New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…

Missed a chapter? You can find the full list here.

Previously. A meeting in the back office of Moonlight Curiosities, turns over a tempting business proposal. For a modest sum, Daniel and Cassidy would track down any and all information on a set of antique fountain pens. Ones that had belonged to Valeria Moffet—the bloodleech that tried to murder them. After some conversation, the couple warily agrees. Not so much that they want to, but they need to, given the damages to the shop they have to repair. Now all that remains is to dig in to uncover the history behind the antiques but also find two that have been missing for decades.

November 6, 2024. Our apartment above Moonlight Curiosities. Nothing says pie like a little skullduggery…

Dorian’s two-week deadline gave us plenty of motivation, so we dove into the research with a vengeance.

It was four days of clawing through half-forgotten library records, sketchy auction listings, and old estate sales. I wasn’t sure about Cassidy, but I’d read enough fountain pen collector forums to make my eyes cross.

Every time we thought we had a lead, it turned out to be a dead end. It felt like chasing smoke in a dark room. But for every four of those false leads, we’d get one hint of a real one.

Also, there was pie. A lot of pie. Maybe a couple of casseroles, too, but I lost those among the pie.

The soft reopening of Moonlight Curiosities brought a parade of well-meaning neighbors offering sympathy. Every one of them came armed with well-wishes served with a side of casserole. If it wasn’t casserole, it was enough pecans or other pies to build a sugar-powered shrine.

I was caught a little by surprise, but Cassidy handled it in stride.

“It’s fine,” she explained midway through the multi-day meal parade. “Gloamstead handles tragedy like any other small Southern town. You know, feed the survivors, smile politely, and—in our case—don’t get too nosy about the boarded up, scorched front window of our shop.”

I quickly caught on that a little nosy was still fine. After all, town gossip needed its own tender loving care. In any case, by the fourth day into it all, we’d turned it into the world’s oddest taste test.

“This one’s definitely squash,” Cassidy said around a bite, handing me a bowl. “That, or possibly revenge.”

I took it, eyeing the golden crust on top with suspicion. “Squash casserole is revenge?”

Cassidy gestured at the innocent casserole nestled in the white ceramic dish.

“If you grow more than you can store, add a lot of pepper, or both, it is,” she replied, before taking another bite.

I wasn’t entirely convinced, but tried my own bite anyway. At least I didn’t get ambushed by pepper.

“Mrs. Adelyne really didn’t have to do this,” I said between bites.

“Oh, yes, she did,” my wife said with a wry look. “Southern hospitality comes with a body count in the gossip circles.”

I snorted out a laugh, then ate more of the squash casserole.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Maggie Winsom about the pens?” I asked.

Cassidy nodded, pulling her laptop across the kitchen table while we ate. We’d closed the shop for the night, so she’d shed her human disguise for her natural skinshaper human-bat shape. It was her way of ‘letting her hair down’ to unwind. She sighed, combing fingers through her hair and dark fur, before giving a slow stretch of her arm wings.

“I did. Maggie said she had sold one online, but it wasn’t a Waterman. Just a 1942 Parker pen,” Cassidy said. “Looked similar though. Mrs. Adelyne’s story was better. She’s convinced her leaking pen is haunted.”

I nearly coughed on a piece of pecan pie.

“What?” I stammered, wiping my mouth.

“Haunted.” Cassidy grinned. “Not the right pen, but I almost thought it was. Her pen doesn’t have the weird amber lacework.”

Her claws raced over the keyboard.

“But other than that, I found something this morning while you were opening the shop,” she added.

I leaned over her shoulder to see her screen.

“Turtles?” I blinked.

Fur along her cheeks ruffled from a faint flush as she slammed the browser tab shut in a second—she clicked open another one.

“No, those were tortoises. Totally different.” She squeaked then pursed her lips. “Tortoiseshell pens got me thinking about tortoises. I got distracted.”

“You also like tortoises,” I teased.

“Yes, I do. Shut up. You know I do,” she admitted gently, even more embarrassed.

I held up my hands in defense. “Just kidding, honey. I get it. It was like me and ‘how did people make ink in 1722’ rabbit hole.”

“Exactly,” she replied, flicking her ear at me with a sheepish smile. “Anyway, like I said, I think I found our first real lead.”

She tapped the screen, giving me a proud, determined expression.

“Over the last hundred years, pens matching that Waterman pen Dorian dropped off have popped up in estate sales and other places.” She showed me a list of historical auctions. “Mostly in the Northeast. They show up, then vanish. Then a set of four—with one that looks like a perfect match for Dorian’s pen—gets purchased by a bookkeeper named Henry Vanil. He lived in Sleepy Hollow, New York.”

I blinked, setting down my serving of squash casserole before I pulled up a chair next to her.

“Wait. Sleepy Hollow?” I asked incredulously. “The Sleepy Hollow? Headless Horseman Sleepy Hollow?”

“Not making that up,” Cassidy replied with a fanged grin. It was hard to miss the delighted glint in her eyes.

“Was he Ichabod’s cousin?” I joked, grinning back. “Maybe a pen pal?”

“Didn’t say, but wouldn’t that be fun?” She tapped the screen. “It just says he lived there in the nineteenth century and had a thing about wanting to collect these pens.”

Cassidy tapped the keyboard again, pulling up a historical records site. It looked like it belonged to a library in Sleepy Hollow, New York.

“Then… he abruptly died.” Slowly, the amusement drained from her face.

A few clicks later, she dredged up scanned copies of a time-yellowed death notice. There wasn’t any mention of a headless horseman or burning pumpkins—just the date of October 12, 1919, and the method of death.

“Wait, Cassie. Hold on. It says they found his body withered, with his mouth and fingertips stained black?” I said slowly, raising my eyebrows. “That’s how he died?”

The words sat in my stomach like ice water.

“Murder ink,” she quipped morbidly.

The air felt like it chilled two degrees. Even the shadows at the corner of the room seemed a touch longer. Silently, we stared at the laptop for a long, uncomfortable moment, until neither of us could stand the silence.

“Dan, I really don’t like how close ‘withering’ and ‘black mouth’ are to ‘murdered gleefully by a supernatural thing’,” Cassidy said at last, voice thin. “Sure, I’m a skinshaper, but there are a lot of really nasty things out there.”

I reached for her furry hand out of reflex, caressing her fingers.

“Maybe he just chewed on ink sticks?”

Sure, that was unlikely. But it felt safer than the alternative.

Cassidy gave me a pained look, eyebrows bunched.

“Oh sure. Maybe he also died of chronic writer’s cramp.” Then she added with a small, worried look at the screen. “Are you sure we need this work? Supernatural shenanigans aside, do we really?”

I knew that hollow-eyed look, and right where her thoughts were headed. Even her voice held that same thin edge when we were being treated by the paramedics outside the Briarwood murder mansion. Before she retreated into that memory, I lightly kissed the knuckles of her hand, trying to interrupt her train of thought.

“We do,” I sighed. “The front window,” I reminded her solemnly. “All the remodeling we’d planned on to make this place work, so I don’t have to go crawling back to my former toxic tech job.”

Cassidy gave me a wan smile, before sliding a hand along the side of her face and snout.

“I really hate your old job. So. Right.” Her words came out soft, but serious. “We got this.”

“So, where did the pens go after Vanil?” I prompted.

