Battle of the Blood Moons

By Diane Shauer

Humanity lies at the center of an inter-dimensional conflict as old as time. On one side stand the demons of the great void, corrupting, harvesting, and feeding on human souls. Arrayed against the darkness are the illumine races, beings of light residing in the eleventh dimension.

Everyone on earth has a stake in this war. Knowingly or not, no one stays neutral. Humanity's every act shifts the balance in this unending struggle, pushing further into the light—or pulling back into the darkness.

In the midst of a messy divorce, Deidre Kollister discovers her sacred role in this hidden, vicious conflict. A sonic warrior of light, Deidre is one of twelve souls who agreed on a perilous mission before birth: to prevent the upcoming soul harvest, a terrible event set to begin with an ancient celestial sign.

Twelve extraordinary people stand against a legion of inter-dimensional demons. The odds are stacked against Deidre and her new allies. If they succeed, the world may finally find peace. If they fail, the ancient war will end with a demonic feeding frenzy and humanity's eternal enslavement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Shauer
• Release date: Jun 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310471766

Diane Shauer

Diane Shauer grew up with three brothers in a southern suburb of Chicago, Illinois.Through a diverse set of careers, from a lab tech to a real estate consultant then finally working in executive corporate environment, she has been provided with a lifetime of study and understanding of human nature. This fuels her imagination and passion for writing. After taking an extensive writing course, she was hooked on becoming an author, her passion since the age of ten.Diane enjoys a variety of genres including science fiction, science fantasy and the paranormal. Her 2014 novel, Battle of the Blood Moons, shows her passion for imaginative story plots and memorable characters.

Book preview

Battle of the Blood Moons

By

Diane Shauer

Copyright

Battle of the Blood Moons

By Diane Shauer

Copyright © 2014 Diane Shauer

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Act, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or stored in a database, or private retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

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Author’s Note:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to:

Omar, the best brother, a sister could ever have.

In this lifetime and…beyond

(all the angels knew his name).

And

My one and only true love, Kenny.

Acknowledgments:

Many Thanks to:

My Beautiful, loving, understanding daughter Mazsa for always being there for me.

And

Ryan, without his help this novel could not have been possible.

And

Beth, for understanding why I couldn’t pull myself away to meet for lunch or dinner.

Table of Contents

Beginning

Copyright

Author’s Note

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1 The Unveiling

Chapter 2 The Connection

Chapter 3 The Omniscians

Chapter 4 Actions Have Consequences

Chapter 5 Follow the Passion

Chapter 6 Internal Conditions

Chapter 7 Becoming Lighter

Chapter 8 The Ancient Deception

Chapter 9 Team Building

Chapter 10 Moment of Truth

Chapter 11 The Grand Deceiver

Chapter 12 Quantum Entanglement

Chapter 13 Beyond the Visible

Chapter 14 The Great Void

Chapter 15 Toning for Freedom

Chapter 16 The Clandestine Letters

Chapter 17 Letting Go

Chapter 18 Signs in the Sky

Chapter 19 The Lost City

Chapter 20 Love Never Dies

Chapter 21 Waiting for Battle

Chapter 22 Blood Moon Rising

Chapter 23 Solar Eclispe

Chapter 24 Battle of the Blood Moon

Chapter 25 Uniting Humanity

Chapter 1

The Unveiling

You can do this. Don’t think about it just do it! she says. Standing hunched over studying the feathers of the dead black bird lying on the asphalt surface of her driveway. Her eyes scan the front lawns of the homes next to hers, on both sides and across the street. Only her driveway has this unexpected somber situation. What happened to you? she asks the lifeless bird, squatting down beside it to get a closer look. Searching suspiciously for a hint of evidence of what may have caused its demise. There is no trace of blood, no puncture wounds from bullets or teeth, or any sign of disease. It appears as if it’s sleeping, like it landed on her driveway and fell asleep. Worries of the decaying creature’s body attracting a hungry animal creeps into her thoughts, she tells the bird, I can’t leave you here …you poor thing. Her mind shifts back to the morbid task of removing the lifeless feathered creature from her driveway. The more she thinks about picking up something dead, the more nauseous and lightheaded she becomes. Images pop into her mind of a hungry coyote following the dead bird’s scent that is looming invisibly through the neighborhood, leading it right to her driveway. The image of plucked out feathers and pieces of gore all over her driveway, reluctantly motivates her to action. Ew, yuck! Oh God, please help me. Building up the courage to remove the carcass she takes three deep breaths and shuts her eyes tight.

