Serial Story: The Dry Rain, Part 27 (Final)

This serial story is presented in draft (unedited) form. New installments will be posted every Friday, and each installment is available for one week. Miss one? Joining late? Email me for the previous installments. Creepy reading…


© Glinn | Dreamstime Stock Photos

© Glinn | Dreamstime Stock Photos

The Dry Rain
Part 27 (Final)

“Dead?!” Angie braced herself on the frame of the emergency vehicle. “Oh God,” she gasped, putting one hand over her mouth and doubling over. Her stomach rolled, and for a moment, she thought she’d be sick. Forcing herself mostly upright, she met the man’s eyes, wondering why he looked familiar. Her head was still foggy, and she still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten from the car to the grassy island in the center of the emergency room drive up. She’d finally started to come around a couple of minutes ago, and her first thought had been for Micah and Bailey. How could they be dead? They’d survived so much already.

“How did it happen? Did you kill them? Did you see who did?” The man shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

“Look,” he said without making eye contact. “The kids are in the hospital on a gurney in the hall just inside those doors. I need to get my dad out of here – he needs medical care, and everyone’s gone. That’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry.”

There was something he wasn’t telling her – she was sure of it. But she still couldn’t believe that Micah and Bailey were gone. A rustling from the back of the ambulance caught her attention just before someone called out.

“They’re eating me, son. You have to leave me. Save yourself, please!”

The man behind the wheel finally looked Angie in the eye. “I need to go. Please.”

She nodded and backed away, closing the passenger door. After he drove away, she turned toward the hospital doors, and her own car parked right in front of them. A deep, vertical dent in the back driver’s side door that hadn’t been there before caught her eye, and she moved closer, running her fingers over the scratched grooves and flecks of dark blue paint on the tan surface.

Paint that matched the car parked just a few feet away, with matching paint flecks from her car on the front bumper.

If she’d still been laying in the back seat when whoever was driving the blue sedan had struck the side, she would have been killed.

Moving toward the hospital doors again, she spotted an empty syringe on the ground near her car, but didn’t stop to pick it up. She hurried through the doors and stopped just inside, scanning the hall until she saw two familiar heads nestled together on a gurney, just as the man in the ambulance had said.

She didn’t want to know, not really. But she’d been drugged, and it seemed she was going to live. What if the same thing had happened to the children? She couldn’t leave, not without knowing for sure if she could do something, anything to help them.

Her stomach in her throat, she approached the bed, forcefully swallowing back bile. The children looked peaceful, laying together like that, and for a moment, she thought surely they must just be sleeping.

She reached out and touched two fingers to Bailey’s neck, mentally counting off the seconds that passed even though the skin was already growing cold. There was no movement under her fingers, and she finally forced herself to repeat the action with Micah.


It didn’t make sense. They’d risked everything to get her here, to help her, and now they were dead and she was still alive? It was unfathomable.

Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor, leaning back against the legs of the portable bed. Hugging her knees to her chest, she let the tears fall, frustration and sadness and anger and fear all purging at once, her mind overwhelmed to the point of madness. Or it felt that way, at least. She had no idea how long she cried, but light turned to dark, and still she sat. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go. Everyone she loved was dead, and the moths were biting. It was only a matter of time.

Quick footsteps squeaked toward her and she looked up, her bleary eyes taking a few seconds to fully focus on the man who stopped in front of her. Dressed in green scrubs and carrying a tray full of syringes, he had a kind smile and knelt down, setting the tray on the floor.

“You look like you could use some help,” he said, his voice gentle. Soothing. “Are you hurt?”

Angie nodded, putting a hand to her heart. “Right here,” she said, patting her chest. “My heart hurts. Everyone I love is dead. I don’t know what to do. What do I do now?” She held out her hands to him, open, grasping, as if he could give her what she needed in tangible form. His strong, warm fingers folded around hers, his smile never slipping.

“I can give you something that will help. It will stop the hurt, and make you feel better. Would you like that?”

She nodded again. “Please. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

The man let go of her hands and picked up one of the syringes, flicking off the cap and then reaching for her arm.

“You’ll just feel a little sting. Try to relax. It’s going to be okay.”

The End
(for now)

Thank you for reading along while I drafted this little story. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey – so far. About half-way through this draft, I realized that this story is so much bigger than the short I’d imagined, and there’s so much more of it that I’d like to explore, so while Angie, Micah, Bailey, May and Bessie’s stories end here, Daniel and Will’s have just begun.

