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    The Patreon Collection, Volume 3
    The Patreon Collection, Volume 3
    The Patreon Collection, Volume 3
    Ebook220 pages3 hours

    The Patreon Collection, Volume 3

    By Stefon Mears

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    About this ebook

    A dozen tales of wonder, from the humorous to the adventurous to the frightening…

    Every month Stefon Mears' Patreon supporters enjoy two new short stories. Stories never published anywhere before. Tales of magic from other worlds, or on our doorstep. Of adventures in deep space, or hidden under the earth. Of deadly monsters -- supernatural, or all too human. All from the creative mind of Stefon Mears, author of the popular Cavan Oltblood, Rise of Magic and Spells for Hire series.

    The Patreon Collection presents those page-turners, whole and unabridged, along with introductions to each story written just for this collection. Volume 3 includes the stories from January-June 2018.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThousand Faces Publishing
    Release dateNov 25, 2018
    ISBN9781386607342
    The Patreon Collection, Volume 3

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      Book preview

      The Patreon Collection, Volume 3 - Stefon Mears

      The Patreon Collection

      The Patreon Collection

      Volume 3

      Stefon Mears

      Thousand Faces Publishing

      Contents

      Foreword

      Too Cold for Black Widows

      Spell Burnt and Sleepless

      Big Kahuna Plays for His Soul

      The Incident on Gamma 7

      The Most Important Sound in Space

      Godforsaken

      Wish Fright

      The Hitchhiking Countess

      The Quality of Darkness

      Drip, Drip, Drip

      Tax Dodge Sanctuary

      And Terror Gave Him Wings

      Sign Up for Stefon's Newsletter

      About the Author

      Also by Stefon Mears

      Foreword

      I know some writers who only ever write in their series. If they start a novel, it’ll be the next book in a series. If they write short stories, those stories will involve characters and settings from their series.

      That’s fine for them. Might even be a good thing. But it’s never really been me.

      Every writer is wired a little differently, and the creative part of my mind demands the freedom to write about whatever it wants, whenever it wants. Means that the moment I finish one book or story in a series, I need to turn my attention elsewhere.

      I deny it that freedom at my peril.

      Of course, contrary as my mind can be at times, just saying things like that might lead to me sitting down and writing a whole trilogy without a break.

      Until then, though, one of the main ways the creative part of my mind likes to play is in short stories. Every story a chance to play in a new world. Meet new characters, and so on.

      And that’s how collections like this one come together. Science fiction and horror, fantasy both light and heavy, this world and other worlds.

      But always, there are the exceptions. Big Kahuna Plays for His Soul takes place in the same Portland metro area where Heath Cyr has his Spells for Hire adventures. The Incident on Gamma 7 takes place in the same galaxy as Stealing from Pirates.

      The biggest exception? The Hitchhiking Countess. When I wrote that story, it had nothing to do with any series. Little did I know that the main character, a truck-driving orcish ex-con named Vic, would come out demanding more and more short stories.

      He wasn’t a series character when I wrote that story. But he will be.

      Happy reading.

      Too Cold for Black Widows

      I love monsters. Horror stories both in print and movies, but especially supernatural horror. And my favorite supernatural stories?

      Monsters.

      The classics, yes, like vampires, werewolves and their ilk, but also new monsters. Monsters that never exited anywhere except the twisted imaginations of the people who tell stories about them.

      So, naturally, I had to twist out a few of my own.

      Funny thing about this particular monster. A few people who have read this story have asked me if it was influenced by a particular, somewhat famous novel. I won’t say which one, because I don’t want to spoil the story (or the novel) for you.

      I can honestly say, though, that this story was completely independent of the more famous work. In fact, I couldn’t even believe the comparison existed, until I read that novel for the first time: this year.

      Yes, I love monsters. But sometimes, even I miss out on some of the famous monster stories.

      The MAX car was as empty as Derrick’s heart.

      That thought alone made him slump onto a seat just inside the sliding door. A bright blue padded seat. Bright yellow pipe handrails, too, everywhere someone might need to stand. So cheerful it looked like a light rail car designed by Ronald McDonald.

      Usually the comparison would have picked Derrick up. He still got a little thrill out of his weekly visits to McDonald’s. A Big Mac with cheese, fries, and a Coke, exactly once a week. A tradition started by his father as a way to celebrate Little League victories and commiserate after losses, but when the season ended they kept on going.

      But that was back in the Bay Area. Might as well have been another life.

      In this life, Derrick was twenty-six years old and all alone in a MAX car at ten o’clock on a cool, May Saturday night. Wrinkling the dark blue silk suit that was supposed to impress Darlene. Pale blue silk tie for the occasion. He’d even bought new, shiny black shoes and a matching belt.

      What a waste.

      And the shoes pinched and squeaked.

      He wished the car would start moving already. He just wanted to go home.