Cassidy pulled up the shared document we’d filled with notes, website links, and more. Scrolling down, she tapped the screen lightly with a stubby claw.

“Yeah, and sorry, love, no trip to Sleepy Hollow. The pens vanish for decades,” she explained. “But then, two pens resurfaced in Gloamstead, 1977, which matches what Dorian told us. They were part of an estate sale for a Professor Martin Altamont.”

On the screen, Cassidy brought up an old black-and-white photo of a balding, mustached physics professor. He had that look of everyone’s favorite, happy uncle. The one who told the best jokes.

“So, who bought them from the estate?” I leaned forward a little toward the laptop. “Any idea?”

Cassidy’s claws ticked out a quick pattern against the table while she scrolled through the shared document.

“I found that,” she murmured. “It was here yesterday. Oh! There. This lady. She was a local collector who purchased them. Records got hazy, but I saw her name come up more than once.”

She stopped on a small entry in our document about a Meredith Rawls. I squinted a little as my mouth went dry.

“Wait. I know that name. She’s a friend of my uncle’s,” I explained in surprise. “I remember her from when I was a kid. She’d always have a box of old antiques with her for my uncle when I saw her.”

Cassidy’s smile faded in favor of a thoughtful nod.

“Sounds like she was your uncle’s antique ‘picker’,” she said. “Daniel, if that’s the same Meredith Rawls, she’s our best real shot at the pens. Not to mention any local history.”

“My uncle did have a Meredith that worked as an antique picker. She’s in one of the photos with him in the office.”

We found Meredith’s obituary online a few minutes later. Neither one of us spoke. We just read, and were a little too unnerved to talk at first.

“So, it was her,” I said softly, knocking the silence aside. “Died last year. Her memorial service was at Gloamstead United. I think I remember a little bit about this. No one wanted to talk about it. Closed casket. All anyone would say was ‘it happened very suddenly’. No one talks about how. Won’t even gossip about it.”

Cassidy turned to me, lightly running a hand softly along my back.

“Everyone who gets these pens dies in a really bad way,” she said, eyes filled to the brim with concern.

The comment hung in the air between us. Thanks to Dorian, we had one of those murder pens here in our shop.

“Everyone but Dorian,” I added in a brittle tone. “He didn’t even blink when he handed it to us. Which isn’t surprising since, well, Dorian’s a,” I waved a hand a little, “you know.”

“A bloodleech,” she replied. “Who’ll think it’s just fun that all the previous owners died horribly.”

Cassidy’s frown deepened.

“Now I wonder how many other cursed things he’s handled without batting an eye.”

“We need better clients,” I moaned slightly, putting my head in my hands.

Cassidy leaned over, touching her forehead against me a moment. I gave her hand a squeeze, relishing in the feeling of the velvety fur there.

“So,” I sighed. “It might help to know how Meredith died. But you know? We might have been sitting on the answers all along.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, squinting at me.

“If Meredith was an antique picker for my uncle, the pen or pens might have gone through here. This shop.” I explained. “My uncle kept alarmingly detailed records. If Meredith brought the pens to him, he’d have a record of it. Not to mention, he’d have some notes about the history of the pens.”

Cassidy sat up straight, wide-eyed.

“If not, surely Meredith Rawls kept her own records. Just to keep up with your uncle.”

“So, we just need to search my uncle’s old records from what? Forty-seven years ago?” I said with a thoughtful, mild frown into the middle distance. “Those won’t be in the shop’s digital records. It’ll be in the store-all. My uncle didn’t digitize records that far back. Said it wasn’t worth it.”

She clasped my upper arm gently with her hands, snout wide with a toothy grin.

“Yes! If that doesn’t pan out, we can dive into Meredith’s records. She died a year ago. Those have to still be stuck somewhere. People here in Gloamstead stash stuff for decades.”

“There’s one other bright side,” I told her with a grin. “We also have an amazing amount of suspicious squash casserole to buffer us against imminent, and gruesome, death.”

Cassidy broke down into a wheezing laugh, shattering the tension like cracked glass.

“Daniel. I love you so much,” Cassidy said, hugging me fiercely. “Seriously, if I die of suspicious causes, I’m haunting you until you die of vitamin A toxicity.”

Suddenly, I had a vision of the world’s most judgmental ghost haunting me with a casserole dish.

I raised my nearby portion of the squash casserole in a toast.

“I love you, too, Cassie. So, to loving spouses, weaponizing beta carotene, and dumpster diving into dusty antique shop records.”

“Maybe with less death?” Cassidy suggested.

“Maybe that, too,” I agreed.

For more about Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, Windtracer Tales, Legends of the Privateers, or any of my other works, please consider subscribing as I would really appreciate the support, sometimes I post behind the scenes on writing, worldbuilding and more.

If you’ve enjoyed this and are looking for a little more action, take the plunge here at the link over to Legends of the Privateers. But if action-archeology is more your style, take the leap over here to Windtracer Tales!

Buy Me a Coffee!

Subscribe now

Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.

New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…

Missed a chapter? You can find the full list here.

Previously. With the bloodleech destroyed, Daniel and Cassidy took a well-earned collapse. It wasn’t the ‘day after getting married’ they expected, but it was far less terrifying than their wedding day. But life decided to spice things up a bit with a visit from another bloodleech. Only this one was less set on murder, but a little monetary mayhem wasn’t quite off the table. One Dorian Callix arrived with a business proposal, one that might help Daniel and Cassidy get the shop back in order…

November 2, 2024. Back office of Moonlight Curiosities. Making the uncomfortable choice…

The back office still felt like it belonged to my uncle. His space. Not mine—not yet. But at least it wasn’t crowded. Compared to the rest of the shop, it bordered on spartan.

An old, wide wooden desk dominated the western wall. It paired well with a refurbished 19th-century banker’s chair. Shelves held a mix of my books and my uncle’s keepsakes, from pocket watches to small ink paintings, and black-and-white photographs. Some were photos of my uncle with antique ‘pickers’ he’d worked with over the years—mostly locals from around the county. I hadn’t thought about them in years.

Last of all, there were three padded, red canvas chairs that kept the office desk company. Dorian Callix was already seated in one of them, directly across from the desk as Cassidy and I walked in. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, admiring the photographs.

“Moonlight Curiosities,” Dorian said thoughtfully, his New England accent stretching the words. “Good name for an antique shop. Has a nice sound to it. Did it always have that name, or was it a recent change?”

Cassidy and I swapped a wary glance. I took the chair behind the desk while she pulled over one of the canvas chairs to my right.

“My uncle named it when he first opened up shop,” I explained. “After the place passed to me, I didn’t see a need to change it.”

“Too many memories?” Dorian asked casually.

“Something like that.” I clasped my hands in front of me, leaning forward on the desk. “So, you mentioned something about a matter of interest?”

Dorian shifted position in the chair. It let out a muffled squeak in protest.

“That I did, but before we get to business, I’d like to offer my congratulations on your wedding.” A smooth smile brushed his face. “Two days ago now wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cassidy replied. Her voice carried a quiet promise of violence.

Dorian nodded slowly.

“Shame Valeria interrupted your reception, wedding night and all. The woman had no sense of manners—or propriety.”

Cassidy looked ready to leap across the desk and throttle Dorian. I scowled. The last thing Cassidy and I wanted was fresh reminders.