I’ll be doing extensive editing to this short story before it’s published, and then I plan to write a full novel that explores the journey of how moths took over the world, and what happened to mankind in that catastrophe. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll even find out how the story ends, but I won’t know until I write it…

Happy Halloween to you all, and we’ll visit the dark side together again soon…

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Serial Story, Anyone?

Life’s been a little crazy lately (to say the least), and I’ve been lax on blogging (lack of time, lack of energy, yadda yadda yadda). But! Things are starting to settle a bit more again, and I’ve decided I miss the motivation of weekly serial story installments to keep my writing moving in the right direction (um, forward).

So, I’ve decided to start the serial stories up again. Wanna read the first Insecticide story as it’s being written? Stop back this Friday for the first installment of The Dry Rain. It’ll be fun! Or…creepy, rather. Kind of depends on how you feel about a moth apocalypse, really…

Join me. I love the way this story is coming together already, and I hope you will too.

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Scrub-a-Dub Spider


Monday morning, I took a shower with a spider.

He was cold, I was cold, there was plenty of room for both of us. He mostly stayed on the far wall though – didn’t have a shower cap handy, and didn’t want to go all “frizzy” with wet legs.

We did have a brief skirmish over the conditioner bottle, but I convinced him that he really didn’t need it, since he was staying out of the water and all.

I asked him where he was from, he said south. He’d heard the hunting was better up north, but when he finally arrived, he was kind of disappointed. I told him he hadn’t gone quite far enough, but that I’d give him a ride to Garden City on my way to work.

He was reluctant to accept the ride, as most spiders are (independent little things), but I convinced him everything would be okay, and I wasn’t one of those serial killers who pick up hitchhikers just to murder them for sport.

I gave him a comfy jar to wait in while I got dressed and ready to go, and he made himself at home spinning a lovely silk web while he waited. I dropped him off in a lovely patch of green with lots of gnats buzzing around, and he waved a leg as he scurried off.

Happy hunting, little fella…

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The Tiniest Bugs…

Happy St. Paddy’s Day! Hope you’re not wearing green. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on all that pinching…

Wow…has it really been over a month since I posted last? Aye karumba. Things have been a little crazy around here, what with drafts I’m trying to finish and books hither and yon. Not to mention story ideas. There are seriously not enough years left in my life to write all the books I want to write (and I hopefully still have at least 40 yrs left)…

Most recently though, I’ve been doing battle. Or rather, my immune system has. The littlest bugs in the world have attacked, and you know, it’s completely crazy that such microscopic little organisms can bring us to our knees (sometimes literally, though not me this time, thank goodness). Last week I was so ill I could barely even think, let alone make any kind of coherent sense, and while I feel better this week, I’m definitely not one-hundred percent yet.

Crazy, creepy little bugs. It’s really no wonder some people fear germs so much they’re constantly slathering on hand sanitizer (not good for you, people!) and wishing they could sterilize the world. but the truth is, germs and bugs are good in the long run. Our immune systems need to be tested occasionally to stay in good shape, and we’re far healthier for all the dirty little microbes out there than we would be in a sterile environment.

Still, no one likes being sick, and obviously, some people just can’t handle it (or rather, their immune system can’t). Luckily for me, mine can with a little support for the troops in the form of healthy foods and herbs. I’ll be very happy when I finally kick this stuff to the curb and can get back to my normal self. Relatively speaking, of course.

The whole experience does kind of make me want to write a book about a virus though. How weird would it be if a virus became…well, I’d better not say. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise…but it’s a great idea, if I do say so myself!

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Excerpt Day: The Dry Rain

This week’s excerpt is from the first story in the new Insecticide series. It’s supposed to be a short story, but…we’ll see…


Excerpt: The Dry Rain

(Insecticide, Book 1)

William shuffled his feet through the barren field, papery gray bodies floating up with each step to explode in tiny puffs of corpse dust. It had been a week since the last dry rain, and no one knew when the next one would come. More importantly, there hadn’t been any real rain in over a month, and if the crops hadn’t been decimated by the moths already, they would have been dead now for sure. Streams and ponds were dried up, rivers were low, and there had been talk that even the oceans didn’t come up as high on the beach as they once did.

William had never seen the ocean. Hell, he’d never been anywhere else, but right now? He wished he were anywhere else. Or at least somewhere the moths hadn’t gotten to yet.

If there was such a place.