      All but forgotten in his hand hung the dozen red roses he was going to surprise Darlene with for their six-month anniversary.

      Well, he had surprised her. That much had gone according to plan.

      She’d had the nerve to yell at him for coming home early from that tech conference. Even caught in the act, there beside the bed they’d shared so many times. Guy behind her diving for his pants. Darlene on her feet, naked and glistening and disheveled and still beautiful, damn her. Bitching at her roommate Janet for letting Derrick in, and even louder at Derrick for not calling first.

      Not. Calling. First.

      So inconsiderate of him.

      Catching the early flight back from San Jose so he could see her on their anniversary. Grinning like an idiot when he imagined Darlene’s look of happy surprise. Darlene, who had said only hours ago that she was just going to watch a movie with Janet and turn in early.

      He should’ve known something was up by the vindictive smile on Janet’s face when she opened the door. Those two never got along as well as they pretended.

      Derrick’s hands clenched, and the plastic sheath around the roses crinkled. A dozen perfect roses. His special gift, whenever he felt really happy with a woman. Something else his dad had taught him. Derrick could still remember when his mom was alive, and his dad would surprise her with roses every once in a while.

      White ones, to match her creamy Irish skin.

      The roses Derrick held were deep red, like Darlene’s hair.

      He lifted them to his nose. At least they still smelled like roses, instead of sweat and sex.

      Maybe he should have given them to Janet.

      Derrick threw the roses over his shoulder without looking and slumped forward in his seat again, elbows on his knees. An old urine smell, remnant of some past MAXident, eased its way into his awareness.

      Perfect. Just perfect.

      He pressed his palms against his eyes, his fingers in the fringe of his curly black hair. He could still see the fury in her green eyes. Darlene was famous for her self-righteous indignation. He’d loved her passion in their little debates about politics or their future together, passion that brought those debates to … enjoyable conclusions.

      He didn’t care so much for that passion tonight.

      He pressed his palms harder. He would not cry for her. Not over a cheater. And the way Janet smiled, tonight wasn’t the first time Darlene cheated. Just the first time Derrick had caught her.

      Derrick sat up straight, eyes wide with realization.

      He needed to get tested. ASAP.

      Also, he wasn’t alone.

      Facing Derrick, three rows away past the still-open sliding doors, sat a little old man.

      Derrick blinked against the car’s fluorescent tube lighting, but the guy was actually there. Like he’d been there all along.

      No more than five feet tall, if that. Shaggy gray hair and beard. Brown ragged clothes, but weirder was that they didn’t look recent. Like someone had dressed him six weeks ago in cast off clothes from some Renaissance Faire.

      Where did you come from? Derrick asked, then shook his head. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I thought I had the train to myself.

      The man looked at Derrick, something distant in his brown eyes.

      Sleeping, the man said, voice as distant as his eyes. Always sleeping. Tuck in here. Hide there. Huddle on a seat.

      I’m sorry, Derrick said again. The man still looked and sounded as though he weren’t more than half here. I didn’t mean to wake you.

      Wake me. Heh. Heh heh. The man’s lips twitched, but never quite managed a smile. Yes. Huddle and hide. Huddle and hide. Wakey wakey wakey.

      Do you need any help? Derrick’s shoes pinched as he came to his feet. The car doors still stood open, the Hollywood district alive nearby. Do you need me to call someone?

      Wakey wakey wakey wakey. The man just kept saying it, rocking back and forth.

      Derrick squeaked a few steps closer, put one hand on the bright yellow rail above the seat in front of the old man. He smelled like dirt, but clean dirt. Not filth. Not even body odor. Bags under his eyes, but his skin looked healthy enough. Just … dirty.

      Have you eaten?

      Wakey wakey wakey wakey. The old man rocked from the head down, like he was … praying or something.

      Is there somewhere you’re supposed to be?

      Wakey wakey wakey wakey.

      The doors closed. The man stopped talking. Stopped rocking. Looked up into Derrick’s eyes.

      Ice trickled down Derrick’s spine.

      Fear. He saw fear in the man’s eyes. Raw fear, like when Derrick was six and about to brush away the itch on his neck when his older brother Scott said, "Don’t! That’s a black widow."

      Derrick almost pissed himself before Scott swept the spider away with his baseball glove. Scott stamped on the thing four times. Ground his heel until the black widow was a smear on the cold concrete of the garage floor.

      But Derrick felt the itch of those legs all day. Had to keep checking that it was gone. And to this day he remembered the way he trembled, trying to hold still. Trying not to breathe, tiny whimpering sounds coming out of him. Waiting for the bite. The poison. Maybe even death, no matter how Scott reassured him later about how the bite would have only made him sick.

      Sometimes in the dark, Derrick felt six years old again, convinced there was a black widow on his neck.

      That was the kind of fear Derrick saw in the old man’s brown eyes.