“She had a lot of problems,” I replied, my words as brittle as dry clay. “Mr. Callix, if you don’t mind…”

He raised a hand idly to interrupt me.

“No, no. It’s Dorian, if you please. No need for formality between the likes of us,” he replied, an all too easy charm sliding easily off each word. “After all, we’ve something of a connection. Like I said outside, I owe you both a favor of getting me free of Valeria’s shadow.” Dorian gestured lightly to us with both hands. “So, I’m looking to repay that debt—if I ever can.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Which means what?” I asked carefully.

Dorian interlaced his fingers in his lap.

“Belated wedding gift,” he explained. “Maybe some help with that honeymoon. I can recommend a few nice places. All out of the way, of course, with no prying human eyes.” Dorian nodded to me. “No offense, mind you.”

I managed a thin smile. “None taken.”

Cassidy cleared her throat, staring holes in Dorian.

“Thank you for the congratulations… Dorian,” she said, her words honeyed poison. “But the other night was a bit trying. If that’s all…?”

“Oh, not in the least,” Dorian replied quickly. “Now, as I said I’ve a business offer I wanted to discuss. One I think you two are perfect for.”

He pursed his lips as if gathering his thoughts, eyes shifting between the two of us.

“As I mentioned, after you two had your little adventure with Valeria the other night, I had to tidy the remains. Best to clean that up before your sheriff got too curious.” He raised his eyebrows at us. “Though, two iron spikes? Really, one would have done in Valeria just fine.”

“We were pretty motivated,” I replied in a clipped tone.

I kept to myself that the second one was less ‘strategy’ and more ‘lethal panic attack’.

Dorian hummed, nodding at the statement.

“I suppose. Well, other than disposing of her remains, such as they were, I needed to take ownership of her things. Most I had burned. Some I had sterilized. But one in her personal safe caught me by surprise. Which is where you both come in.”

He reached into an inner coat pocket, producing a dark-toned beechwood box a good six inches long and two inches deep. The whole thing had been polished enough that the edges and corners had been worn smooth. Dorian set it on the desk, then slid it over to us. I exchanged a curious glance with Cassidy, then accepted the box.

Inside, nestled in faded crimson silk, was a fountain pen that made my pulse jump.

The barrel of it gleamed with the smooth, liquid tone of old, polished tortoiseshell. Swirling amber lines wound through the surface like vines, suggesting movement if you stared at it too long. They caught the light in a way that made them seem to move.

I wanted to lift it up but was a little worried to touch it. Beside me, Cassidy sucked in a sharp breath, staring.

“May I?” I raised an eyebrow at Dorian.

He gestured toward the pen.

“By all means,” he replied casually.

“Pre-1930s Waterman,” I explained with a thoughtful nod. “Classic tortoiseshell cover, but these amber lines aren’t typical Waterman design.”

I turned it over with my fingers. Just holding it made me want to scrub my hands with a rough sponge.

But what I said wasn’t a lie. Those amber lines around the pen shell weren’t typical. They were slightly raised, as if added later. I slowly ran my thumb over them. A dull cold settled in the pit of my stomach. I returned the pen back to the wooden case.

“Certainly vintage,” I told Dorian. “But you didn’t need either of us to figure that out. What’s so special about it?”

Dorian gave me a sly smile.

“It wasn’t alone,” he said. “The original box held four pens, two of which are missing. One is there, the other is with my accountant in New York. He’ll be moving down here later in the week as the rest of my estate arrives.”

I filed that away under future problems. Dorian didn’t seem to notice, or mind, that we didn’t comment on his moving plans.

“Waterman’s you say? Hm.”

Dorian’s face was calm, but I could tell the thought picked at him for some reason. Then he met my eyes again.

“In any case, my accountant assures me the last two of this set are here in Gloamstead. I’d like you to track them down for me.”

“Why us?” Cassidy asked suspiciously.

Dorian’s eyes glinted. “Honestly? Beyond your brief and bloody association with Valeria, I believe you two are best suited for the search.”

“We don’t make a habit of doing favors for murderers,” Cassidy snapped, leaning forward with the hint of a predatory posture.

If Dorian noticed, he didn’t let it show. That is one thing about bloodleeches—when they want to be composed, they’re masters at it.

“Which is why I’m wanting to pay you,” he replied smoothly, idly waving a hand. “As I said, it’s Valeria’s, or was. I can’t imagine why she kept them. She wasn’t, as you might expect, all that interested in this kind of history.”

Cassidy and I exchanged a look.

This was a mess. The kind that had already tried to kill us once. But the idea of passing up the work gnawed at me. I could tell by the tension in Cassidy’s shoulders and her jaw, it ate at her, too.

“Suppose we take the job—”

Dorian held up a hand to interrupt again.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll pay quite handsomely,” he explained. “Signed contract, all above board. Let’s say,” he waved a hand around at the room, “enough to rebuild this lovely little shop of yours to your exact tastes. Also, a bit more beyond that for you both to have a proper time away?”

He leaned forward conspiratorially with a smile so smug it made my shoulders twist into knots.

“Come now, you’re both far too clever to turn this opportunity down.”

I saw Cassidy was as tense as a spring. It was obvious, at least to me, that it took all her restraint not to claw either the desk or Dorian.

“And what happens if we don’t take it?” Cassidy asked uneasily, as if she suspected the answer and didn’t like it.

“I’ve been known to sulk,” Dorian replied with a theatrical sigh. “Which likely means impulse shopping therapy at antique stores… daily.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.

He leaned forward to place his hands on the desk, interlacing his fingers. Again, he looked like an upscale salesman. At least Valeria had looked dangerous. Dorian was exploring new and inventive twists on exasperating.

“Shall we say, oh, two weeks to track down the missing pens?” He raised his eyebrows. “Possibly longer if needed? It really is quite important to me.”

Cassidy and I sat in silence for a moment, weighing our options in the heavy, almost thick moment. I glanced at Cassidy, face tense, eyebrows knitted tight. She sighed a little back, giving me a slight nod. I raised my eyebrows in reply, then matched Dorians’s serious look with my own.

“Fine,” I said. The word tasted like powdered rust on my tongue.

“Wonderful!” Dorian declared, clapping his hands together in pure delight. I almost flinched. That one word sliced through the tension like a silver-plated knife.

He stood, adjusting his immaculate, probably stain-proofed cuffs before he gestured to the door.

“I’ll be staying here in Gloamstead while making arrangements on property,” he explained in a casual tone. “There’s a charming old home near one of the local cemeteries that has completely carved out my heart. We can meet at your convenience. I’ll give you my number.”

He gave us another gracious smile.

“But don’t worry, I’ll check in here now and again.”

Oh, goody. I wasn’t sure if that was a threat. But he was going to pay us, so I decided it wasn’t.

“Keep the pen,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll need it for your research. Let me know when you’ve got a contract drawn up, and I’ll stop by.”

He placed a business card on the desk with his number. Then, with one last, sweeping small wave, Dorian strolled out of our office. We watched him go, then stared at the pen on the desk nestled in its wooden box.

Cassidy turned toward me, arms crossed, wearing that tight-lipped look she saved for really irritating problems she couldn’t swat.

“Well,” she sighed. “Isn’t that one hell of a wedding gift?”

I put my head on the desk and sighed.