The first time they’d come, he’d been asleep – they all had. Thousands upon thousands of moths had covered every inch of any exposed surface, their paper-thin wings beating fast as they found and sucked the water out of every living piece of vegetation there was. This was farmland, so there had been a lot. Two days later, the moths had all been dead, leaving behind a wriggling mass of larvae in their place.

He wasn’t sure how the larvae survived, but there must have been enough nutrients somehow, because not long after that, thousands of moths had taken to the sky again, only to rain down in big clumps of papery gray waste two days later. Where they’d gone, or where they’d come from, or if these were even the same moths was anyone’s guess, but it was less of a concern than the fact that food was running out, and animals and humans alike were starting to die.

A thin figure stood waiting for him near the gate – one they hadn’t bothered to close since the crops had been devoured. May was getting weaker, and now that the cow had stopped producing milk, he supposed the only thing left to do was butcher it for the meat. They didn’t have any water for her anyways, and every day it was harder to get water out of the well. They’d have to leave soon, and find water, at least. Maybe one of the bigger cities would have supplies until…whatever this was, ended.

“Find anything?” May called out when he drew near. William shook his head.

“Nothing. Just moth-bodies, as far as I could go. The creek is almost dry too.” He took her hand and walked with her back to the house, not sure what else to say. She didn’t want to leave, but it wasn’t a question of want now. It was a question of survival.

“It’s gonna be soon,” he said, hanging his old hat up on a hook as he closed the door behind him. “Can’t survive without water.”

“What about damming the creek?” she said, handing him a cup of coffee and then cradling another in her hands as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “We could get the neighbors together, make sure everyone has what they need.”

He shook his head. “Water’s falling too fast. By the time we could get everyone together and get back out there with supplies, it’ll be dry.”

She took a long, slow sip, her face a study in contemplation. She’d always been a thinker, his May. He often wondered why she’d settled for him instead of finding herself o’ them smart city-boys that were always asking her out in college. Bet she was regretting that now, he thought as she met his stare with a tired, hopeless look.

“So that’s it then,” she said, putting her cup on the counter and letting out a long sigh.

“What about Bessie?”

He shrugged. “We’ll take her with us. Might need something to trade for water, depending on how far this thing goes. She’s weak anyways. Probably won’t last much longer.”

May nodded, slowly. “Okay then. Tomorrow?” Tears welled in her eyes, and William went to her, pulling her into his arms. He’d loved her since they were sixteen, and he’d take care of her, no matter what.


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Dental Horror(s)

To say I’ve had a lot of dental work done is a pretty severe understatement. I probably have enough mercury in my mouth to be the cause of my eventual demise, and if that doesn’t do it, the plethora of root canals will. I have exactly zero teeth that haven’t had some sort of work done to them, and I’m missing quite a few that dentists gave up on because they would have just been too much work to deal with (bad dentists, IMO – I have a great dentist now, and he’d better not retire until after I either have all false teeth, or die).


Needless to say, I’m very familiar with the whine of a dental drill, the smell of bone/tooth dust in the air, and the taste of Novocaine and various amalgam filling components. Heck, I’ve had so much work done that the doc has to fix a filling I broke in a couple weeks, and I won’t even need to be numbed up because it’s a filling in a tooth that’s already got a root canal. I’ve had one other of those, and I tell you what – it’s crazy weird to sit in that chair and feel the vibrations from the drill while they work on a dead tooth in your very much alive mouth.


It’s kind of fun to tell people you got a filling without drugs afterward too, of course.


I’m not telling you all this to make you cringe (though hey – bonus points to me if you did!), but because Monday as I was sitting in the dentist’s chair, getting my teeth cleaned for the millionth time, I was curious about why there aren’t more horror stories involving dentists and dental work. I’m certainly not the only person who’s less than fond of having dental work done, and honestly, though I hid it well, I was scared every time I had to go in, because I knew it was going to hurt (I’ve never had any kind of dental work done – cleanings included – that didn’t hurt at some point). I’ve had so much work done now that I’m not scared anymore, just resigned to my fate, for the most part. Doesn’t mean I don’t still clench my fingers together while the tools are whining away though…


In any case, now I feel the need to write some dental-based horror, because hey, that’s how we explore what scares us. And with any luck, we learn not to fear it, even if we still have to accept it as part of our lives.

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Bugs Plus Robots Equal World Domination

First off, in reply to last week’s comment from Ardee-ann…I totally agree. If any insects are going to take over the world, it will definitely be cockroaches. *shudder* Hardy little critters, they are….zombienanopackage

In continuing with the theme, I was looking at Hexbugs this week (okay, I was looking at the zombie hexbug in a coffin shown above, which I may yet order), and thinking to myself, “Dude. If cockroaches don’t take over the world, it’s gonna be these things.”

