The Skeleton's Shadow

By Anastasia Rabiyah

Running away from her sorrow in search of a childhood memory that brought her comfort opens up a world of dark possibilities for Rainee Chambers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purple Sword Publications
• Release date: Aug 20, 2009
• ISBN: 9781936165148

Anastasia Rabiyah

Anastasia writes erotic romance, paranormal erotic romance, and dark fantasy. She often crosses genres in order to follow her muses into the darkness where they seek out destiny in all its forms. She believes in fairies, demons, angels, magic, passion, chocolate, supportive friends, e-books, and writing critique groups. Her deepest desire is to pursue her creative dreams and realize them. Every spare moment she devotes to writing for her haunting muses.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

THE SKELETON’S SHADOW

Copyright © 2009 Anastasia Rabiyah. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN 978-1-936165-14-8

Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah

Edited By Traci Markou

Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC

www.PurpleSword.com

Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

The Skeleton’s Shadow

By

Anastasia Rabiyah

To the shadowboy who visited my dreams to tell me his story.

CHAPTER ONE: HOUSE OF DREAMS

Thirty miles outside Elephant Butte, New Mexico

Even though the sunflowers waved at her as she passed them, tears still dribbled down Rainee Chambers’ cheeks. She drove on an old, worn, nearly forgotten highway that was being grand-fathered out by the new I-40. There were no people so far out, only the fields of cheery flowers that failed to catch her attention and pull her from her sorrow. She ran the fingers of her left hand over the crack in the DeSoto’s steering wheel and bit at her lower lip. Her dad had held onto the old car and so many antiques. He had an affinity for old things, and she did as well. Such things spoke of times that would never be again. They made her feel connected to the past and had a magic all their own. It was for that reason she had decided to go to her great grandparents’ house to be alone and work through her sadness. Life could wait. She needed the comfort she had found there as a child—so very long ago—a shadowy comfort she remembered as an imaginary friend. She was sure now that’s all that it was.

Rainee found the house before sunset and parked the car beside the fraying porch. The engine sputtered a bit after she turned the key. She ran her hand across the steering wheel once more, remembering how her dad used to sit her on his lap and drive her in the alley behind her parents’ home in the city. They’d coast up and down that alley for hours, sometimes so long that her mother would come out and stand by the gate with her hands on her hips, scowling. Mom hadn't approved of the old things her father kept. She had affectionately called her dad a packrat, smiling behind the insult. Rainee wiped her eyes and gazed up at the plantation style house. The white paint was peeling, and birds had nested along the beams of the porch. Hornets had built a considerable nest by one of the larger windows which, she was surprised to notice, were all intact.

She got out and walked up the cement steps to the front door. She found the key on her key-ring and set it in the lock. The door creaked open. As she stepped over the threshold, the scent of the place swept over her. It spoke of age, of secrets and stories that she regretted she felt no reason to explore at the moment. Weariness weighed on her. Tomorrow, I’ll look at everything in the morning.

The setting sun lit up the main room, revealing furniture wearing dust-covered sheets like old ghosts. A large spider web hung over the tarnished chandelier. Dust silted the floor, but as she drew her shoe across it, she saw shiny wood beneath she remembered from her childhood visits.

Rainee walked up the stairs to investigate. When she reached the top, the sun had gone down so much that she had to go back for a flashlight. She lugged up her belongings and placed them in the bedroom she used to sleep in. The old, wrought iron, four post bed was covered with linens. She pulled them off and dust billowed into the air. Though the mattress was yellowed from age, it appeared clean enough. She took in the old smell, musty and familiar, like