r a i n

A/N: Reading underneath a Maple tree when it’s seventy out and sunny (chance of showers mid afternoon) wouldn’t be the usual atmosphere for generating a scary story, but it has and I have complied enough to write it down. If you feel compelled to read this odd little snippet of what apparently lurks in that dusty little corner of my mind underneath your own Maple tree, feel free (though perhaps you’d do well to not allow a ‘friendly’ -or so I am told- Daddy-Long-Leg crawl up your neck). Oh, and please review, I’ll return the favor. Really. I promise.

Later, he wouldn’t be so afraid, but right now it wasn’t later, it was now, and now he was afraid and later was just too far away.

And the worst part was that he couldn’t tell it to stop because it wasn’t human and it didn’t have ears to hear or eyes to see him plead, knees skinned and palms bloody, caught underneath his red Mongoose bicycle as the skies opened up.

Rain, rain, go away…

It was just rain (right?), and the rational part of his mind knew perfectly well that it couldn’t hurt him or kill him, so why was he so scared? Being scared of thunderstorms was for babies (and little Danny was nine months now, nine months old- almost a year, not a baby anymore. That’s what mom had said-) and he was eleven. The lightening couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t hurt him…

Come again another day…

Only it could and it could strike the same place twice, they had learned in science class, which really didn’t reassure him as he shivered and started to cry.

The rain had started almost at the exact moment he had come to a crashing halt at the foot of the hill, an angry and pounding onslaught that sounded like a million beats against a tarp.

But he couldn’t get up and that scared him more than the weather did. He tried to move his legs and was able to without anything hurting or breaking off, which he took as a good sign.

This was all quite ridiculous. All he had to do was push his bike (the emergency break doesn’t work, mom, it doesn’t work- what if I need to use it sometime?) off of him and then he could just walk away (you don’t need an emergency break on a bike, Johnny, and even if you did we can’t afford one).

Yeah.

Easy as pie. And rain.

We want to go out and play…

And that’s exactly what he did; heaving the metallic beams and rubber handles off of his chest and staggering his feet shakily. He panted (you’re lucky you don’t got asthma, Johnny) and wiped a hand over his eyes to get rid of the tears and the drops of water. It was no use; they kept falling and falling and falling and falling and-

He needed to get home.

Rain, rain, go away…

He debated for a moment whether or not he should actually ride the Mongoose back, and then came to the conclusion that the bike was either a.) evil or b.) out to get him, because there was no way the fall had been his fault. He had, after all, beat Jimmy Smith in a race last Saturday and he hadn’t wiped out once.

It was safer, he decided, to just walk it home.

And that was exactly what he started to do; wheeling it so it was on his right side and coaxing it up the hill he had sped down a few minutes earlier. The rain fell faster and harder, slapping him on the back painfully as he scurried up the muddy slope; feet slipping and knees locking as a sudden desperation clenched his mind in a vicious stronghold.

Come again some other day…

The scrapes on his palms stung as the dirt and blood stained his hands a brownish red. It hurt, and the storm hurt, and his pride hurt, too, even though nobody had seen him and nobody would until he got back home. He’d have to make up an excuse for all this…

The hill seemed to grow steeper as he pushed the bicycle up the slope, casting a nervous (and foolish) glance behind him. The rain was falling in bucketfuls, now, and the grassy valley spilled over into the ugly river savagely.

If he was to slip…

We want to go out and play…

He tried harder, grunting in exertion. He could swear (cross your heart and hope to die) that the rain wanted him to fall…Could swear that there was a giant, silvery hand reaching out of the blinding vapor to find him…Closer, closer (I’m gonna GETcha); it was coming…It was coming!

He screamed and with one finally push cleared the hurtle and leapt onto his bike (forgetting in his terror that the machine was pure evil and out to get him), pedaling as fast as he could across the field. He didn’t stop when he reached the neighborhood sidewalks, didn’t stop when Jimmy Smith called out to him to play, didn’t even stop to park in the garage; simply dumped the bicycle in the driveway and sprinted to his front door. He was going so fast that he didn’t notice the rain had stopped until he closed it firmly behind him.

Rain, rain, go away…

He told his mother the truth, because he was too horrified to lie and because he knew she wouldn’t tell his father or Jimmy or little (not baby) Danny. She nodded kindly at him and went to get the Neosporin from the highest kitchen cabinet, along with an Ace bandage and told him to sit tight on the edge of the table.

“First fall of the summer,” she smiled, treating the knee gently. “I just heard the weather report on the radio,” she said. “It’s going to rain tomorrow afternoon.”

“Again?” His eyes widened fearfully.

“Again?” she laughed. “Why, Johnny, it hasn’t rained in weeks! My Geraniums are as dry as the desert-“

But he didn’t hear another word, suddenly feeling like he was going to be sick; his heart beating a furious tattoo against his ribcage, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow as his aching hands shook violently.

He stole a glance out the window; saw the dry, caking grass tinted tan as it seemed to thirst for a respite from the agonizing heart, saw the driveways, pale and white, no gentle drops drying on their faces, saw his bike gleaming in the sun, the tires dry, dirt (not mud) caught in his tires and speckled along the spokes in his wheel. He reached up slowly to feel his hair, finding it dry and windblown; lowered his fingers to his cheeks and felt tracks of moisture, but realized they must be tear tracks as he choked on the breath caught in his throat.

Hadn’t rained in weeks…Not in weeks…

Above him the sky was cloudless and blue. Tomorrow it would. Tomorrow it would, in fact, rain. But today, not a single drop had fallen.

Rain, rain, go away…

Come again some other day.