Half Moon Inn


Every morning at six, I used to walk down the grand staircases, which lead to the lobby. I could not help it remembering the happy days of growing up into what it was. Half Moon Inn.

My great grandfather built the place as his home. Early 1950’s, my family rented the extra rooms. Because of its location, the place became popular to celebrities. As time passed, my father added more rooms and named it, the Half Moon Inn.

My great grandfather’s portrait was hanging on the wall above the staircase, between the lobby and the first floor, overlooking the entrance. Business was good, celebrities, tourists and locals were filling the dining room and the guest rooms. The pleasant atmosphere, filled with laughter, and happy people made, Half Moon Inn, well known in the entire Boston region.

Then one night, everything ended! It was around 11:30 the night after the Fourth of July celebration. The guests, in the dining room were exchanging greetings and jokes while finishing their last drink, by midnight the dining room was empty,

I went in the veranda, and gazed upon the silent bay. The hypnotic reflection of the moon, on the peaceful water of Cape Cod, made me feel lethargic. Then through the misty air, came blood, rage, death, and destruction.

They came from the ocean, their black horses galloped faster than the wind, and as they killed everyone, they stopped to watch and gaze upon the victims with a smile of victory.

Then as they raised their arms into the air, pointing blood stained weapons to the sky, they called upon the Angel of darkness, and they offered him the sacrifice.

A shadowy figure appeared beneath my great grandfather’s portrait. I recognized him. He came from the dead, to defend life.

Thunder and lightning struck the ground, far across the sky, I saw the infinite light, and touched by the Angel, I was no longer mortal with my great grandfather by my side, we fought the armies of darkness. At sunrise, the soldiers of death one by one, descended into the ground leaving behind them destruction and sorrow, and the promise that they will come back.

My great grandfather looked at me, smiled, and as he faded into the air, said.

“It is time for me to rest. It is your war now”

Ever since that night, I am roaming the earth, to protect the innocent, and battle evil.

My name is Gabriel; this is one of my stories.

About Dean Steven Nichols

Fantasy Writer

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