Just don’t think about it, she repeats while covering the body with a plastic bag, trying to shift her focus from how its life came to an end, as she scoops it up. Through the plastic, she can feel the soft feathers on the bird’s body stiff from rigor mortis. Her fingers move fast as she struggles to tie up the bag in several knots. A nervous tremor in her hands hinders her nimble fingers. Sealing up the bird’s remains takes longer than she has anticipated, as the tension in her body filters in and expands through her nervous system. She manages to make two tight knots with considerable effort. A disorienting dizziness from shallow breathing is overwhelming her ability to move as fast as she would like, at the speed she is commanding her body to respond to. She fights with all her might to stay steady as she stands up, unable to stay in the proximity of the creature’s expired body for one more second. She grips the knotted handles with two fingertips holding the bag away from her body as far as her arm can stretch, racing to get rid of it as fast as possible.

She swings open the gate to the fence leading to her backyard, to get to the garbage can placed behind it. Thank goodness garbage pick-up day is not far off, she says, trying to find a silver lining or anything positive in this random ill-fated incident. Closing the garbage can lid her gaze roams across her backyard, to her horror there is a multitude of dead black birds scattered all over the lawn, her breath momentarily is sucked away shocking her into complete silence, her body stands motionless as her eyes take in the frightful devastation. Her mind speeding with thoughts coming in too fast to make sense, her heart hammers in her chest, a burst of adrenaline surges through her body stinging with an electrical jolt like being struck by lightning, launches her into maximum panic mode. Instinctively she steps backwards right into the garbage can that knocks her off balance, she stumbles to lean on the fence to catch herself. All the while holding her eyes on the scattered dead birds, when something comes into her peripheral vision. She is startled by a gray bump next to a tree that catches her eye, unable to make out what it is, slowly and cautiously she walks over to get a closer look.

Oh no! It’s a squirrel. What happened here? She looks around her yard at all the dead birds, realizing they look exactly like the one she found on her driveway. Focusing back down on the lifeless squirrel she asks, What killed you? …You poor thing. Noticing the open eyes and mouth on the dead animal’s face, she anxiously looks for clues of what it may have died from. A deep inexorable fear of death makes her body tremble and her breathing rapid and depthless. The mind-boggling magnitude of countless dead critters overwhelms her racing mind, Oh my God! Oh my God! I feel like I’m going to pass out. Is this really happening? She puts her hand over her racing heart, closes her eyes and tries taking deep breaths to calm herself. Opening her eyes she scans the entire yard surveying the horrific scene. I think I need some help, I can’t possibly clean this up all by myself. She quickly climbs onto the deck attached to the back of the house. Opening the sliding glass patio door to the family room, she hesitates momentarily before entering. Now, elevated on the deck she takes in the full view of the senseless massacre. Shaking her head in total disbelief, silently wishing she could understand the purpose or the cause of this unfortunate catastrophe.

Picking up a cordless phone thinking out loud she says, Maybe I should report this. But to whom? The police… the village office… the local news station… the newspaper? Maybe this has already been reported? I can’t possibly be the only one with dead birds and squirrels. The grief of the dead creatures in her yard magnifies the empty feeling of living alone. Triggering memories of the days when she could ask for anything and Mark would take care of it. For seven years of their fifteen-year marriage this had been their home. Mark had been the ‘go to person’ for everything and anything that needed improvement, replacement or mending inside or outside of the house. There was rarely a need to call any type of repair-person. I sure wish he was here, she whispers to the empty room.

