I remained still, in the almost comically over-sized king bed of Isaac Brimstone, but alone. Wrapped in the silk sheets, I took in the almost piney musk that had scented them, the thoughts and desires racing through my mind. They weren't solitary though, as my head also drifted further. To my death. To my life. To the monster that is Hugo Perrault.

  Suddenly, the rain began to pelt the large windows surrounding three sides of the ultra modern styled room.

  Stirring, I slipped out of bed and pushed aside the sheer drapes, peering out at the blackened sky below. The muted yellow lights of the city seemed so distant at this height. A city that held such superstitions as a part of their culture. What would they think had they known that there was nothing solely superstitious left in this world, and that all of their nightmares weren't just monsters under the bed? What terrors did the night hold, I wondered...and could I stop them?

  **********************************

  BOOM!

  Thunder cracked the sky as streaks of lightning sliced through dark clouds looming over the hazily lit city of New Orleans with malevolent intent.

  A downpour of rain erupted from the heavens, flooding the town with winds that whipped and slashed its buildings with an unrelenting abandon.

  A droplet of water trailed down the side of a grimy concrete building, plopping onto a neon sign, flashing colors as it curved down through the iron framework and held onto a bolt for dear life, before plummeting further down.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  SIZZLE.

  As it landed on the edge of a cigarette butt, extinguishing the flame with easy, and sending up a tiny stream of smoke above.

  “Shit.” A buff, middle aged bouncer, removed the cigarette, and tried to wipe off the water, retreating further under the lip of the overhang, standing out of the rain. The man was illuminated under the extravagant lights of the sign, ‘The Cat’s Cradle.’

  Heavy bass thumped repetitively inside the building, while, the man ushered in some scantily clad young men and women, carelessly, focusing on his cigarette, as he pulled out a scratched silver lighter.

  A pair of shoes squelched forward in the darkness and drew the bouncer’s attention upward.

  Smirking, the bouncer shook his head. “No, we’re all packed right now.”

  The shoes remained still, a pool of water flowing into and around them.

  The bouncer flicked his lighter, ineffectively, time and time again, to no light. Finally, a slight flame emerged, and he held it to the cigarette at length. The cigarette remained unlit.

  Groaning, the bouncer chucked the damp cigarette to the ground, reaching into his jacket to pull out another carton, while bouncing his gaze back up at the person in front of him. “Get out of here. You ain’t getting in. I won’t tell you again.”

  As the bouncer went to retrieve a cigarette, he bobbled the pack, the rest, save for one that he pulled just in time, falling to the ground and splashing into the pool at the at his feet. Cigarettes floated quietly by the shoes of the person in front of him.

  “Ugh!” The bouncer popped the cigarette in his mouth and went to retrieve the pack.

  Suddenly, one shoe, two-toned, rose and slowly stepped over the pack, pushing it down slowly.

  The bouncer stopped, his lip twitching with rage. “That was a mistake, pal,” he growled, rising back up, and flicking his lighter to inflame the end of his cigarette. “You’re going to regret that,” he snarled, out of the corner of his mouth.

  The cigarette glowed hot orange, illuminating a face opposite it. A wet mop of hair, draining water down a stark smiling visage, an unholy wide-eyed grin from ear to ear...the grin...of Hugo Perrault.