Vampire Dreams

By Katherine X. Rylien

Nine stories, most—but not all—featuring vampires. A vampire and a sorceress take a wrong turn while evading pursuit, ending up someplace they don’t want to be. An old man with bad intentions lures two little girls into a deserted playground. On a lighter note, a vampire reluctantly shares his old farmhouse with an eccentric sculptor (she has a lease).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katherine X. Rylien
• Release date: Oct 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463414118

Katherine X. Rylien

Katherine X. Rylien began writing fiction as a teenager, in spiral-bound notebooks (her teachers assumed she was taking notes). She completed the first draft of Blood Relations, recounting the early life of Renee Cadieux-Smith, in 1980. Over the next decade, she wrote two sequels, Vicissitudes and Revisitations.Forty years later, after a plethora of other adventures, Katherine took these hand-written manuscripts down from the attic during the Covid-19 pandemic. 2020 saw a complete rewrite of all three volumes, with considerable revision for style and detail, yet Renee’s story is essentially unchanged. In the process of preparing the trilogy for publication, Katherine became convinced that there was a fourth book in the series—her answer to the question, “What happens next?”If you enjoy her work, she'd love to hear from you at [e-mail]. Or connect on Facebook. She rarely turns down a friend invite, unless it’s that rich, lonely widower whose backstory is so suspiciously lacking in detail ;-)

Book preview

Vampire Dreams

Katherine X. Rylien

Copyright 2020 Katherine X. Rylien

Smashwords Edition

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Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my editor, Karen MacLeod, for all her assistance and encouragement.

Four of these stories were published previously in Margaret L. Carter’s fanzine, THE VAMPIRE’S CRYPT. A Visit From Paulie, County Fair 2094, and Neverath appeared there, along with an earlier version of Into the Night (Chasing the Twilight).

It would be impossible for me to revisit the Roger stories without remembering fellow author Suzanne Feld, who was surprised that I didn’t look more like Jennifer the first time we met in person.

Cover Art

Main cover image by Igor Link from Pixabay

Blood splatters from OnlyGFX.com

Cover font: BlowBrush by Petar Acanski

Contents

The Unicorn

The Gazebo Cycle:

Into the Night

Laila’s Tale

The Roger Chronicles:

In Residence

A Visit from Paulie

County Fair 2094

Stasis

Beltane at the Headless Turtle

Neverath

The Unicorn

Griff thought the two little girls were as pretty as bright spring flowers. They looked fresh and new, with tiny jewels of water sparkling on their raincoats now that the sun was starting to emerge from the clouds. Their brown hair was neatly braided and fastened with fat worms of yarn, matching the raincoats, one being pink and the other, yellow.

He watched them come out of Samson's Family Grocery and Deli, then rose unsteadily from his seat on the bus stop bench, with its painted advertisement—Be more confident! Meet people! Ballroom, Waltz, Tap! More! Toni Duncan School of dance, couples and singles welcome.

Hi, there! His words were a magical incantation, with the power to stop the children in their tracks. The smaller girl drew back, alarmed. The older one held her ground, looking up at him curiously.

They must be sisters, Griff thought foggily. Those eyes… grey, wide, and fringed with dark lashes. Radiating fragile innocence.

Excuse me. It was hard for him to concentrate, to speak clearly. It had gotten worse since he'd retired. His mind laughed at the lie, made a rhyme of it—retired, fired, can't get re-hired.

Perhaps he should just go home. He couldn't think of anything to say. The magic had failed him. But there were the two little girls, looking at him. They must be freezing! They had nothing on their legs but thin pastel stockings. What could their parents be thinking of? Griff imagined taking one child in each hand and putting them in the pockets of his big, baggy overcoat. They were such little girls. He pulled the coat more firmly around himself—it wasn't really that cold out, but the coat served to cover his tattered clothing, which he often forgot to wash or change. Drinking, stinking, muddles your thinking, his inner voice jeered.

Would you like— His words seemed to crystallize in the air, then shatter, sending fragments all over the street. Momentarily, he saw four little girls, two regarding him warily and sucking their thumbs, two with crossed arms and faintly superior expressions.

They were such pretty little girls. Would you like to see a unicorn? There, it was out; they would probably run away, as they’d been taught to do—and before long, the police would be around to see him. The thought filled him with fear, like a tightly coiled snake. He could smell sour sweat, breath stale with cigarette smoke, disinfectant, urine. Piss, abyss, give me a kiss.

Bad! The smaller girl protested in a shrill voice. Griff flinched. Momma said not to, she said not! She tugged at her sister's hand, trying to draw her away.

It’ll be all right, the older girl replied in a reassuring tone. She turned to Griff. Where's the unicorn?

In the park. It's not far.

The street was deserted after a late spring thundershower, but now that the rain had stopped, Griff wanted to get the two little girls out of sight before somebody came along. Pointing, prying, whisking them away from him. He led them into the park, then stopped behind a stand of trees to wait. The older sister was dragging the younger one down the darkly shimmering asphalt path.

Where?

I'll show you. And he would, knew that he could. He could feel it. Stirring, rising from quiescence.

There was no one in sight, and now, there were trees and shrubs hiding the street from view. He would bring them to the log playhouse in the center of the park; that was where he'd show them the unicorn. He wouldn't ask them to touch it, or try to hurt them. He just wanted them to see.

They were dawdling, strolling along on their short legs as if time were of no importance, when someone could come along at any moment and interfere. He wished he could communicate his impatience to them.

Griff looked back over his shoulder, realizing they had stopped at a bend in the path, where a hollow in the land had allowed a temporary pond to form. The path itself was partially submerged. The older sister was crouched down on the ground, fishing for something in the pocket of her raincoat. As Griff watched, she opened her hand and allowed whatever had been in her pocket to fall into the grass, then looked up and him and smiled.

Mister, the unicorn's over here. Come and see.

No. But he felt as if a magnetic force were dragging him back toward the two girls. He submitted to it reluctantly. No, this way.

Look, see what we have.

The younger sister's cheeks were damp with tears. "Momma said not to, Ree. I want to go home." The older girl ignored her. Griff knelt on the soggy ground, and looked at her collection of—what were they, marbles? They appeared to be made of glass. No two were alike; some were clouded, others, brilliant and luminescent. The colors ranged from soft and translucent to violent swirls that clashed painfully. He reached out to touch one. Perhaps if he scooped the marbles up with his hands, the girls would follow him further on down the path that led to the playhouse.

The older sister caught his hand, still smiling. He felt an excitement as potent as old wine.

Look. There! With her free hand, she pointed—and standing in the water there was a stilt-legged pony, no, a unicorn, its delicately spiraling horn resembling the iridescent shell of a snail. The animal's coat was white and the mane, insubstantial as sea foam, caught the light with pale pink and aqua and violet highlights. The eyes were dark, unfathomable rips in the fabric of reality. Griff found himself unable to move as the unicorn approached him.

When it stood at arm's length from him so that he had to strain his neck to look up into those eyes, it bent its head as if in benediction and touched the tip of its horn to Griff's forehead.

—

Bad, bad, bad, Chrissy kept repeating. She had her hands stuffed into her pockets, and wouldn't look at the old man.

Maria picked up her stones from the ground, and poured them back into her pocket, where they clinked together gently. It's okay, Chrissy. We'll go home now.

"You shouldn't of done it. Momma said!"

We don't have to tell her. Maria reached toward