If you haven’t seen them before, Hexbugs are little bug-like robots that scurry around and…well…that’s all they do, really. Unless it’s an aquabug, in which case it swims around. They’re robots. And bugs. And the only reason I don’t have any yet is because if I get one, I’m going to want more, and just when I get ready to take over the world with my hex bug army, they’ll turn on me, eat their way under my skin, take over my brain and use my body to infiltrate the human race one little piece at a time.

Or…my husband might kill me for starting yet another toy collection. Though I do have a mostly empty table at work that could do with a little faux “bug life”…

**Note: I did in fact order a Zombie Hexbug. And I ordered a couple of extras too…whatever will I do with those? Stay tuned…**

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Excerpt Day: Sprouted

Sprouted_300Excerpt: Sprouted

A terracotta head sporting a thick mane of tiny plants caught her eye, and she stopped to watch the commercial. Dull orange pottery shapes of all sorts were soaked in water, and then parts of them smeared with what looked like a gelatinous substance that sprouted into a full head or body of a fluffy, living mat.

Amelia glanced down the hall. She could just barely see Stan’s bald head as he sat on the floor, one of the pipes from her sink in hand. Imagining what he’d look like with a thick, lush chia bed on his shiny dome made her smile.

Wouldn’t it be fun if humans could grow plants on their heads?” she murmured, turning her attention back to the TV. It would be a wonderfully symbiotic relationship, like the bone meal she harvested for her roses, though that was more of a sacrificial relationship.

Stan came out of the kitchen, toolbox in hand. “There you go, Amelia. All fixed. Do I need to lecture you about washing off your gardening tools in the sink again?” He raised an eyebrow, looking stern though they both knew it was all an act.

She shook her head and coyly flipped her wrist down. “You know better than that, dear boy. But I’ll try to do better this time. What do I owe you?” She got up and went to the table by the door and got her wallet out of her purse.

For you, twenty-five. And I want you to know that’s a special rate, so don’t go telling your friends.”

She laughed and pulled out the cash, handing him two bills. “It’ll be our secret. You’re too good to me, Stan. Now skedaddle so I can go make dinner. I still have some things to attend out in the shed tonight.”

He took the money and waved as he walked out the door, and she waited until he pulled out of the driveway to lock the door behind him. Checking the clock, she went to the kitchen and took the brown pitcher out of the fridge, then let herself out the back door.

When she reached the shed, Amelia set the pitcher on a table next to the door while she got the key out of her pocket. Glancing around to make sure no one had come into the yard, she opened the padlock and hooked it through the metal clasp before grabbing the pitcher and going inside. Pulling the door shut behind her, she used a slide lock to ensure no one could enter, and then turned to what she liked to call her “garden brigade”.

Hello boys,” she said with a smile. “It’s time for dinner!”

There was no response, but that was a good thing. Moving toward the first stall, she poured the thick concoction her husband had perfected into the feeding container and watched it run down the feeding tube and into Number One. The man twitched a little against his bindings – they all did at first, but the flow was regulated to go slowly so it wouldn’t gag the poor things.

She checked the bandage at the bottom of his left leg, where she’d harvested his foot two days ago. It hadn’t bled through, which was a relief, but she’d need to change the wrapping and make sure it wasn’t getting infected. The IV was still dripping steadily into his arm, delivering the herbal recipe she’d gotten from an eastern gentleman one year when they were traveling. It kept the brigade in a semi-comatose state, unaware of their surroundings for the most part and free of pain. She’d added extra garlic to Number One’s mixture, to inhibit infection, and so far it seemed to be working.

Moving on, she fed the remaining three brigade members and then set the pitcher by the door. Picking up a small rake and shovel, she raked the small piles of excrement from each stall and put them into a bucket. Spreading fresh straw underneath the specially-made pallet beds, she tidied up each space and then helped each brigade member to lie down.

Early on in their studies, she and her husband had determined that changing positions during the day improved circulation and bodily functions, enabling the brigade members to live longer and be more productive. So every morning and evening they were repositioned, though she wouldn’t be able to do it for much longer. Her strength seemed to be waning and it made her want to cry. Her husband had left his work to her, but who would take over when she was gone?

