Angel Stories - Short Story Collection

By Michael Lynes

Angel Stories - six-story omnibus collection by Michael Lynes. This eBook Bundle features the stories: My Angel Comes, The Tree House, Sunset Beach and a special edition of My Father's Hands. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Lynes
• Release date: Apr 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386594444

Michael Lynes

MICHAEL LYNES is the Award-Winning Author of The Blood Series. To date, the series has won the New Apply Literary, Indie BRAG Medallion, Readers Favorite for FANTASY and most recently the IAN Book of the Year Selection for Fantasy. The series begins with the novella "It's in the Blood" and continues with Destroyer's Blood. NEW release Book Two - FIRST BLOOD is due out on November 1st 2019. Book One - "Destroyer's Blood"  Reviewed By Christian Sia for Readers' Favorite Destroyer's Blood: The Adventures of Devcalion: "a gripping fantasy with strong hints of Greek mythology." Meet Devcalion, "Dev," a demigod, son of Prometheus and nephew of Zeus. He has a telepathic sword and a very close friend called Betrayer, "Tray". When we encounter Dev, he and his friend are climbing up Half Dome. An encounter with Hermes changes everything, driving Dev to the last place he wants to be -- Mt. Olympus. Dev and Tray are pulled into a war they never bargained for. With the darkest power in the universe bent on wreaking havoc, do they have any chance of surviving?  Destroyer's Blood has been awarded the Silver Medal for Fantasy in the Readers Favorite Awards for 2019 and has won an Indie B.R.A.G. Medallion for Fantasy. It also won the Solo Medalist in the New Apple Summer eBook Awards for 2019. Book Two - "First Blood" will be released in November of 2019. His short story collection, "The Fat Man Gets Out of Bed", was chosen solo Medalist Winner in the 2017 New Apple Summer Indie Book awards.  His memoir, "There Is A Reaper: Losing a Child to Cancer", was an Indie B.R.A.G. Gold Medallion Honoree , a silver-medal winner Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards for Memoir, a medalist in the New Apple Book Awards for Memoir, and a finalist in Independent Author Network Book of the Year award and the Beverly Hills Book Awards. Most recently Mr. Lynes has been a Contributing Author to the 2019 Ghostly Rites Anthology. Mr. Lynes was awarded a BSEE degree in Electrical Engineering from Stevens Institute of Technology and currently works as an embedded software engineer. He has four sons, has been married for over thirty years, and currently lives with his wife and youngest son in the beautiful secluded hills of Sussex County, New Jersey.

Book preview

Angel Stories – Short Story Collection

Introduction

Author’s word:

Welcome to Angel Stories – a collection of tales that explore the relationship between the spirit and the physical, the soul and eternity, life. . .death and the space that exists between them.

Some of these stories are intensely personal – some are drawn entirely from whole cloth. I will leave it up to you to figure out which.

It is my hope that in reading these tales you might find a thread, perhaps an echo, of these miraculous dynamisms in your own life, or in the lives of those you love or have loved you.

—Michael Lynes

The Tree House

From up here everything looks so different. I feel safe, above it all. The air is cold, but sweet. I am free.

MOTHER TOLD ME ABOUT this place, before she left. See that Tree? she’d said, her voice a tight whisper. That one, there...just past the grey rocks?

No..., I’d said, on tiptoe, peeking over the faded sill.

That one, her eyes bright, her fearful voice murmured low in my ear, ...there. Crouching low behind me, sighting along my skinny arm, dirty forefinger extended.

I saw it...far across the low valley, tall, grey-brown, crowned with dark leaves and hidden by rock. Its trunk was wide and smooth, save for one broken limb. Too thin for his hand, but low enough...a finger-tip-stretch-climb. Above, she whispered, pointing, ...just there...a foot-hold, small...too small for booted feet. Her eyes grew wide. And then, around the back...almost lost to sight, another like it.

My mind followed her words, imagination my guide. A small stretch...then a larger bough, I thought. My eyes followed the sinuous track, upward, into shadowed heights.

Her hand clutched my arm, cold fingers trembling through my tattered shift. There is a secret place, she hissed, A place to hide, made long ago. Her eyes bored into mine, dark, intense, willing me to listen. "If ever you have to run...run there."

I nodded, not comprehending, only knowing that she needed me to agree. Then she whirled me away, the sound of his boots on the stoop striking her dumb. I burrowed beneath the pile of threadbare rags where I slept, not daring to move as her voice was raised against his. Later, the sounds of her sobbing lulled me to sleep. The next morn she was gone. For weeks afterward he seemed careful, looking at me long under lowered brows. His lips would be pressed into a thin line, daring me to ask the unspoken question. I never did.

Then the men came, tall men, riding on sleek horses, badges winking bright on their clean blue shirts. Their eyes were hard for him...pitiful and kind for me. They asked him many questions, but he dropped his gaze, never meeting their eyes. He shook his head, eyes boring into mine, ice blue, willing my silence. With one word he answered them. Lost. Heart sick to the core, I ached to cry out, to denounce his lie. But her words stilled my tongue.

At last the men left. Darkness gathered and the arms of night reached out from the cold hills. He sat silent now, eyes burning, his jaw grim and set. I crouched in my corner, eyes fixed upon his motionless form. At last he turned toward me, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. They’ll nawt be back. He laughed. Yer time’s cum now. His feral gaze ran over my body and he grunted low in his throat. I trembled, half-known fear keen in my breast, but he turned away again and sought his flask.

The gloom outside grew; the wind rose with it. The lone candle guttered in the chill breeze, its wan light glittering upon the half empty bottle. The spirit lay heavy on his breath and body. He stared at me, flame darkening his face, one eye glinting. Cum th’dawn, he slurred, ...you’ll be mine.

I froze...my legs felt like water, heart thundering in my chest, but his head drooped and he laid it upon the table. A blank numbness filled my mind, cold and dark.

Sudden then, I heard a whisper. Come...

My eyes started open, as though from a dream. It was Mother’s voice.

I am waiting for you. Be patient. When he sleeps...join me in the Tree.

The wind howled and gibbered. The candlelight threw mad shadows upon the loveless walls. One great gust battered against the rotted siding, extinguishing the pale flame. Shadow covered all. Not daring to breathe, I uncoiled my body. My legs shook and I crawled, not trusting them to carry me. His chair lay between me and the door. Had he fastened the latch? I crept along the wall, unseen in the darkness. Every creak of the floorboards stopped my heart, rang in my ears like church bells. I rose to my knees and twisted the knob. With a soft groan, it turned.

Free, my heart sang, but no. The door must still be opened. I feared a squeak from the hinges or a breath of chill air might rouse him, but he did not stir. As silent as a shade, I slipped through, pressed the door back into its frame and lay, exhausted, upon the cold earth. The stars shone like jewels, pure and white, untouched by the filth in which I groveled.

I heard your voice Mother. I am coming to be with you now. Show me the way.

I crawled into the night. The barren, hard-packed earth gave way to weeds and then rank grass. I rose up, the better to make my way forward, pushing through dead thickets and brambles. All was lightless, there was no moon and I was soon lost. The firmament wheeled above me. The night was endless.

Suddenly I stopped, eyes-wide, staring. The Tree... It rose before me, tall, a black shadow twisting against the pale stars.

Come now, my Child.  

A whisper, barely heard, perhaps imagined?

I climbed up onto