Shadows on the Wall 

Chapter 77- Bad Moon A-Rising By Nancybe 

by NancyBe


Voiceover (Kathryn Leigh Scott): Although spring has finally come to the Great
Estate of Collinwood, those who live there will find that the new birth it
brings is far from welcome.  




Candle wax, tobacco, and spice.  She snuggled closer to him and inhaled his
scent, Quentin’s scent.  The scent of her world.  For her world was Quentin,
and Quentin was her world.  

It was intoxicating lying here next to him, her body humming with satisfaction
right down to her very toes.  But how odd that she should feel cold and that
the air should feel so heavy around her.  She opened her eyes; the room, her
world, had grown so dark that she could no longer make Quentin out.  And then
she was standing, and the floor was slippery, almost sandy, and she had
difficulty keeping her footing.  

She didn’t understand.  

And then she saw the light.  From far off, she saw the light approaching, and
instead of hope, she felt dread.  Dread that slid down her throat and expanded
in her belly like a gangrenous sponge.  The sickly green light grew closer and
closer, and under its illumination, Vicki finally understood why she labored to
breathe, why her feet slid on a sandy bottom, why her lips tasted of salt.  

She was on the bottom of the sea.  

It made no sense, none of it, but she had no time to think about it because
something was coming, coming through the water – to her, for her.  She could
hear its approach, a slithery, whispering sound as it swam, one with the light,
toward her.  The sound was of something huge, something ancient and mythical. 
And somehow, of something very familiar.  

Vicki’s heart pounded in her chest as the thing came nearer to her.  There was
nowhere to run or hide.  In moments, she was bathed in the light’s loathsome
glow, and she could see what it brought with it.  

A beast.  

A beast stories high.  So large that she had to crane her neck to see its face
…or rather its *faces*.  It had three.  Two smaller snakelike heads on thin
stalks of neck on either side that swiveled constantly but never lost sight of
her with their scarlet eyes.  Their gaze made her shiver and wrap her arms
tightly around herself for a sense of security as well as warmth.  But it was
the third face, the center and *main* face, that made her bite down on her lip
in fear until it bled.  For this face was nearly human in appearance with
bright blue eyes.  They fixed her in their stare until she felt like she had
been shot through with an arsenal of Julia Hoffman’s infamous tranquilizers. 
Her eyes drifted lower and found something even more repulsive.  The face had
lips, pink human-shaped lips – and they were smiling at her.  

Vicki took a step back and dropped her gaze.  Anything not to have to see that
part-snake, part-human face smiling at her as if in greeting.  But the rest of
its body was not much better.  Serpentine in shape with two large humps, its
iridescent scales were accented with shades of reds and greens making it look
like a gargantuan, perverted Christmas decoration.  The scales swayed with the
motion of the water revealing sets of *eyes* beneath them.  Slitted emerald
eyes that watched her with a slyness that made her skin crawl.  And around the
beast, a nest of smaller serpents twined in a constant dance, their long,
forked tongues darting in and out, in and out.  

Victoria was sure she had finally died and gone to hell.  

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out – the sight of its many
eyes, its fish-gut stink that filled her throat and nostrils, the nauseating
gurgling sound of its breathing – when she realized she was hearing something
else.  The beast was *talking* to her.  Talking to her through its grinning
human lips, thanking her for something- and looking at her with love.  

With *love*.  

She shook her head and took another step backward, slipping, sliding.  And she
heard it call her by a name, oh God, no, not *that* name.  It couldn’t be!  And
in the back of its throat she could see something round and ruby red, a ring,
as round and red as the blood red moon, oh god, the *ring*….  

“No, no, don’t call me that!” she screamed before coming fully awake in bed. 
In bed, next to a sleeping Quentin who still smelled of candle wax, tobacco,
and spice.  She stilled herself, not wanting to wake him and sighed when she
realized it had all been just a dream.  She was soaked with sweat, but it had
all been just a dream.  Turning her head, she gazed out the window and watched
as the moon sailed from behind a wisp of cloud.  It was fat and round – and
red, just like the round, red ring of her dream.  

“It was only the moon,” she whispered to herself.  “I dreamt of the moon.” 

She closed her eyes again, determined to get *some* sleep this night when she
felt an odd sensation in her stomach.  It was like the flutter of butterfly
wings.  Something I ate?  she wondered.  Or didn’t eat?  She couldn’t remember
the last time she had eaten.  Food hadn’t seemed important for a very long
time.  Well, if it meant she could sleep, perhaps it was time for a midnight
snack.  

Vicki sat up and started to swing her legs out of the bed before an intense
pressure in her belly halted her.  The butterfly effect was long gone, replaced
by the feeling of something larger and heavier inside of her.  She tossed aside
the covers in near panic wondering what could be wrong with her.  And as she
stared at her bare stomach, she saw something *ripple* across her abdomen. 
Ripple like a sea serpent might as it glided through the murky waters of Loch
Ness.  

