Tales of the Slayer by Nancy Holder & Mel Odom & Yvonne Navarro & Christie Golden & Doranna Durgin & Greg Rucka

Author:Nancy Holder & Mel Odom & Yvonne Navarro & Christie Golden & Doranna Durgin & Greg Rucka
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

Mornglom Dreaming

Doranna Durgin

KENTUCKY, 1886

Two entities in need.

They find each other.

The primary is demonic in nature, carnal of flesh; it hungers.

The secondary is spectral in nature, ephemeral of flesh; it craves.

Together, they haunt the mountain hollers.

The resounding noise of offended piglets filled the barnyard. Within the barn, Mollie Prater picked out the shouts of her equally outraged younger brother as he struggled to herd the creatures inside without letting the big mean-as-spit sow through the low door.

From the loft above her, Lonnie gave a low laugh, forking down another bunch of last fall’s hay for the evening cow feed. “Ferd never gets any better at that.”

“Easy for you to say, seein’ as you’re free of the job now.” Mollie scooped a handful of charcoal from one bucket and a handful of hardwood ashes from another, dumping them both in the pig slops and stirring vigorously with the flat wooden paddle she plucked from its spot on the barn partition.

“Count yourself lucky,” Lonnie grunted, sending down an other forkful of hay. “You bein’ a girl and all—you missed that particular chore.”

Mollie said nothing as she stirred the pig slops and worm tonic. No point in it. Girl children had one set of chores, boys another; such was life even if she had always been plenty strong enough to handle either. Soon enough she’d have a whole ‘nother set of chores—wifely ones. At fifteen, she was well ready to be wed, and after two patient years of courting, Harly Meade was ready to have her. Her daddy reckoned him as a good provider and a faithful man in all ways, and that suited her; a man had to be steady to make his way in these mountains.

She liked, too, that he was tall and straight limbed and had a sweet smile—and that he so often turned it on her, making her feel entirely uncertain of her feet against the ground. In a few more weeks she’d be Mrs. Harly Meade and she’d find out just what there was to being woman of her own homestead, a modest starter cabin in a small scoop on the side of the steep hill.

It was the impending wedding that had her feeling strange these days, she figured. She blamed her excitement for that day she’d woken up with the odd sensation of her own blood tingling through her body, lending her strength a woman didn’t expect to have—and for the times since then that she’d tripped over her own movements simply because things came easier than she expected, easier even than her own normal vigorous efforts. She blamed the wedding for her dreams, too—although they didn’t seem to be wedding sorts of dreams at all, but mornglom dreams full of darkness and roaring and startling smells.

She’d always had a knack for dreams, but . . . she couldn’t recall dreaming in smells before.

Real-life pig stye stink rose to fill her nostrils, dispelling thoughts of early morning dreams. “Pee-yew,” she said in disgust, and decided she’d stirred the charcoal and ashes worm tonic quite well enough.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.