For more about Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, Windtracer Tales, Legends of the Privateers, or any of my other works, please consider subscribing as I would really appreciate the support, sometimes I post behind the scenes on writing, worldbuilding and more.

If you’ve enjoyed this and are looking for a little more action, take the plunge here at the link over to Legends of the Privateers. But if action-archeology is more your style, take the leap over here to Windtracer Tales!

Buy Me a Coffee!

Subscribe now

Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.

New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…

Missed a chapter? You can find the full list here.

Previously. The rescue came fast and furious but also arrived with a cost. Valeria Moffet didn’t go quietly, nor was she willing to go alone. With the life of a second victim in the balance nearby, Daniel and Cassidy worked together to end the threat of the bloodleech killer. But victory came hard, with Daniel and Cassidy being hurt in the process. As the dust settled, all that remained was to bandage wounds, call the sheriff, and find a way to less terrifying tomorrows… or so they thought…

November 2, 2024. Morning in our apartment above Moonlight Curiosities. Two days into married life, and already the world refused to mind its own business.

Yesterday turned out to be the champion of a rough day. After twelve hours at Magnolia Regional for treatment, then three interviews with Sheriff Branham over ‘burnt dust’, we were allowed to come home. I crashed immediately to sleep.

Cassidy slept peacefully in bed beside me. Shoulder-length auburn curls made a soft frame around her furry, bat-shaped face. One forearm wing was even draped over me like a shield. I watched her slowly flex her claws while she dreamed. She hadn’t bothered to shift fully human for sleep since Briarwood.

Still, it felt good to be alive.

Sunlight sneaked in around the dark green bedroom curtains, carrying the reminder that we nearly died two nights ago. I took a slow, quiet breath of welcome air.

“I’m sorry, Cassie,” I murmured under my breath. “This wasn’t how I hoped any of this would go. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Memories of what happened ran through my mind in lurid detail. They lingered like a waking nightmare, unwilling to let go. Sure, Cassidy and I survived, but the whole moment was a thorn in my mind.

Especially around Valeria Moffet—my would-be murderer.

I closed my eyes as the memories ran over me. That too-sharp sensation when I was yanked through the antique bay window of our shop. The sting of shattered glass, and the brutal bite of Valeria’s claws, blurred with the echo of my screams. It was a bloody symphony in agony-minor.

All of it because she wanted our antique shop for herself.

Valeria’s skeletal talons, needle-like teeth, and that distorted smile were permanently etched in my mind. Then there were the bodies in the cellar. The horror of what she did to those people as they died was burned into my memory as well.

Monsters don’t let go of you easily—even when you survive, and they don’t.

A gust of autumn wind outside nudged the building, and a loose board somewhere in the attic creaked in protest. Then there was the soft brush of the Spanish moss kissing the bedroom window with a gentle whisper.

It was eerie, but also comforting in its own way. I had grown accustomed to city noises, but this small town life was a welcome change. Taking another deep breath, I watched Cassidy in her sleep.

Even in the morning light, Cassidy’s fine brown fur looked warm and comforting where it wasn’t hidden by bandages. Just seeing her here alive chased the demons out of my head.

Valeria had clawed her up pretty badly as well. But since Cassidy was a skinshaper, she’d heal back up pretty fast. I wasn’t so lucky. We humans tended to heal a bit slower.

My phone buzzed, shattering the calm mood.

“Oh, now what?” I breathed.

I grabbed the thing, then scrolled through the messages. After a quick couple of replies, I set the phone down to find Cassidy watching me. Her large black bat eyes glimmered with curiosity, interest, and something more mysterious.

“Hey there,” I said softly, laying back down next to her.

“Hey yourself,” she said in her soft Southern drawl. “Who was that?”

“One was Tobias about the repairs to the store downstairs. He’s still looking for the materials he needs for the window frame. It’s pretty messed up, and he wants to match the wood. But he’s got the replacement glass.” I pursed my lips, then took in a small breath. “The other was from work. Well, former work.”

Cassidy scowled at the latter, flicking a pointed ear.

“Why?” She stretched the word until I thought it would snap.

I frowned, trying to wave the topic off.

“No, it’s not pestering me for freelance work, software designs they won’t pay me fairly for, or ‘can you do just one more thing?’. It was just three messages hoping we’re okay, followed by a ‘call us if you’re ever ready to consult.’ It seems state and local news picked up on what happened last night and they all saw it. News media is calling it a ‘serial killer attack’ that was stopped by ‘brave local residents’.”

Cassidy groaned, burying her head in the pillow. Slowly, she flexed her claws against the bed.

“Serial killer?” she muttered, glancing back at me. “Well, at least they’re half-right. Bloodleeches are serial killers, among all the other nasty things they like to do.”

Then she tilted her head at me with a grin, flicking an ear at me once more.

“But that means I mostly get you all to myself today!”

“Yes, you do,” I grinned.

Cassidy slid over, folding her forearm wings back as she wrapped her arms around me. I flinched a little, my body still angry at the abuse I took the other night. Worry flickered across her eyes for a second, but snuggled close when I smiled.

“Good. Because I have plans for you, husband,” she purred. A mischievous glimmer shone in her solid, dark eyes.

“Oh, really?” I teased. “Aren’t we a bit beat up?”

“Careful plans,” she replied with a kiss.

It took at least a full hour to enjoy her plans, and I had no complaints. After that, we dragged ourselves breathlessly out of bed, dressed, then headed for the kitchen. Breakfast was on the menu, along with a start to our day.

We’d only just finished eating, and started on the dishes, when the downstairs shop bell rang. A short, polite knock followed it a few seconds later.

“But we’re closed for repairs,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a dishtowel. “There’s a boarded up, blood-stained hole in the front window and everything.”

“Also, we put a sign up,” Cassidy added suspiciously.

We rushed down the steps from our apartment into the shop.

The shop itself was quiet, with antiques waiting where we left them in locked cabinets or on wooden shelves. But still, the air felt tense, if not heavy. Before we reached the front door, Cassidy had slipped back into her human disguise complete with green eyes and freckles.

Past the frosted glass in the dark wooden door, we saw a tall man standing outside. I swapped a suspicious glance with Cassidy before unlocking it to see what he wanted.

“Daniel and Cassidy Hawthorne?” The man’s manners, even his New England accent, were like silk. “Dorian Callix,” he said with a polite smile.

The man was tall and thin, with slicked-back sandy hair and a gaze that didn’t quite look at you. Instead, he looked through you, or even into you. I had to admit, he was dressed with impeccable taste—somewhere between a low-rent fashion plate and upscale life insurance salesman. His light windbreaker and gray-and-white clothing were perfectly pressed. A faint, sweet scent rode the autumn air around him, like a dusty cinnamon that was just a bit wrong.

Dorian looked more like the idealized idea of a stylish person than a real one. It was a little unsettling. His eyes slid over the antique shop’s blood-stained front window to his right. Then he smiled—thin, polite, and just a little too deliberate to be comfortable.

“If you’ve time, and aren’t too busy,” he said, stretching the word a bit, “I’d like to come in and discuss some matters of interest with you both.”

Cassidy darted in front of me even as Dorian made the request. Her disguise dropped just enough to bare fangs and claws, every muscle in her shoulders coiled for a fight.

“Bloodleech,” she growled, sniffing the air.

