The central characters of Poltergeist: The Legacy do not belong to me

– they are the property of Trilogy and MGM – I’ve only borrowed them for a while.

All other characters are created by me. Hope you enjoy ...

POLTERGEIST:

THE LEGACY

WHEEL OF FIRE

PART 1

BLOOD GENESIS

Introduction

Rain pattered on the windows of Derek Rayne’s bedroom. It was past midnight and the weather had been unseasonably cold just lately. Not only cold but wet as well. They were accustomed, in this house, for the view of the city across the Bay to be misted with fog but, recently, it had been obscured by lowering gray cloud and rain instead. It was rather depressing.

Usually, Derek wasn’t disturbed by rain pattering on the windows while he slept. If he noticed it at all, it was distantly comforting. It couldn’t get to him. He was warm and secure inside. The rain was outside. It wasn’t thunderstorm rain, just a constant thrumming patter.

Yet, tonight, it did disturb him. It reached into his head with silent groping fingers and, in his sleep, it sounded like fingers tapping on the window, trying desperately to get his attention.

His dreams became deeper, more vivid, less dreamlike. He frowned, his head rolling on the pillow, his legs fighting the bedcovers.

And he found himself in a place he’d never been before. Sand and rock, cliffs. Bright, clear light. And heat. Such stifling heat. The dream deepened and the image became sharper. The sand was a myriad of colors. The rock glittered. The cliffs rose rugged and majestic, primal in this boiling landscape. Overhead, the sun was a baleful eye glaring down on this world, shedding heat and light so fierce it burned the eyes.

Derek turned slowly, frowning but not in anxiety. It was more concentration, trying to find a name for this place. It was real, not a dream construct, but a desert is a desert and he had visited and worked in many. Trying to recognize one stretch of sand and rock from another was almost impossible, yet he tried. He felt it could be important.

Deserts are never silent. Rock cracks as the heat expands it and, again, when it cools. There is often a hot, dry breeze soughing over the sand, a constant background murmur. Sometimes, the raucous cries of birds, hunting for food or scavenging on the carcasses of the unfortunate. Perversely, deserts aren’t barren wastes. Patches of green dotted this world. Tough, fibrous little plants only added to the bleak austerity. And deserts have a smell. Clear. Sharp. Endless open space …

This world had all that and it told Derek that it was real, not a dream. It didn’t mean he had mysteriously vanished from his bed and appeared in this place but, while he dreamed it, it was a real location. Yet Derek didn’t recognize it at all.

It seemed he was the only person in this world of heat and sand and rock. He turned slowly, studying the horizon and all the land between it and where he stood. No one.

The rain pattered. The fingers tapped on the window, desperate to get his attention.

Derek completed his circle and there was a man. He stood perhaps ten feet away, drab cotton robes swathing his body. His feet, brown and leathery, almost didn’t need the coarse sandals. His lower face was masked by a fold of his head cloth. As Derek frowned quizzically at him, the man removed it to show his face. His eyes glittered black in his swarthy face and his lips were almost hidden in the thick beard. Derek was sure he’d never seen this man before but he appeared to know Derek.

The stranger who wasn’t held up his hands. No weapons, I come as a friend.

“What do you want?” Derek asked.

“Repay the debt,” the man replied.

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