Promptings from Valhalla - 40. Prompt 892 - The Storm

Wind hurled large raindrops angrily against the house, causing Jeremiah to wonder if the rain had solidified into hail. The weather forecast had called for rain overnight, but this was hours ahead of schedule, and it had mentioned nothing of gale-force wind or thunder and lightning. Stupid weather people. Jeremiah scowled. He hated storms. So did JoJo, his white and tan Corgi, who trembled against his side in solidarity.

Lightning illuminated the bedroom as bright as day, causing Jeremiah to wince and huddle into his blanket to ward off the oncoming thunderclap. One…two…thr— the sound started as a low rumble, but grew in intensity until the whole house shook. Damn, that was close! JoJo whined and nuzzled deeper under the blanket. Jeremiah grabbed a tissue and ripped two strips off it, then crumpled them up and stuffed them into his ears. His earplugs were in the bathroom, and he wasn’t about to leave the safety of his blanket and bedroom and risk being unprotected when another lightning/thunder combo hit.

He knew he was being irrational, but part of irrationality was doing stupid things that made sense to him, but not to other people. Jeremiah snorted. People like Carey. The fuckwad. Carey repeatedly reminded Jeremiah about how dumb and childish his phobias and sensitivities were, until Jeremiah had finally had enough and told his ex where he could shove it.

Jeremiah braced for another loud noise as more lightning flashed. This time he barely made it past the number one. The tissues helped dampen the sound a bit, so it wasn’t quite as noxious. The flashes were coming more frequently now, and the deluge of rain against the windows sounded like a roar. He couldn’t remember the last time a storm this intense had passed through. He hoped his basement could handle the onslaught. He’d had enough of dealing with flooding downstairs.

Jeremiah didn’t even get to count as thunder and lightning combined simultaneously in an explosion of meteorological horror, causing him to yelp and huddle against the wall next to his bed, heart pounding. JoJo leapt from the bed and dove underneath it in an attempt to escape. Jeremiah hoped it hadn’t hit his house, but fuck that was close!

A gust of wind hit the house with a roar unlike anything Jeremiah had heard before, followed by a loud cracking sound and more thunder and lightning. He was convinced it was the end times and any minute, the four horsemen of the apocalypse would appear to send him to his doom. The house shook in a different way, followed by more cracking and splintering noises. What the fuck just happened? Did lightning actually hit the fucking house? Jeremiah’s breaths came in gasps as he tried to process everything happening around him.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the back yard. This time, Jeremiah made it to five. He exhaled sharply. The storm was finally receding. It took a few minutes for his brain to process what he’d seen in the last illumination. Something was very wrong. He stood, shaking. He reflexively glanced at the DVR to see the time, then realized it was dark. Great. The power’s out. He inhaled, drawing in courage with his breath, and moved the curtain to peer into his yard. The large crimson maple from his neighbor’s back yard was bent at a right angle. Toward his house. And the tree wasn’t touching the ground. “Oh, shit!”

Forgetting his fears, Jeremiah grabbed a flashlight from his emergency drawer and ran outside to his backyard. The wind had died down and the rain had subsided to a light drizzle. He stared in shock at the sight of the mighty maple, rent in two near the base of its trunk. It had shattered the wooden fence separating their yards before landing squarely on the upper level of his house. His guest room and attic were now an arboretum.

If ifs and buts were candy and nuts…. Jeremiah rolled his eyes. Shut up, brain. He had to stop thinking about the what ifs? that kept rattling around in his head. What if he’d chosen the upstairs bedroom as his when he moved in? He’d be dead. The maple had decimated the room. Hell, it had pretty much decimated the entire second level of his home. What if he hadn’t kicked Carey out when he did? Carey would probably be dead, since he spent many nights in the guest bed after their fights.

Just about everything in the attic was destroyed. Jeremiah supposed that was a blessing in disguise. Most of what was in there was things from his parents’ estate that he didn’t know what to do with. It was stuff he’d never use, but couldn’t get rid of because of sentiment. Well, now the decision had been made for him. What if his parents had sent the storm? Still taking care of him, even in the afterlife. He smiled. His dad would totally do that. He was probably laughing at him from above.

One thing had miraculously survived the carnage—an old wooden military chest with his last name stenciled on it. It had belonged to his great uncle Ben when he served in the second world war. It was part of the things he had inherited from his parents’ estate and stuffed into his attic for storage. He’d never met Great-Uncle Ben. The man had died before Jeremiah was born. He didn’t know much about him, other than the few times his grandpa had commented about how Jeremiah reminded him of his brother Ben. His grandpa was never a demonstrative man, but his expression turned wistful the few times he mentioned his brother.

Ben had always intrigued Jeremiah, especially since no one talked about him. Any time Jeremiah tried to find out more, the subject was changed or dropped completely. He had feared that Ben’s secrets died with his parents. So finding this chest was an unexpected positive out of the nightmare left by the freak storm.

Maybe Great Uncle Ben sent the storm. Jeremiah smiled at the thought.

A couple of the workers rebuilding the upper level of his house had been nice enough to bring it down from the attic for him. JoJo sniffed it and wagged his stumpy tail, then sat down and stared at it, tongue lolling. Jeremiah smiled and lifted the lid with some effort.

A dark green, wool blanket covered something on the right-hand side of the chest, and the left-hand side was filled with books. He peeled back the blanket to reveal an old-time typewriter. The kind with the circular buttons on long wires. “Cool!”

JoJo stood and placed his paws on the edge of the chest, trying to peer in. The corgi was too short to see in though, and whined his lament. Jeremiah picked up the book on top of the pile. It was a leather-bound journal. Upon closer inspection, Jeremiah realized all the books were journals. He removed them gingerly, laying them out on the coffee table. Some of them were hand-written, while others were type-written manuscripts. JoJo sniffed at them happily. Jeremiah petted the dog’s head absently. “Looks like Great Uncle Ben was a writer.”

He opened the leather-bound journal first, awed by the first page. So Ben wasn’t just a writer, but an artist as well. An intricate pencil drawing of a dragon filled the page. The creature’s mouth let loose a stream of fire across the middle of the page as its tail wrapped around the bottom and wings filled the top. In the middle of the fire stream, written in ornate handwriting, were the following words:

Fairytales, fables, myths, nightmares, and more are what I write. Escape from the mundane and enjoy new and familiar worlds.

Jeremiah turned the page and started reading.