She plays back memories of decorating for holidays, enjoying summer barbecues in the backyard, friends popping in and out. Mark planting annuals in the spring and perennials in the fall. The house was always very well maintained, there were never any problems that went unattended. Yeah! When there were two of us, her thoughts scream out in protest.

Now, neither the house nor any holiday holds the slightest inkling of joy. Celebrations and social gatherings have become just another activity to get through. She dreads the uncomfortable, awkward lonesomeness that accompanies her at parties; where being around couples intensifies the loneliness, which is easily avoidable when she is alone.

Mark was gone and with him went the joy from her life along with the familiar, the routine and a sense of belonging. All missing from the current reality she now calls, her life. Everything now, is mechanically planned and tedious with an undertone of uncertainty. Motivation takes mindful, forced effort. This is foreign, she is used to feeling comfortable with her life with uncomplicated motivation.

Deidre Kollister is alone, and she sure feels it. She has long since lost contact with everyone she would call real friends, a countless abundance of friendships that were long standing until Mark came into her world. Invitations that were rarely rejected when she was single, after she married Mark were unceremoniously and mostly innocently declined. Her usual excuse was because they had other plans. The excuse she trusted to be the most understood and accepted without question or the slightest skepticism was, ‘Mark will be working’ when the other excuse failed, this one always did the job. Within her first year of marriage, she routinely rejected all invitations until eventually, they completely stopped coming.

How could she tell anyone that he was the jealous, controlling type? I knew this would happen, she hears herself admit, but also knew she couldn’t stop prioritizing Mark’s feelings no more than she could fly to another planet. A costly price to pay and there was only one to blame. This was her own doing.

Now, she has acquaintances at best, of course some are Mark’s friends who probe her for updates to report back to Mark what she’s up to. They seem to enjoy seeing her in anguish, delightfully entertained by the scandal that plagues her once charmed life. To this, she prefers solitude.

Deidre is a woman that to the world looks like she has it all. Her presence unintentionally flaunts success. Classically, she exudes an abundance of self-confidence that oozes with optimistic enthusiasm. She works hard at maintaining this facade that she executes with master level expertise, effortlessly convincing to even the harshest critic, like most everyone else, she, is her most offensive and harshest critic.

Her thoughts turn to how she consistently attracts the sort of fellow who needs rescue, financial or emotional, or in this case both. Only to be heartlessly discarded after becoming firmly grounded on his feet, as if she had no part in his betterment. She could only helplessly observe a stranger emerge and unattractively trade places with the man she loved and called, Baby. She reconciles with a deep sigh, concentrating on all the faith she can conceptualize. She hears herself say, People come into your life to give a gift, just as you give a gift to their life.

Staring through the sliding glass door, she looks around at all the dead birds peppered all across her lawn, like black clumps of dirt or large black rocks. Her eyes dart over to the dead squirrel, still trying to understand she walks back out into the yard to investigate a little deeper.

Looking down at the dead squirrel it appears so harmless and innocent, certainly not an aggressive animal by any means, not like a charging bear that’s for sure. Looking around at all the black birds they also appear equally harmless and innocent. Glancing back down at the squirrel, sorrow consumes her sensibility for a split-second and without thinking she reaches out to softly run her hand along its furry body. The thought of it being dead urgently snaps her back to the bitter reality that it’s decomposing. Coming into clearer consciousness, she hastily dismisses the urge to pet it. It may have died from a disease, one I do not want to catch! I have to get these animals out of here. Oh my God, how am I going to do that? I can't do this by myself, she hears herself say out loud. Suddenly, a sense of shame overwhelms her for indulging in self-pity. Come on Deidre. Don't be a baby! You can do this. Just pretend there is NO ONE, ANYWHERE, to help you, she says in a harsh tone scolding herself.

She doesn't have to pretend, there really is no one to help her. No one's help she wanted or would ever ask for. No one that ever wanted to help her do anything. No one she can count on being there for her. She really is alone.

Okay, I need a bucket and a shovel. Oh! And a garbage bag.