*~*~* 

Eliot Stokes watched as an auburn-haired Maggie Evans paced his cottage like a
caged tiger.  He was gratified to see that their earlier “tête-à-tête”, as it
were, seemed to have brought her closer to the girl he had once known.  He
could still sense the black energy beneath the surface, and he could sense the
indecision inside of her.  But she had come to him wearing normal clothing and
with her hair restored to its original color, and that was something.  

Still…he reached into his jacket pocket and caressed the amulet that rested in
the folds of cloth.  One could never be too careful, and Eliot Stokes was
nothing if not a cautious man.  

“Professor, it’s coming, and it’s coming soon.  I don’t know that we…that
anyone can do anything about it, but it’s *coming*.  I can feel it right down
to the marrow of my bones.  I can feel that it *wants* me, and I’m not sure
that I can resist it.” 

“Are you talking about the Leviathans, Maggie?” His eyes were trained on her
hands which she had wrung so tight that they looked bleached and bloodless.  

“Yes!  The Leviathans!  Or their leader.  Or something.  All I know is that
what is coming is ancient, but more powerful than anything you can imagine.” 

“And how do you know this?” 

“I told you, I can feel it!  But there’s more to it than that.  Haven’t you
seen the moon?  It looks like it’s been dipped in blood!  And what about what
the fleets have been bringing in, and what’s been washing up on shore?  Surely
you’ve at least heard tell – if not caught a whiff of – what’s out there?” 

“Yes,” he admitted, sinking heavily into a chair.  “I have seen the moon.  And
I’ve heard that the nets have been full of an unusual amount of diseased and
rotten fish.” His voice was weary.  

“An unusual amount?” She walked over to his chair, stopping abruptly when she
saw the fear of her that flashed across his face before he could mask it.  “The
harbor is full of it!  The fishermen can’t stop talking about some of the
things they’ve seen.  They say the fish look like mutants or something, some
with two heads, others with three eyes.  They say they’re disgusting.” 

“I hoped we had more time,” he sighed.  He was tired, and he was old.  And he
was still fighting the voices that buzzed excitedly inside of his head, and
they did not like this conversation at all.  Not at all.  

“No,” Maggie said, as she shook her head vigorously.  “There is no more time. 
It, they, whatever, have been dormant in Collinsport for a very long time.  And
their time is *now*.” 

Stokes looked up into her eyes, and noticed that her pupils had started to
expand.  He clutched the bronze amulet which now felt warmer to the touch, and
a song he had recently heard on the radio popped into his head before he could
stop it: * I see a bad moon a-rising.  I see trouble on the way.  I see
earthquakes and lightning.  I see bad times – 

*~*~* 

-today.  Don't go 'round tonight.  It’s bound to take your life, there's a bad
moon on the rise.* 

The words to the popular tune came unbidden to Angelique as she stood staring
out at the morning fog from the window of their bedroom at the Old House.  A
bad moon, yes.  Both she and Sky had been drawn to it in the middle of the
night.  They had held each other tightly in the pre-dawn chilliness of the old
mansion, both knowing that the reason they trembled had nothing to do with the
lack of heat.  

She heard him step up behind her and turned to greet him with a smile.  A smile
that quickly turned to a gasp.  Sky’s eyes had turned completely black.  They
held no humanity and no spark of life.  They were just dead pools of dark and
stagnant water.  

“Sky!” she screamed, backing up only to feel the cold glass against her back. 
“What’s happened to you?” Fear for him, for her, for them welled icily in her
chest 

“Angelique.” His voice sounded like it came from down a long, long tunnel. 
“Please, help me,” he pleaded.  “I can’t stop it.  I haven’t done anything…it
just happened.  It’s coming, and I can’t stop…” 

He reached out to her, and she longed to go to him, help him, comfort him.  But
she was afraid.  And then his hands stretched out, and his fingers looked
impossibly long, and smoke began to curl around his fingertips.  She could
smell the electrical charge in the air, and her blonde hair began to swirl
around her head.  He was doing it.  He didn’t mean to, but he was sending forth
energy.  Energy he couldn’t control.  And the window against her back grew
colder and colder still as she pressed against it trying to escape before…
before he could *hurt* her.  

And crazily, all she could think was, *There's a bad moon on the rise.* 

*~*~* 

Quentin Collins woke up slowly, deliciously, humming a song.  * I hear
hurricanes a-blowing, I know the end is coming soon.* Catchy tune, he thought,
but the words are a real downer.  

He rolled over with a grin for his lover and ended up smiling stupidly at an
empty pillow.  “Vicki?” he called, his voice coming out as a growl.  Nothing,
nada.  Not even a trace of her perfume left in the room.  Where the hell was
she, especially after the night they had just shared?  

