to it, patted his dad on the shoulder and left.

He’d made a pact with himself. He was convinced Nadia wouldn’t turn up and would give her until eight, then he was going home. Or to Danny’s, to pretend he’d blown her out and wasn’t interested.

He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to meet. He didn’t think he was unattractive, but when it came to girls, his body always worked against him — he got tongue-tied and was very much aware that he had no idea what he was doing. He thought that might be why things had gone relatively well with Nadia — they were talking normally and his mouth didn’t have enough time to drop him in it.

Nadia’s quietness was attractive to him and his mind kept replaying the image of her, tossing her head from side to side, the sun making her hair a fireball. She was also very pretty.

He looked at his watch — 7:05. She was a bit late but he could stand that.

James.

He turned quickly to see Nadia coming down Church Walk.

Hi, he said, you look nice.

She tucked some hair behind her ear. Thanks, so do you.

He could see the pattern of her bra through her blouse and felt movement in his trousers. Nah, he said, you look far better. Well, for a girl, anyway.

She laughed, a breezy sound that thrilled him. She sounded lovely — he had to make her laugh again.

So, what do you want to do? asked Jim.

She shrugged. I don’t mind. Now the rain’s stopped, what if we just go for a walk or something.

You don’t want to go for a drink then?

Not really. That’s alright, isn’t it?

If she had asked him to lie down in the road, it would have been alright with him. It’s fine. Where did you want to walk?

She smiled and tucked more hair behind her ear. Just around town? I don’t want to be too late tonight and I thought we could, you know, talk and get to know one another.

It wasn’t what he’d thought might happen but she wanted to talk and that had to be good. Okay.

She looked relived. Let’s go up past the church and decide from there.

Lead the way.

He made a flamboyant gesture for her to go first, which made her giggle. He watched her go, stared at her bum for a few seconds and then caught up with her.

*

They walked around the church and into the market square, down through the Rec. and into the Oldland estate.

So, what’re you studying? asked Jim. He was enjoying the walk and the way the low sun made her hair glow, but the silence was making him uncomfortable.

Business, but I’m still not sure what to do when I leave college. I want to do something with my mind, maybe in marketing or something.

He nodded, struggling to think of something to say. Marketing, eh?

So what about you?

Computer science. Most people on my course want to write or play games, but I think web technologies are going to stay huge and I want to get in there, so I’m planning to be a Java programmer.

She flicked her hand over her head and laughed.

He smiled. Sorry, I spend all day surrounded by fellow geeks and I end up talking like it all the time. I don’t think my mum has understood a word I’ve said since I was about sixteen.

My dad’s a finance manager, so I’m alright in that direction. He can explain stuff to me.

They crossed the road, heading towards the brook.

So, what do you do when you’re not studying your business manuals?

Not a lot, I tend to keep pretty much to myself. Me and Dad watch TV, I like to watch videos and listen to music.

What does your mum do?

She tucked more hair behind her ear. She’s…erm...

Jim quickly realised he’d said something wrong. You don’t have to say, if you don’t want.

No, it’s fine. My mum’s not around any more, that’s all.

He saw the glassy look her eyes had taken on and decided to plough on. It’s okay, Nadia, divorce is quite common these days.

She stopped and looked at him. They didn’t get a divorce, James. She died, nearly five years ago.

Shit! Now what did he say? Sorry, I didn’t realise. He wanted to reach out and touch her arm but didn’t know if it’d be the right thing to do or not.

I never told anyone, how could you know?

Well, sorry anyway. What did she die of?

Cancer.

Great, he thought, now where do I go? That’s terrible.

Nadia nodded. It certainly was. Look, do you mind if we keep going?

No, no, that’d be good.

And change the subject?

Consider it changed, he said. So, what’s your favourite colour?

*

A small wooden bridge, built years ago but still sturdy, connected the Oldland estate with some farm fields that led up to the A14. They crossed it, called the cows over and then stepped back when the clouds of flies overtook them. Finding some twigs, they began to play pooh sticks.

I’m enjoying this.

What, winning at pooh sticks all the time?

She laughed. No, I mean this evening, walking about and talking. I was really nervous about tonight and I didn’t want anything to go wrong and I didn’t want to do anything I didn’t want to.

You were nervous? I was shitting bricks.

Lovely.

He looked at her, to see if he’d offended her but she was staring at the water.

I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. It was getting dark now and he looked at his watch — 9:15. What time do you have to get back?

Well I don’t want to be down here when it gets dark, that’s a fact.

We could tell one another ghost stories.

I think not.

I know some crackers.

I’m sure you do, James.

Call me Jim, please.

She looked at him and smiled. Okay, Jim, I’m sure you do, I just don’t want to hear them.

They played a couple more games of pooh sticks and then he led her back into the Oldland.

Do you fancy doing this again?

Nadia wiped her hands on her jeans. Only so long as we pick twigs that aren’t full of sap.

Agreed. What about tomorrow? We could go to the cinema if you want, there’s a horror film on at the flea pit that might be good.

Her face was a blur in the gloom. Okay, I’d like that.

Do you want me to walk you home?

Can do, she said and led him there.

*

By the time they reached Nadia’s house, there was a nip in the air and she was walking with her arms folded across her chest.

This is it, she said, stopping outside of a mid-terrace with a white double glazed door.

Should he make his move now? He really wanted to kiss her. Would she be expecting it? What would she do?

Do you want me to come and get you? he said.

No, if you meant the cinema on Russell Street, I’ll meet you there.

That’s the one. The film starts at seven thirty.

Meet you there at seven then, okay?

That’s great, Nadia. And thank you for tonight, I’ve really enjoyed myself.

She reached into her bag and took out her key.

They stared at one another, each deciding whether the other was going to lean in for a kiss. Finally, Nadia kissed him quickly on the cheek and unlocked the door.

Bye, Jim, thanks for a lovely night.

Bye. He watched her shut the door, then turned slowly and began to walk up her street, heading for home. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully and couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.

Chapter 3

Jim didn’t see Nadia in college the next day, even though he looked for her when he could. His term project was due in a fortnight and he still had a lot of coding to do so he spent most of the day in the computer suite, the blinds drawn against the bright summer sun.

He stayed on for half an hour, collected his stuff and walked home. He had a car, a beat-up Fiat Panda that spent more time off the road than on it, but on days like this he enjoyed walking to college. He loved summer, the crisp smell of the mornings and the mist that clung to the ground early on, and he liked to see girls walking along in skimpy clothes.

His route home took him through the town centre and, today, he veered off and headed for the garage where Danny worked.

Davis Garage was on a side street and, although they had a great reputation and his dad swore by the place, Jim always thought it looked a little down-at-heel. He walked through the main gates, two huge sheets of corrugated iron painted racing green, and skirted the cars waiting for jobs, making his way to the workshop. Danny was standing under a ramped-up car, banging on the engine block.

Hey, Danny.

Danny turned, saw Jim and smiled and then looked around for his boss. Not spotting him, he picked up a rag, wiped his hands off and ducked out from under the ramps.

Hey, Jimbo, how’s it hanging?

To the left, as always.

Danny chuckled. So, how did it go with Nadia then?

Jim felt embarrassed and didn’t really understand why. Unless, of course, he felt more for Nadia than he was aware of. It went well, it really did.

So where did you go? Danny was still wiping his hands on the rag, looking around for his boss.

Not far. We met up and walked down to that little bridge near the Oldland estate.

Danny rolled his eyes. Tell me you’re joking.

No, it was nice, said Jim and now he really