Her body now moves with purpose. Her mind is set firm on stepping up and going toe-to-toe with this challenge. She marches back into the family room putting the phone back in its cradle, quickly walking through the door leading to the attached garage on the other side of the family room.

Figuring out a step-by-step plan for this morbid task of removing the dead creatures, her eyes survey the contents of her garage. While looking for anything else she may need for this disturbing undertaking, the silence in the garage slowly grips her. She stands motionless for a moment as if something invisible may see her if she moves. The silence looms larger. Instinctively, she mentally struggles to ignore her intuition, the silence overpowers her and continues luring her to listen as the garage overflows with a living silence. An ethereal, deafening silence claims the space demanding her sense of safety. Torturing her over-active imagination to sense an unseen presence. She feels eyes on her. Her arms begin to tingle from the goosebumps raising the tiny hairs on her arms, the hairs on the back of her neck are also standing on end from static electricity. She looks down at the front of her shirt to see if it’s clinging from static, no, it’s not. She touches the spoiler on the back of her car to see if she will get a shock, no shock. She knows being alone for too long can often bring these uninvited feelings that are swiftly becoming more familiar, with each passing day.

It doesn’t take much these days to scare her. The telephone ringing, catching her reflection in a mirror as she walks by. Hell, even her shadow scares her if she focuses on it. It seems alive; her imagination gives it supernatural muscle that can overpower her if she isn’t careful.

Get a grip, it’s just your imagination, she demands. Trying her best to convince her mind, but she doesn’t believe not even for a single second that it’s just in her imagination. Turning her attention back to the gruesome task she comments out loud, I’ll need my overalls to protect my clothes. I think I better wear rubber gloves, the animals may have died from something contagious. Searching around the garage, she remembers her overalls and a brand new pair of rubber gloves are in the basement, where she had used them to pack up boxes of items she is planning on donating.

She opens the interior wooden door leading back into the family room. Stepping in, she visually scans taking a mental inventory. Monitoring her intuition, checking to see if she picks up on anything not of this spiritual plane. The space seems normal.

Walking towards the basement passing near the kitchen she decides to get something to drink. Grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge, while taking a sip she glances at the digital clock above the sink, it shows 8:38 a.m. After a couple more sips, she calculates her next break will be around 2:00 p.m.

The basement is half-finished and half-unfinished. With a storage crawl space that is like a concrete cave, elevated three feet above the cement floor. A washer and dryer sits at one end and a deep freezer at the other. The basement has seven years of accumulation, plus countless boxes that she decided through the decades, she just couldn’t for some reason or another part with. She toted these precious boxes of memories from previous seasons of her life from place-to-place.

This accumulation is out of control! she announces in a tone of disgust. Realizing her past is choking her life. Do I really want to keep my past trailing me into my future? What do I get out of keeping all this stuff? I don’t even remember what’s in most of these boxes.

She looks at all the boxes with serious contemplation. They are neatly stacked against the wall next to the crawl space, leading straight up to the ceiling.

Such a nice June day, here I am stuck removing dead critters and packing up stuff to donate. Come on, let’s take a bite out of this elephant, she says, trying to encourage herself. Talking out loud makes her feel less alone. She speaks as if someone is in the room. Listening to her negative pity-party self talk, influencing her to follow up a cynical comment with a positive far more productive statement.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she sees a bookshelf. Thoughts rush in, instantly she finds herself reminiscing of the day she placed it in this exact corner, although it was a hectic and physically taxing day, it was one of the most happiest days of her life.

This was going to be their dream home, an expression of who they were as individuals and as a couple. Combining two houses into one home took delicate compromise, along with countless sacrifices. In the end, the best compromise was to get rid of most of the furniture and start over. Except for the basement, an eclectic combination of both their homes, which would serve as temporary stand-ins until they could figure out what the basement would become.

Seven years later, it is exactly the same. With the exception of piles of magazines and messy stacks of papers, waiting with endless patience for the day that would see them properly put away.

