The Moon Wizard: A Selah the Universe Collection: Selah the Universe

By Dean Shearer

A grumpy wizard's putting curses on everybody . . .

Rain and Thunder and Lightning happen to be actual living beings, and they're not very nice . . . 

One writer has a really bad addiction to writing: watch an old man write himself to death . . .

 Melody the angel is having a really hard time passing an exam . . .

 And then there's a story about a stupid vampire. 

This is a collection you won't want to miss. Seven Selah the Universe stories for the price of two. 

Includes: 
A Grim Reaping
Melody
The Writer
The Truth
Bloodstar
The Moon Wizard
Rain and Thunder and Lightning
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rattleghoul Press
• Release date: Feb 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393199625

Dean Shearer

Dean Shearer is the author of many fictitious works such as The Cat, The World is Magic, and the short stories series Selah, the Universe. He wishes there was more to say about himself (he likes studying religions and walking barefoot and reading and writing in multiple genres and reading and writing a lot) but there's just too much to say.

Book preview

The Moon Wizard

THE MOON WIZARD

A SELAH THE UNIVERSE COLLECTION

DEAN SHEARER

SHEARER SHORTS

A GRIM REAPING

Kurt Mayflower had never been hit by a horse running at lightspeed before. He had never been hit by a horse running at any speed.

Good thing, he thought, because that would really hurt.

And then he got out of bed.

Shit, he thought, once his feet hit the cold stone floor. It was another day. Another day of work.

The room was dark and cold. Last night he had been too tired to get up and put more wood on the fire.

How would this day go? Any better than the others? For once would he fail to do his duty?

Nah. It would be the same as all the others. He knew this because he was walking across the room to the stove, where he would toss five or six handfuls of pine needles inside, then a couple logs, then light a match and flick it in, which he did every morning.

Yeah, it was a bad start. His heart was already beating at lightspeed, and his mind was racing.

He watched the match ignite the pine needles.

The fire spread to the logs. Kurt Mayflower stared into the fire, his vision blurred, the pine needles popping and cracking, and he thought about a horse.

A fast horse.

Lightspeed.

Whoosh! It would fly by—so fast that you didn’t even have time to know you had been hit. Whoosh! Then bang! Then, on the ground, maybe, just maybe, you’d wonder if, perhaps, your brain had come loose in your head and all your bones had been turned to dust.

Then . . . nothing.

Kurt smiled, nodded solemnly, wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Then he thought, Wake from your dreaming, boy (a phrase that his now-dead father had used at least twice a day), and, as best he could, he woke from his dreaming.

He got dressed. He went outside, closing the door behind him—click.

It was sprinkling Rain. He looked up into the sky, seeing nothing. There must be some thick, thick clouds up there, he thought, because he saw no moon and no stars, and the only lights he could see were the torches placed all around the village, glowing orange.

There was a flash in the clouds above, a bright flash, and a boom, a loud boom, which brought Kurt’s mind back to a loose brain and bones turned to dust. In that instant Kurt saw the entire village in perfect detail.

Then, in an instant, the world darkened again.

Kurt walked through the torch-lit village, the flames hissing when the raindrops hit them, walking down cobblestone paths that clicked under his boots. He was the only one outside, and he felt lonely, but in a good way.

Today wouldn’t be so bad. Not great, but not bad.

He would be fine.

It began to pour.

Jonathan Pubman unlocked the door of his pub, The Fat Stallion, which was more or less a decent name.

"Nah, damn bad name," he muttered as he went in, hanging his cloak on the cloak rack.

Today was an awful day.

Immediately he got to work. Work. Pff. Work. And then he giggled.

It was an odd giggle, high and chirpy. He was famous for it. Whenever he laughed at something funny, everyone stopped laughing at the funny thing and started laughing at him.

He went behind the bar and lit candles, which were standing along the bar in their wooden holders, wax of every color dripping down the sides, and as he lit the last candle (burning his finger and scowling) he wondered why he couldn’t have been born to someone with the surname Comedian. After all, he was funny.

He could see himself out in a barn, with a megaphone pressed to his lips, the crowd waiting eagerly, tapping their feet, leaning forward anxiously. And then, finally: "NYAH-NYAH-NYAHHHH!" And the crowd goes wild! They reach into their pockets, come out with a handful of clinking coins, and chuck them at him like they have never chucked coins before—because they hadn’t, because, in Profient, there were absolutely no comedians. And that was a tragedy . . .

As quickly as he could he prepared the place, laying some mugs and shot glasses on the bar, stuffing a crusty rag in his back pocket, throwing open the curtains at the front window. Rain smacked the window.

He turned away from the window and started across the room.

A rap came on the door.

Not hopen yet, said Jonathan Pubman, and paused halfway across the room. He had bushy, dark eyebrows, and they cast black shadows on his face.

Please, begged the voice.

Ten minutes.

No. No, said the voice, which seemed quite familiar. It’s pouring out here, Jon, I’m soaking wet. Jonathan noted that the guy called him by his name. A regular, he supposed. Was there a regular that always came too early? Nah, said Jonathan.

What?

Talkin to merself, said Jonathan.

"Jon, please let me in. I’m so cold."

Jonathan was saying, Ten minutes, and, quietly, Jackass, when Thunder banged.

Outside, through the window, in Lightning’s light, he saw a figure with a hood pulled over its head, hands cupped around its face, peering in through the window.

And the person had blond hair flowing down their face, and their cloak was white. And Jonathan thought he saw two pointy ears in the