The memory of Valeria’s giggles ran through my head. I gripped the door handle hard enough to choke it.

Dorian held up his hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Truce, skinshaper. Truce. I’m here in full good faith,” he said carefully. Dorian’s gray eyes were cold and calculating. Wary. The autumn air turned tense. “Also, I wanted to thank you… both of you… in person.”

“What?” I snapped.

He interlaced his fingers in front of him with a thin smile.

“I’ll explain.” He took a long breath. “Valeria Moffet was what you’d call my ‘maker’—though that term flatters her way too much, and isn’t entirely accurate. She was a bit careless, often caught up too much in her own appetites.”

He shifted his weight, then gestured to us.

“When news of you two spread among the creatures of the night, some believed it, some didn’t. Those that did believe, were upset or curious.”

“They’re jealous,” Cassidy growled, still eager for that fight.

The bloodleech shrugged. “Hm, probably, or thought you had found some advantage they didn’t. Valeria was one of those. She wanted whatever it was, or at least to feast on you two like some new exotic, imported candy. The curious ones? They’re just that. Curious. Especially since this sort of thing is rare enough to begin with.”

“Where do you fall?” I asked sharply, not quite itching for a fight.

“Oh, I’m the latter,” Dorian replied with a soft chuckle. “I try not to be stupid, and stick my fingers in an obvious blender, hm?”

He punctuated that with a glance at Cassidy’s claws, raising his eyebrows.

“You see, you two helped me move up a bit in bloodleech ‘society’, such as it is. So, I’m in your debt. Also—” he hesitated, weighing his words “—Valeria wasn’t working alone, whether she knew it or not. Which means, someone has to clean up the mess, which would be me.”

Dorian glanced up and down the sidewalk as the fall leaves blew along the tree-lined street. A couple of the older locals, on their way to Miss Milly’s diner, slowed down enough to stare.

Cassidy stepped back far enough to be out of sight, but remained close enough to be a very clear and present danger.

The man cleared his throat, before pulling on that too-smooth grin again. He nodded toward the doorway.

“If I may? It’s a bit chilly today. There really is something potentially lucrative I’d like to talk about. We could continue this inside where we’re out of the wind… prying eyes,” he raised his eyebrows, “and ears? Gloamstead is a rather small town.”

I swapped a glance with Cassidy. A silent conversation that said a thousand things and expressed even more concerns.

Dorian’s smile turned tense and worried.

“You have my word. I’m no threat to your little family. Nor is any bloodleech that owes me in any way.”

Cassidy sighed and nodded. We stepped aside to let him in.

“There’s a small office to the left of the checkout counter, over by the vintage lamps.” I indicated a path between shelves of hand-carved wooden boxes, and a few well-preserved, iron railroad spikes.

“Thank you,” he replied with a gracious smile.

Casually, he strolled over to the office, but took great care to avoid the railroad spikes. His eyes traveled over the rust-freckled iron. There was a brief twitch of distaste, like he’d caught a whiff of something sour. Overall, Dorian gave the shelf a wide berth.

“I don’t trust this,” I whispered. “He wants something more than business.”

Cassidy clenched her jaw, then took a long, slow breath. Gently, she shifted all the way human, putting a hand on my arm and squeezing lightly.

“I really don’t trust him either,” she said, voice low. “But he gave his word. For a bloodleech that’s a really big deal.”

She took another long, deep breath, then stroked my arm a little with a hand. I could tell it was to reassure her as much as it was for me.

“I hate this,” she grumbled. “I really do hate this, Daniel. Especially after the other night.”

I resisted flinching at the mention of the fight with Valeria in Briarwood Manor. Instead, I held her hand, kissing her knuckles.

“Me too.” A sigh drained out of me. “But… he mentioned something ‘lucrative’ and we need the money for that window and the other damages.”

Cassidy gave the boarded up bay window the same look you’d give a wedding cake that had collapsed in the middle of your own reception.

“Yeah, I know.”

I frowned at the office. “Cassie? If he gets out of hand, we kick him out. Deal?”

She gave me a quick kiss on the lips with a small smile.

“Deal.”

We crossed the main storefront to see just what kind of trouble our unusual, and mostly unwanted guest, had dropped at our doorstep.

For more about Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, Windtracer Tales, Legends of the Privateers, or any of my other works, please consider subscribing as I would really appreciate the support, sometimes I post behind the scenes on writing, worldbuilding and more.

If you’ve enjoyed this and are looking for a little more action, take the plunge here at the link over to Legends of the Privateers. But if action-archeology is more your style, take the leap over here to Windtracer Tales!

Buy Me a Coffee!

Subscribe now

Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.

New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…

Missed a chapter? You can find the full list here.

Previously. After being kidnapped and killed, Daniel Hawthorne set out to escape the rotten walls of the Briarwood Manor Estate. But plans changed once he heard the wailing cries of a second victim in the nightmarish home. Someone else trapped in the claws of the monster, Valeria Moffet. Escape became survival, then turned to hope as Daniel’s own personal avenging angel arrived—his shapeshifting wife, Cassidy.

October 31, 2024. Seconds later in the Briarwood Manor Estate’s old library. Gloamstead, Alabama. Sometimes violence is an option…

“Daniel!” Cassidy yelled, sliding the bag across the floor to me.

She leaped forward with inhuman speed. There was a wet popping sound—like celery snapping inside a burlap sack.

Soft brown fur pushed out of her skin as a furry snout extended from her face. Delicate fangs reached below her lips, peeking out as they only did when she was so very pissed off. Her eyes turned a deep, onyx-black as wings snapped open under her arms, shredding more rents in her loose cotton shirt.

In the time it took her to reach the bloodleech, Cassidy had changed completely. A moment ago, she’d been entirely human. Now, she was a lean, humanoid-animal shape—a perfect blend of woman and human-sized fruit bat.

One very angry humanoid fruit bat.

The instant she reached Valeria, dark brown claws snicked out the ends of her fingers, slicing deep gashes along the fiend’s mummified face. Valeria screamed as if stabbed by hot needles, stumbling back as Cassidy advanced like a predator going for the kill.

On the floor, I crawled away from the fight dragging the canvas bag and candlestick. The bag was heavy, but my head was too muddled to figure out why. There was something important about the bag, but I felt too much like a battered sack of old potatoes to remember.

I finally found the nearest wall. Putting my back to it, I turned to face the chaos, barking out a dry cough from getting choked. Barely five feet away, the two women slashed, stabbed, and bit each other with savage abandon.

A dim thought in my head screamed to get up and help. Do something—anything useful.

“Up… Get up!” I snarled between clenched teeth and aches.

Pressing a shoulder against the wall, I shoved myself to my knees, then got unsteadily to my feet. I held up the bent candlestick, grimacing.

“This won’t do. All she did was giggle, and probably thought I was flirting or something,” I wheezed, tossing the holder aside. It clanked to the floor like a bad foregone conclusion. I rubbed my throat, thinking through pain. “Need better. Something sharp… pointed.”

I shifted my weight. When I leaned my back against the wall facing the bloody fight, I heard the solid clunk of metal in Cassidy’s dirty canvas bag. I yanked it open, hoping for jars of napalm garlic or something equally impressive.

What I found was so much better.

Inside the bag rested a pair of rusted, iron railroad spikes. A tired smile brushed my lips as I stared at them.