Letting go and moving on has become a pattern, but never gets any easier. At forty-five, she is tired of starting over. She cringes at the thought of becoming another member of the Tales of Love Gone Ballistic Society. Where each comes fully loaded with a saga of true love annihilation, lost battles and the ex-monster is always left to roam the earth doing what it pleases.

On occasion, she ventures outside to breathe in the fresh air of the world and tries to do something outside of the house. On these days, people’s actions are on display to remind her why she has stayed inside for so long. People constantly fight over trivial things that cause hard feelings. Then, there are the couples having romantic little getaways on park benches, as if no one would ever take notice. These observations flood Deidre with memories of being with Mark again.

Opening a cabinet door to grab her overalls and rubber gloves, a camera flash of light explodes, temporarily blinding her. Closing her eyes for a quick moment she thinks, maybe the sun reflected off of something. Even though she knows the basement window-wells are shrouded with bushes that prohibit sunlight.

The last couple of days has quickly made her an expert at comforting her over analyzing thoughts. Her creative explanations of light flashes and dashing shadows improves with each occurrence. They are practically simultaneously translated into sensible, excusable, normal occurrences.

DING DONG, the doorbell belts out.

Deidre’s body jolts, from a rush of adrenaline that hits her like a high-voltage electrical shock. Her eyes snap wide open, with her heart slamming in her chest she runs up the stairs. Attempting to gain her composure, she clears her throat while smoothing back her hair, before opening the door.

Hello, I’m with Lakeland Cable, you have a 9 o’clock service call, says the tall man wearing a uniform with a name patch that reads: ADAM.

Hi, yes that’s right, thanks for being prompt. Please come inside, she says, trying to hold her voice steady. Still seeing spots from the flash of light, out of breath from the sprint up the stairs, she has forgotten all about the cable service call she scheduled at the beginning of the week.

That was six days ago, a lot has happened since then! She stops the mental beating after that thought.

Adam puts his clipboard under his left arm and slides light blue mesh covers over his shoes. Deidre explains leading the way to the family room, All the televisions have the same problem. I watch the one in this room the most. I sure hope you can fix the problem without it costing me a gazillion dollars, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it’s not the television causing the issue, I really don’t want to buy a new TV, if you know what I mean.

I should know pretty quick which component is malfunctioning and how to solve the problem. If it’s the cable I can fix it, if it’s the TV, it’s your call to repair it or buy a new one. Turning on the television, he checks the paperwork on the clipboard. The problem states: COLOR DISTORTION.

He surfs channel after channel looking for the distortion, after a dozen or so channels he asks, Does it happen on certain channels? he continues channel surfing. No, it’s on every channel. Does it happen at certain times of the day? No, the distortion started a couple of weeks ago and it’s been a persistent problem.

Adam still surfing from channel to channel says with mindful hesitation, I can’t see the problem the picture is clear, the cable box and the TV are functioning perfectly. He begins to search behind the television to ensure all the connectors are well-connected to both of the devices. Then he examines the cable cord running into the wall, he finds there is nothing wrong with it.

Handing the remote to Deidre he asks, Can you please put it on a channel you usually watch?

Deidre still thinking about the flash of light searching for a sensible explanation, breaks her focus. Changing the channel to one, she frequently watches. Flipping it to the local news station that she normally turns on to drown out the silence of the house.

Now, do you see? This problem is on all of them, I hope you can fix it?

Adam looks at Deidre with a curious confused stare, All I can see is a clear picture. What do you see?

Deidre clears her throat, Well, the background is clear, but all the people have neon colors surrounding them with two bodies. One is translucent with rainbow colors around a solid white smaller one, see? Deidre questions, as she changes from channel to channel.

Adam’s body tenses, his jaw clenches grinding from side-to-side. Alarmed he may get a bad service survey. He thinks, he better be nice to this crazy. He needs his job. His boss warned him that if he receives more bad ratings than good ratings this month, he’s done. That was only six days ago, he needs this lady to give him good ratings.

Recently, all of his customers seem to be in bad moods. Whenever one problem is fixed another arises, leading to a higher service bill. Although, Adam can’t