He growled again, thinking of how they had spent the evening.  They’d been up
half the night, and he was ready to start all over again.  Where *was* she?  He
sat up impatiently, scanning for signs of her whereabouts, and as he did so, he
felt metal swing about his neck.  Frowning, he looked down and found a strange
necklace fastened around him.  A heavy amulet hung from the chain, and he held
it in his hand to look at it.  It was horrible.  Twin snakes with crimson eyes
twisted around each other and seemed to capture him in their malevolent gaze. 
The worst part was the feeling that he had seen this symbol before, and as he
thought this, it began to glow and the chain grew warm, warmer, *hot* against
his neck.  

“Get away from me!” he screamed in horror and in pain as he closed his fist
around the amulet and yanked at it, hard.  Nothing happened.  It was too
tightly about him to go over his head; he’d *have* to break it.  He tightened
his grip and pulled on the necklace with all of his considerable strength, but
the chain refused to yield.  The charm was burning him now; he could almost
feel the snakes writhing against his hand, but he refused to relinquish his
hold on them.  He tore and tore at the piece of jewelry until the skin at the
back of his neck was ragged, and tiny droplets of blood fell silently against
the snowy sheets.  

*I fear rivers over flowing.  I hear the voice of rage and ruin.* 

*~*~* 

“So Eliot feels that the rise of the Leviathans is imminent?” 

“Yes, he was extremely concerned after his conversation with Maggie this
afternoon.  The apocalyptic signs are appearing at an alarming rate.  And you
and I both noticed the moon last night.” 

Barnabas Collins and Julia Hoffman faced each other in the drawing room of his
home.  How many times had they done this, she wondered.  How many times had
they stood before this fireplace - he fiddling with his ring, she slapping her
hands against her sides – trying to save civilization as they knew it?  It was
getting tiresome.  

“’The moon will turn blood red’, isn’t that what Stokes said?” 

“Yes, that’s what he said.  And it has come to pass.  Oh God, I sound like
something out of “Revelations”, don’t I?” 

“In my former life, I was quite well-versed in the Bible, Julia, and I must
admit that all of these *signs* do sound remarkably like the warnings of which
John the Apostle wrote.” 

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better, Barnabas,” she sighed.  “And the
question is, if the Leviathans *are* on our doorstep, what are we going to do
about it?  What *can* we do about it?” 

“Well, you said that their leader, Jebez, was it?” He continued at the nod of
her head.  “That Jebez was destroyed once.  Which means that he can be
destroyed again.  This time, by us.” 

“And I also told you that the scroll did not tell *how* he was destroyed.  We
don’t even know-” 

Her words were cut off by her scream as she collapsed into a heap on the floor.
 
“Julia!” Barnabas cried as he fell to his knees in front of her.  “What is it? 
Is it *them*?” 

She nodded mutely as she pressed her fingertips into her forehead.  “I don’t
think…they like…our conversation, Barnabas,” she managed to gasp.  

“I’m so sorry, Julia,” he whispered as he pulled her to him, rocking her,
cradling her.  

His voice was a lullaby for her soul, and the worst of the biting, sizzling,
and squirming in her brain abruptly faded to a dull roar.  She looked up into
his beloved face; it was so close to hers.  His eyes were so gentle and seemed
to shine with deep emotion.  For her?  And his mouth, so soft, just inches
away… 

“Julia…” 

They both jumped at the sound of the front door slamming, and their fragile
moment shattered like delicate crystal.  

Dammit, what *now*?  Julia swore under her breath.  

There was no way that Julia Hoffman could have anticipated what she would see
next.  Victoria Winters, her mostly white mane flowing behind her, burst into
the room as if running from the devil himself, and taking one look at her,
Barnabas leapt to his feet.  

“Vicki!  What *happened* to you?” he bellowed.  

Julia sucked in her breath.  As she looked up at Vicki from her position on the
floor, what she saw was just a rounded, very pregnant belly – rounded like the
fattened and pregnant moon – stretching the young woman’s red dress to its very
limit.  

“Vicki-” 

“I had …a dream,” she sputtered.  “A terrible, terrible beast, sea monster…It
was smiling at me, thanking me, and it…Oh God, it called me-” 

Julia was on her feet now with one arm around the hysterical girl.  “What,
Vicki?  Try to tell us.” 

“Oh God, Julia, it called me…MOTHER!” 




*Hope you got your things together.  
Hope you are quite prepared to die. 
Look's like we're in for nasty weather.  
One eye is taken for an eye.  

Don't go 'round tonight 
it's bound to take your life, 
there's a bad moon on the rise.* 








*Lyrics in this chapter are from “Bad Moon Rising” by John Fogerty.  


TBC…