A memory flashed through my mind. One, not long back, where Cassidy had explained over dinner about bloodleeches and iron—they hated raw iron, especially with rust. It burned them like being boiled in acid. Funny enough, she said they called it ‘cold iron’ like in the old myths about faeries.

“Why is it always iron with brain-sucking monsters and faerie tales?” I murmured.

Also, it struck me that Cassidy and I had the strangest dinner conversations.

But, cold, rusted, or not, this was still a spike. Last I knew, everyone was allergic to getting stabbed—especially with a railroad spike. I grabbed one, dropping the bag to the floor.

“Valeria!” I yelled.

She spun around, claws up.

I slammed the spike into her upper chest.

Valeria jerked from the impact, then screamed loud enough to shatter glass two houses away.

Smoke boiled from the wound like an open fire as the acrid stench of burned meat and cooked rot flooded the air. I gritted my teeth and shoved again, pushing the spike deeper. The bloodleech went wild with an insane shriek, her claws leaving light gashes along my forearms.

“You! I’ll… rip you… apart!” she rasped.

I let go and ducked her claws, long enough to grab the second spike.

“Cassie!”

I tossed the spike. Exhausted and bleeding, Cassidy snatched it out of the air. She thrust, but Valeria twisted aside. I lunged and hammered both hands down on the spike—a frantic, staccato rhythm of death. Whose death I wasn’t sure, I just hoped it was hers. More smoke spilled out of the bloodleech like a rancid fog.

Valeria grabbed me by the throat and squeezed hard. My eyes watered, darkness frayed the edges of my vision. Just as I thought she was about to rip open my throat, Valeria jerked hard from behind, mouth open in stunned shock. Fresh fetid smoke burned up from behind Valeria.

Cassidy was suddenly there right behind Valeria.

“I said hands off my husband,” Cassidy hissed into Valeria’s ear.

Valeria’s scream landed somewhere between rage and agony.

Then it was over.

Suddenly, the room felt enormous and eerily quiet.

The entire nightmare lasted less than a minute as the rusted iron did its gruesome work. With one final, garbled shriek and rattled breath, Valeria Moffet—serial killer, bloodleech, and a literal walking terror—dissolved into a pile of charred dust and cracked bone.

I half-expected the dust to twitch. Reform. Maybe whisper something final and creepy. But no, it was just gray-black dust, bone, and the smell of overcooked evil.

Exhausted, Cassidy and I stared numbly at the smoldering heap with its sour stink of burned rot.

A second or two passed, then I looked over at my wife, giving her a lopsided grin. Then my knees gave way, and I fell like a discarded puppet. My vision blacked out for a second, before I realized that I never hit the floor. That seemed somehow wrong, like I’d broken gravity.

Then I realized Cassidy had caught me as I fell.

Carefully, she lowered me the rest of the way down, leaning me against a wall. Panting hard, she collapsed against me, gently pressing her soft, fox-like muzzle against my cheek. Blood matted the fur in her arms from long, thin slashes that mirrored the cuts I had.

“Good catch,” I murmured painfully.

Darkness dissolved the edges of my vision again and I felt myself starting to go limp. Cassidy clutched at me, as if she could hold me together by force of will. She stroked my hair, and I dimly felt her furry hands trembling.

“Daniel! No! Honey, no! Please. Oh, please, no. Don’t leave me. Blink. Breathe. Please, love… breathe…”

That sounded like a really great idea, so I did.

One breath led to a cough. I blinked, then reached up to run a hand through that wonderfully soft brown fur on her cheek.

“Hey, sunshine.” I rasped. A cough chased the words. “Just a thought. How about if we get married again, we just elope? Justice of the peace, secret honeymoon, and all that? Maybe skip all the blood and murder?”

Cassidy choked back a sob underscored with a soft bat’s twitter. A tear trailed through her fur.

“Deal,” she whispered, then cradled me gently.

I jerked as my pain-addled mind remembered the college kid.

“Couch!” I coughed, pointing at the sofa. “Kid. She grabbed a college kid. Did something to him.”

I tried to get up, but Cassidy sternly shook her head.

“No, and I mean it! I’ll go check on him, then find something to rip into bandages,” she sighed. “You stay here.”

“Good idea,” I said, then coughed.

She gave me a light kiss on the forehead, then hurried off to the couch. I tried to sit with my back against the wall, imagining I was comfortable—mostly, I was just trying to catch my breath.

Once my head cleared a little more, I pushed against the wall to stand up, then searched the room. There had to be a way to call for help. After all, she’d called the shop dozens of times before tonight already.

It turned out there was a way. My phone, along with fifteen more, lay in a bowl on a nearby bookshelf.

“She collected the phones of the people she murdered? Oh no, that’s not unsettling at all…” I muttered, tapping the screen of my phone. Miraculously, it still worked.

Cassidy hurried by with an armload of unexpectedly clean sheets and a pair of scissors. Dropping the bundle next to the couch, she winced a little as her fur receded to skin. Bones adjusted as she pulled on her human disguise again. Then she savaged one of the sheets with enthusiasm, pain blending with worry in her eyes.

“The kid on the sofa is as pale as a ghost, but breathing,” she said, tearing sheets.

“She clawed his scalp, then I think bit him?” I explained between coughs.

Cassidy nodded grimly, eyes stern.

“Yeah. Bloodleeches do that.”

She quickly bandaged the kid, then went to work wrapping my forearms, grimacing at the sight the entire time.

“Love? How are we going to explain any of this to Sheriff Branham?”

I let out another dry cough, trying to remember how phone numbers and thumbs worked.

“Wedding crasher from hell?” I quipped, then winced as far too many cuts and bruises needled me.

Cassidy secured the last bandage, then wrapped her arms around me in a gentle, secure hug. A kiss came right after that.

I dialed. The sheriff’s office answered the phone, and I let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, this is Daniel Hawthorne. My wife, Cassidy, and I are at the old Briarwood Manor estate. Sheriff Branham needs to get over here right away with an ambulance. We, ah, found where the missing tourists went.”

I glanced at the pile of flaky, burnt dust that was once Valeria Moffet, murderous drama queen and bloodleech.

“He also might want to bring a shop vac, and some little baggies, too.”

For more about Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, Windtracer Tales, Legends of the Privateers, or any of my other works, please consider subscribing as I would really appreciate the support, sometimes I post behind the scenes on writing, worldbuilding and more.

If you’ve enjoyed this and are looking for a little more action, take the plunge here at the link over to Legends of the Privateers. But if action-archeology is more your style, take the leap over here to Windtracer Tales!

Buy Me a Coffee!

Subscribe now

Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.

New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…

Missed a chapter? You can find the full list here.

October 31, 2024. Abandoned Briarwood Manor Estate. Gloamstead, Alabama. Beating a brain-sucker at her own game…

Married three hours ago. Kidnapped two hours ago. Tortured one hour ago for my antique shop.

It’d been one hell of a day.

Consciousness hit me like a fist to the jaw. I jerked awake, tied to a chair, my best blue suit torn and bloody. Gasping air like a drowning man, I fought down panic. After that, I fought with the ropes.

I didn’t actually plan to get kidnapped, or almost murdered, on my wedding day. That was the serial killer’s idea. Having all that take place in an abandoned estate was icing on the death cake. Finally, the knots at my wrists came loose.