Shaking off the depressing thought, she went to a desk at the far end of the shed and sat down, opening the log book and marking down her notes for the day. She thought for a minute, bringing the end of the pen to her lips. Scanning the entries again, she finally made a new notation for Numbers Two and Three before closing the book. Her last experiment would begin tomorrow. And after it was over, she’d write up her findings and lay the brigade to rest, once and for all.

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If Insects Took Over the World…

Not too long ago I finished reading a novel by Joseph Wallace titled Invasive Species. As you might guess from the title, it’s the story of people trying to keep insects from taking over real estate. It hit home quite handily with me because the bugs in question were the very same that scarred me (literally, not mentally) last summer right outside the back door. Needless to say, they’re not my favorite critters right now, even though I know they do their part in the ecosystem.

I think the thing that’s so scary for me about insects taking over is how fast the food supply could go. Large enough communities of them could completely decimate acres and acres of fields in a matter of hours, not days. and when the grain and grasses are gone, that would be the start of the end for cows and other livestock.

Naturally, this would mean we’d have to learn how to harvest and eat the bugs – something which, aside from crabs/lobsters – is rather unpalatable to me.

I wonder if bugs would become the new currency? Or if they’d be more like drugs, traded on the black market for goods and services? Of course they’d all die eventually, running on instinct and having already decimated the food supply…or would they? Maybe they’d adapt and survive, learning how to get what they need on instinct and holding man back from living any semblance of a normal life again.

Wallace explores many of those themes in his book, and I’m doing so as well in my next short story, The Dry Rain (though a bit differently, of course). It’s kind of fun, honestly. And also, kind of freaky…

What do you think would happen if insects took over the world? And which insect do you think is most likely to do so?

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Excerpt Day: Lettuce Prey


Excerpt: Lettuce Prey

He was feeding the bitch cake. Off his own fork.


Abby Mars peered through the small portal window in the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. Her ears burned with anger as she watched her boyfriend with another woman. Not just any woman, but a fat cow three sizes bigger than the unfortunate top she’d managed to stuff herself into. What she’d done to make Dominic fall for her was anyone’s guess, but he could have at least had the decency to tell Abby.

Who did he think he was, anyway – bringing his new fling to her restaurant? Did he think she wouldn’t notice just because she was a sous chef, and rarely made it out of the kitchen?

She looked down at the flat stomach she worked so hard for, draped in a stark white jacket. She loved food – there wasn’t a dish out there she wouldn’t try at least once. But she watched her portions, she was on her feet all day, and three times a week she went to the gym. Dominic appreciated it, or so she thought. Watching him feed the fat girl another bite of chocolate cake made her want to grab the nearest knife and slash his cheating throat.

But she wouldn’t. Not here, anyway, where anyone could see and hear. She’d bide her time, plan her revenge, and then they’d die together.

She turned away from the window and strode back to her station. Salads were her assignment today – chopping, dicing, mixing, dressing. The knife flew under her fingers, making a satisfying clunk every time it hit the cutting board. Over the next hour, she forced herself to focus on her job rather than her crumbling love life. She told herself there was no point in worrying about it just yet. Plenty of time for that when she was safely back at the apartment, flinging Dominic’s things out onto the front lawn. Her lips curved up slightly at the thought. She’d call a locksmith after work and have him meet her at the house. Then she could just relax and lick her wounds in peace.

When her shift was finished and her station cleaned, she made the call and went home, fitting her key into the lock one last time.

It wouldn’t turn.

She frowned and checked her watch. The locksmith wasn’t due for twenty minutes yet. She tried the key again, rattling the door knob until it swung open, and Dominic stood on the other side, blocking her entrance.

“Abby, we gotta talk,” he said, stepping over the threshold and pulling the door closed behind him. “It’s over, babe. I know I shoulda told you before, but it was all kinda fast. Lucinda and me, we want to keep this apartment, but it’s okay. I talked to the super, and there was one open just down the hall, so we moved all your stuff for ya. He said you can sign the papers whenever. Here’s the key. It’s 215.”

He pulled a key out of his pocket and reached for her hand, pressing it into her palm. Then he turned and went back into their place, shutting the door in her face with a firm click.

Abby stared at the door for a long moment, letting it all sink in. She could hear them moving around inside, talking, laughing, cozy. Silverware clinked against dishes – her dishes, considering Dominic didn’t have any of his own. Apparently he’d forgotten most of the stuff they had was actually hers.


Finally turning away, she moved slowly down the hall, stopping in front of 215. Slid the key in the lock. Opened the door.

The apartment was empty.

Abby stared at the expanse as pictures began to form in her mind.

She smiled.

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