Page 6 of Ballad of Nightmares

Sam stared out the window, watching the rain as it drifted to a drizzle. “Their final nightmare.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE THREE TOOK their motorcycles down to the festival.

They used the back entrance as they always did, ensuring no one caught them coming from the dark castle. But Millie attracted attention like no other. Swinging into old town, she popped her front wheel off the pavement, her maniacal laughter sounding over the crackling fires and conversations of the people already celebrating.

Death’s Day.

Sam remembered well the day the Myers and Moors broke apart, and he shadowed this domain from the rest of the world. All he’d meant to do was bide his time in peace, let his demons roam, and report back to him when it was time to strike. In those years, he’d allowed his kingdom to flourish and grow beyond what the other nations were capable of, even Firemoor.

TherighteousFiremoor.

Sam shook his head at the thought as they slowed their bikes down into one of the alleyways just past the great bonfire, parking outside a favorite basement speak-easy they liked to frequent.

Millie made sure to take a selfie of the three of them before they parted: Rolfe with his rocker hand gesture and tongue out, Millie holding the phone at an angle with one eye closed and making a silly, yet somehow sexy, face with her tongue also hanging out, and Sam… Sam with a rare smile that met his dark eyes, his hair falling lightly over his forehead and eye.

“Sexy as ever, boys,” Millie drawled as she looked the photo over, then smiled slyly at Sam. “Boss…” She puckered her lips at him. “I think we should do this makeup more often. Really brings out your…royal-ness,” she said with a wink.

Sam scoffed at the tease. “Pick a random Tuesday,” he replied. “I’ll wear the wings.”

Her eyes fluttered, knees visibly weakening, like the words he’d just said had her reaching for an orgasm right there on the street. “You keep talking like that, and the witches might have to wait.”

Rolfe grinned, his curling mustache hiking crookedly. “Kitty, kitty, wants to play,” he bantered.

Millie’s brow lifted at Rolfe. “Does the little pup want to play fetch?” she mocked. “I believe I have a tennis ball in here somewhere,” she added as she began to rummage through her bag. “Oh, wait, it’s just a pair of balls I took from an idiot last week.”

She held up severed testicles in her palm, and Sam and Rolfe both winced.

“Come on, Mills,” Rolfe grunted in disgust.

But Millie just tossed them up and down in the air, delirious grin on her face. Rolfe pushed off the bike, muttering something about wearing iron underwear from then on, and Sam chuckled as Millie blew a giant bubble in her bright pink chewing gum, which Rolfe popped with his finger.

Millie bared her teeth at Rolfe as he left them, and then she turned back to Sam, leaning on the front of his bike. “And what does his Majesty have planned for his own day?”

One glance around the square reminded Sam of how much he loved this fucking town. The people. The darkness. The nostalgia and old charm… And when a raven landed on the iron fencing behind them, Sam remembered he had a job to do that night.

“Sam?” Millie called.

He turned his attention back to her and pushed off the bike, leaning forward to give her a quick kiss on her cheek. “See you in the morning, Mills,” he said solemnly as he started walking backwards. “Get into all the trouble for me.”

Millie stared at him a moment, recollecting herself, then quickly blew him a kiss, saying, “You know I will,” before pulling out her phone again. Sam felt his smirk growing crooked at the sight of her taking another photo, and he flipped her off with both hands. The phone flashed, and Millie smiled knowingly.

“Goodnight, Sam,” he heard her call after him.

Parting ways, Sam made his way over to the bar set up in the park.

To the people, he was just Sam. The charcoal artist who occasionally hosted shows in the art gallery on First. Just a simple man, though some thought him one of Death’s demons, relatively quiet and reserved. Men and women alike leered at him upon passing, and he let them. Most did not approach, and those that did… he didn’t turn away.

There was something about his presence, though, that people didn’t understand. Dangerous, and yet they were curious. Wasn’t that always the case? To want what should be off-limits or forbidden. Death was one of these obscurities, and the fact that he was their hidden king made it all the more desirous to be near him.

They were all moths to his flame.

There was a bonfire stacked twelve feet tall outside the cemetery gates as there always was, but this year they’d placed a great bull’s skull on the scarecrow instead of a deer skull. People were dancing around the fire. Children ran up to it with the straw dolls and placed them in the fire. After a while, the smoke thickened, and Sam played into the illusion as he usually did.

His shadows darkened the ground and wound up the spiral fire. A sign Death approved of their celebration, so the people claimed.

Uptown, they were having a grand parade and street party down main, but Sam always enjoyed the celebrations of old town better. More traditional, closer to home… the party here held a nostalgia that reminded him of why he’d shadowed this place to begin with.