“Damn it!”

I hissed in pain, yanking my bloody, scraped hands free. The other bonds were easier to shake off, but I was still careful. Getting stabbed by a jagged, rotten splinter from the chair I sat in was the last thing I needed. I had enough problems.

Honestly, it was a pretty old chair. But while I probably could’ve snapped the wood to get loose, my murder-host, Valeria Moffet, had already worked me over. She’d sliced thin cuts across my chest and one shoulder. They stung like hell.

I eased out of the chair, tossing the ropes aside. Carefully, I rubbed my legs, desperately trying to get some feeling back. Pain pricked at me where the dried blood tugged at the edge of my cuts. I grimaced.

“That hurts like hell.” I shuddered out a sigh. “But I’m still alive.”

A pins-and-needles sensation shot through my legs, making my knees tremble as I glanced around.

“Alive is good. Need to stay alive.”

The air was thick with every festering scent no one wanted to smell. Mold, mildew, and rotten carpet had mixed into a sharp stench that assaulted my nose. I coughed, nearly falling over, then searched my pockets for my phone to call for help. The most I found was damp pocket lint.

“Shit!”

I clenched my jaw, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“No phone. Nothing. She took it all. I’ve got to find help. There has to be a phone… something.”

I eased across the forgotten bedroom, lightheaded from pain. Warped, loose floorboards slowed me down, but terror kept me moving. Once on the other side of the room, I knelt by the bedroom’s only door out, listening for threats. Thunder crashed outside, while rain beat against the cracked and stained windows. Somewhere in the house, wind moaned through exposed rafters that creaked at the abuse. It was a haunted house soundtrack in real time.

But there weren’t any footsteps, screams, or high-pitched giggling—not even heavy breathing outside my own. That bled some tension out of my back. I sighed.

“Weapon. I need a weapon,” I murmured between waves of pain. “Crowbar. Pipe. Something.”

I glanced around the bedroom, clenching my jaw. There wasn’t much.

Valeria had stripped the room down to a chair, battered and stained mattress, and a dilapidated dresser. Nerves pricked goosebumps along my skin like hot needles.

“It’s like some sick stage play for a ritual murder,” I huffed bitterly. “Maybe I could hit her over the head with a drawer? I do not want to die here.”

Slowly, I pushed to my feet, ignoring the hot pain from the bloody gashes under my clothes. Darkness frayed at the edges of my sight, making the world swim. I closed my eyes.

“Cassie.” I breathed my wife’s name like a prayer. “Please be safe—I’m coming.”

I gave up on the drawer idea, since it was rotten anyway, and eased out of the room. The hallway outside was draped in long shadows, spilling across a heavily stained brass-gold carpet that made my eyes spin.

Dark wood-paneled walls with the occasional wallpaper trim didn’t help the lighting—not that there really was much. It was just sporadic bursts of lightning outside, flashing through the second floor windows. There were paintings I didn’t care about, and the occasional thin table that held something decorative, like a mummified flower arrangement.

My memory of the place was a lost cause, so I picked a direction and eased forward. I jerked at motion in the corner of my eye, then relaxed with a shudder. It was me in a yellowed window pane nearby—dark hair bloodied, skin paler than I liked. I looked like a refugee from a mortuary.

A haunting giggle tickled the air before a soul-tearing scream slapped it. My blood froze.

It was her.

Valeria Moffet—elegant and graceful as smooth marble, but as twisted as rusted barbed wire.

“God, she’s already at it again,” I rasped, voice trembling. “Another body for the stack in her basement.”

I leaned against the wall for support as that scream split the air again, needling a headache into me. This time, sobbing chased after it.

“Please don’t let it be Cassie,” I prayed selfishly.

Cassidy or no, I didn’t want it to be anyone. Still, I hurried down the hall, where I finally found the front stairs to the foyer, and the way out.

“Sheriff. I need the sheriff,” I wheezed. “If I can…”

Another sharp scream and sobbing shattered my thoughts. I twitched and nearly tumbled down the staircase. That shriek felt like it battered everything, from me to the dying art déco wallpaper trim. I sucked in a sharp, putrid breath to clear my head.

“All right, think, Daniel. That can’t be Cassie. The pitch is all wrong. Whoever that is, they’re as human as me.”

But that didn’t make it better—just different. It was still someone Valeria had dragged into this playtime horror show of hers. I glanced down the stairs to the stained foyer, then at the closed front door.

Valeria’s giddy giggle trembled the air, toying with my nerves.

I squeezed my eyes against tears.

“Shit,” I muttered bitterly. “Just… no. I can’t leave whoever that is. Just can’t, even if I’m beat to pieces. There’s no way I’ll get help in time.”

A knot of terror rose in my throat—it was time for a bad idea.

“Cassie?” I prayed quietly. “Please find me. I’m about to be so very stupid.”

A quick, desperate search of the hallway turned up a heavy, antique silver candlestick from atop a nearby wooden hutch. The metal holder was ornate and old, carved with delicate 19th-century filigree.

Valuable? No doubt. But at that moment, it felt better as a metal club than an expensive antique.

“You’ll do,” I growled at the candlestick, then stalked down the hallway. “Cassie said Valeria was a bloodleech. Well, now I’ve got a candlestick. Let’s see who wins.”

It was a great speech—I hoped it wouldn’t be my epitaph.

I eased downstairs, avoiding the worst of the loose boards, and followed the screams. They wailed like warbling ghosts from the manor’s old sitting room, turned personal library, on the first floor. A limp, infected yellow light spilled out of the room’s open double doorway.

Another scream. It sounded like a young man having his soul torn out of his lungs.

This needed to stop one way or the other. I’d curl into a ball and cry later, if I lived. Everything about this plan of mine centered on Valeria being too occupied to hear me over the noise.

But that murder mansion had way too many loose boards. One past the doorway squeaked when I stepped on it. I swung and missed—she didn’t.

The world became an ugly smear. I slammed into a wall at top speed after Valeria threw me like a meat rag. Old wood paneling cracked behind me. I collapsed into a heap, air knocked from my lungs. A moldy avalanche of books poured from an overhead shelf. I dimly realized that somehow I still had my candlestick.

A blonde, college-age, young man lay nearby bound up like a fresh-catch. He was stretched out on his stomach across a battered, bloodstained Victorian sitting sofa. If he wasn’t screaming, he sobbed. Next to him sat an old black grand piano that played host to a lit set of yellow-white candles.

It was yet another of Valeria’s picturesque horror scenes for murder.

The madwoman herself tapped three out-of-tune piano keys while she stopped next to the young man.

Valeria Moffet—elegant as a thin stiletto—stood like she owned the room. Glossy dark hair framed a face too perfect and too pale to be anything but wrong. Her eyes were a washed-out blue, cold and distant as moonlight over ice. The look she gave me was clinical, almost curious, as if she hadn’t decided what part of me she wanted to keep.

Her dead-blue eyes slid over to the young man on the couch when he groaned again.

“Quiet, you,” she sneered icily. “Snacks don’t interrupt.”

The young man replied with a wet, mumbled whisper. Nothing more than mangled pain and sobbing dressed up like words. Valeria scowled.

In a flash, long, sharp, ebony nails snapped out of her fingers before she scraped his scalp. Blood welled up in long lines. He screamed. Her lips curled in a faint smile before she leaned down, planting a soft kiss on the back of his neck.