      You’re all right, Derrick said, rubbing his neck, and shaking off his own memory, and wondering what would have happened to this poor old man if Darlene hadn’t been cheating. You’re safe.

      The train jolted. Derrick gripped hard the yellow pipe and steadied himself. The train whined forward.

      The old man curled up on the padded seats again. His lips twitched, but no sound came out.

      You’re all right, Derrick said again, but he wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to convince. You and me, we’re going to take a stop up near OHSU. Maybe one of the doctors can help you, or maybe they can help us get in touch with someone for you.

      The old man didn’t look up. Didn’t give any sign of acknowledgment. Eyes open, he just stared through the seat in front of him.

      The Oregon Health Sciences University campus wasn’t more than ten minutes away. Twenty at the most. Everything would be all right soon.

      Don’t worry, said Derrick, settling just across the aisle from the old man. You’re safe.

      But Derrick kept thinking about that look in the old man’s eyes.

      Twenty minutes crawled past without the train getting out of downtown, much less up into the west hills where OHSU was waiting. Delays at street crossings. Delays at the bridge. Delays for passengers boarding other cars on the light rail train.

      Other cars, but not Derrick’s. Why was that? Not as though anyone from the outside could be avoiding the little old man in his dirty, archaic brown garb. They couldn’t even see the man, curled up as he was on the seat across the aisle from Derrick.

      The old urine smell was barely there, now that Derrick was getting used to it, but even so it hadn’t leapt out at him when he boarded. Couldn’t be keeping people away either.

      But still, people passed right on by for the next car, one direction or the other.

      Maybe this was car was for the broken.

      Maybe it was better to stand in another car than sit in this one.

      The old man didn’t sit up again. The only concession he made to the stops and the doors opening was to chant softly. Huddle and hide. Huddle and hide. Wakey wakey wakey.

      On the fourth stop, Derrick finally had to try to break the pattern.

      What do you think, Buddy? he asked in a forced jovial tone. Why is everyone else avoiding this car?

      The old man turned his head, and Derrick could barely see those distant brown eyes through the mess of gray hair.

      Skip along. Skip along. Skip, skip, skip. Sleep along. Sleep along. Sleep, sleep, sleep.

      Derrick blinked, shock washing over him at hearing something from the old man other than that chant. Well, this one was still a chant, but at least it was a different chant.

      A breakthrough?

      Should we skip too? Find us another car maybe?

      The doors closed with a hiss-thump, and the old man’s eyes sharpened into terror that iced through Derrick. The old man’s lips trembled and he clutched himself with both arms.

      He slowly turned his head away, staring through the seat in front of him. Lips still working but not forming words.

      Derrick moved to the bright blue seat behind the old man. Leaned down and patted his shoulder. The old man’s shoulder felt as tight as Derrick’s guts had been when he heard the groans coming from Darlene’s bedroom. When he knew he was hearing her voice. Knew what was happening behind the door he hadn’t wanted to open, but needed to open. Before he even saw the image still burnt into his mind.

      Derrick shook his head. Focused on the man huddled before him.

      My name is Derrick, he tried. What’s yours?

      Nothing. The muscles in the man’s arms so taut now they were shaking.

      Derrick sat back in the seat, palms pressed against his eyes while he drew deep breaths.

      What good was he anyway? Not man enough to hold a woman’s attention. Not human enough to help a man in pain. Maybe the world would have been better off if Derrick had lain in front of this MAX train instead of boarding it.

      Hell, Derrick wasn’t even sure how to get to OHSU by MAX. Not exactly. It wasn’t as though the light rail ran right past the campus. He’d have to get help when he…

      Wait.

      That he could do right now.

      Derrick pulled out his smart phone and called OHSU. Navigating the phone tree and trying to get a human gave Derrick something to focus on while the train finally got out of downtown and started up into the hills in the west side of Portland.

      More oaks and pines and Douglas firs. Fewer streetlights. The rest he didn’t have time to notice. Derrick had purpose again.

      By the time Derrick hung up, the train was entering a tunnel. He patted the old man’s shoulder and had more confidence in his voice when he said, now we’re getting somewhere. We’ll get you help in no time.

      He had directions in his head now, and had them ready in his GPS in case he missed a turn. This he could do. He could get the old man to help. True, the operator hadn’t sounded enthusiastic, but that didn’t matter. When Derrick reached the hospital, they would help the old man. Derrick would make them help.

      Damn it, if this train was for the broken, at least one of them was getting put back together.

      Got it all straight now, buddy, Derrick said, spine straighter and an echo of the kind of confidence he felt at work when he fixed a network issue. I know just what to do. We’ll get you help.

      The lights went out.

      By the time Derrick realized he was holding his breath, he realized two other things.

      One, the MAX train had stopped moving. He hadn’t heard it screech to a

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