He spasmed.

She inhaled.

I stared wide-eyed and trembling.

The young man collapsed, unearthly still. Once Valeria straightened, she wiped a clear fluid from her pale, black-veined lips. Her chilly smile was all sharp edges. A cold humor that didn’t quite reach those watery, solid black eyes.

“Now, Daniel, where were we? Oh, you were giving me your antique shop,” she said as smooth as poisoned oil.

I rolled to my right, ignoring the pain that danced along my cuts. Using the wall as support, I got to my feet, brandishing my now-warped candlestick like an all-too-short baseball bat.

“Get bent. Where’s Cassidy?” I rasped while my knees trembled.

Valeria drifted away from the sofa with an inhuman grace that defied the laws of physics. Every primal instinct I had screamed to run, find a deep cave, and hide.

“Your little bat is hiding,” she said coolly. A smile tugged at her mouth. “Which is clever of her, even if she was stupid enough to follow you here.”

A shudder punched through me. I didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, I glared.

Valeria tilted her head a little, considering me like a venomous snake debating a tasty meal.

“Still, she’ll be a lovely keepsake. So will you.” Her smile sharpened. “Isn’t that what you do at Moonlight Curiosities? Offer lovely ‘keepsakes’? You should’ve given me what I wanted, Daniel.”

She rushed at me before I could spit back some half-baked remark of desperate bravado. Quickly, I swung the candlestick. She ducked, and I missed. Again. Sadly, she didn’t, knocking me backwards.

Wood paneling snapped once more when she bashed me against the wall. I slid down, leaving behind a me-shaped crater as my body kissed the floor with an ugly thump. Pain told me to stay down. Instead, I lurched to my feet with a roar, candlestick at the ready.

I swung wildly as Valeria stepped back, wide-eyed. Candlestick met jaw at top speed—a wet crack of bone followed. The fiend lurched to one side, then reset her jaw with an ugly pop. She giggled as if it were the best joke in the world.

“Oh, I was hoping you’d fight. It’s so boring when my guests just let me drink them down.” She ran a tongue over her lips. “This way there’s struggle. A delicious, awful panic.”

“Get a therapist,” I wheezed.

She darted forward, a snarl cutting the air.

This time her skin shriveled like overheated paint bubbling off polished wood. Reddish-purple veins weaved erratically through her withered skin. Her almost too-perfect marble elegance, like an ideal image of a person, melted away like rancid candle wax.

Valeria’s eyes rolled fully back into her head, replaced with void-black orbs as her fingers stretched long and skeletal. Ebony-dark claws snapped out of her fingers again, aimed for my chest.

I darted aside, but her claws found my shirt. She jerked, and the room flipped sideways around me. Mold and plaster dust filled the air when I hit the wall… again.

“So delicious.”

The words slithered out of her warped, sucker-like mouth, ringed with needle-like teeth.

“I can’t wait for you to watch while I suck your precious Cassidy dry. All before I eat you.”

She hauled me off the floor, one hand on my shirt, the other at my throat.

I should’ve been terrified. But Valeria underestimated my rapidly diminishing sense of self-preservation. With a manic zeal, I slammed the candlestick against the bloodleech until the metal—and her jaw—bent out of shape.

“Let. Me. Go!” I rasped with each hit, turning purple while I slowly lost air.

Valeria savagely snapped her jaw back into place with a free hand, as a shadow stretched across both of us.

I managed a limp grin.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it now,” I croaked.

It was my wife.

Cassidy stood in the doorway, clutching a small canvas bag—jeans and shirt as torn as my suit. Red hair, wild and unkempt, framed a face with livid emerald green eyes. She was a five foot eight bundle of delightful, righteous fury.

“Drop him right now!”

Her command sliced the air like a scalpel. Heat flashed in her eyes like torches from a thousand angry villagers.

“Oh. The bat,” Valeria hissed with a bored, sucking sneer.

The bloodleech dropped me like yesterday’s garbage. But she barely had time to turn around before Cassidy was already in motion.

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Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.

A Letter In an Envelope that reads, “Introductions”

Welcome Stranger!

Looks like you’ve found our quiet little county along the Alabama-Florida line here in the Southeastern US. Our tiny little corner of the world. Let me be the first to say…

Welcome… and don’t forget to lock your doors at night.

Blighridge County, which holds the little towns of Gloamstead and Craigbrook, isn’t much. But those of us living here call it home. Folks here keep to themselves, mostly. But you’ll find we’re all good company… provided you mind your manners, and watch where you step.

You see both Gloamstead and Craigbrook have got their quirks. A bit of personality, you might say. See, shadows linger a bit longer than they ought to. Those soft voices on the wind? That’s just Leatherdown Bayou whispering louder than the wind should carry it. Don’t worry, it’s probably just saying hello. Probably. And anyway, you’re new here, you’ve got nothing to worry about.

Oh! If you’re for history, you don’t want to pass up Briarwood Manor. It’s a landmark, sure, but after dark? You might meet the family. And not in the way you’re thinking. But they might be glad to see you. Real glad.

Now, life here in Blighridge County might seem a bit old-fashioned. Sure, we know mankind went to the moon, and people are now talking a lot about going to Mars. That’s all fine. Here, we keep a bit to the old ways. A lantern in the window at the bayou’s edge. Salt by your doors. Oh, and if you think you hear a strange knocking after dark? Unless you’re expecting someone, best you ignore that. It’ll pass.

You see, the cypress, the moss, the bayou itself—they all remember things. Old things that chuckle over walking on the moon. Things that might be best left forgotten.

So stay sharp, keep your eyes open, and don’t trust every kind word you hear. You see, some shadows might have a soul… and a few teeth to along with that.

But now, you enjoy your stay!

Ah, one last thing… don’t miss out on Miss Milly’s meat pies!

They’re to die for.

See you in the morning!

Don’t forget to lock your door...

Roy Branham, Blighridge County Sheriff

P.S. If you get a little lost and need some help, stop by Moonlight Curiosities in Gloamstead. I knew Daniel’s uncle back in the day before he vanished. Daniel and Cassidy Hawthorne, who run the place now, are good people. They’ll help you out if they can. Just… watch what you touch there. That shop runs itself on more than just money…

Season/Book 1: Inkwell of Shadows

Click for the Table of Contents

Newlywed, but not newly-dead. At least, not yet…

Daniel Hawthorne thought marrying his long-time fiancée, Cassidy—a shapeshifting bat-creature called a skinshaper—would be the hard part. Especially compared to quitting his workaholic job as a software engineer to run his late uncle’s antique shop in a quiet Southern town.

Sadly, not so much.

After a supernatural enemy crashes their wedding night with blood and fire, Daniel and Cassidy barely escape with their lives. The old storefront is smashed. Their honeymoon? Ruined. To rebuild, they’re forced to take a dubious job investigating a set of antique fountain pens. Ones with a long and deadly history in their wake.

Now they find themselves caught up in a century-old problem steeped in ink and blood. At the same time, a mysterious figure is also looking for the pens—and is willing to kill anyone to get them. Worse? It all might have ties to the monster that nearly murdered them.

To protect home, sanity, and each other, Daniel and Cassidy must uncover the truth—at least before their names are written in blood.

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Subscribe now

Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries and Curses by Darklight is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author's, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.