The Rain Cloud By Ryan Melrose - Short story

A short story

THE RAIN CLOUD

Chapter 1: Forbidden Grounds

The dirt path twisted like a living vein through the dense, scraggly brush. Elliot Grant shifted the weight of his pack and cast a sideways glance at Sophia Lane, who was several paces ahead, her strides full of purpose. She moved like someone determined to find something extraordinary, though Elliot wasn’t sure what that “something” could be in such an unremarkable stretch of wilderness.

They had come across the town by chance—an uncharted speck not marked on their maps or apps, and it intrigued Sophia immediately. Abandoned places, she’d said, were her favorite kind of discovery. Her voice had carried that giddy edge she always got when she was about to drag him into one of her wild adventures.

Elliot paused at the edge of the town, taking in its decayed grandeur. Rusted signposts leaned like tired sentinels, their faded words warning of something long lost to memory. Houses leaned into one another as if conspiring in whispers. The air here felt stagnant, thickened by time itself. There was a stillness—a too quiet kind of quiet.

Sophia was already through the threshold, a triumphant grin on her face as if she’d claimed the forsaken town for herself. “You coming, Elliot?” she called over her shoulder.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he muttered, his words catching in his throat. There was something about the place that turned the air heavy, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain it without sounding foolish. Against his better judgment, he followed her, his footsteps crunching against shattered glass and loose gravel.

The further in they walked, the more unnerving the town became. It wasn’t the abandonment that unsettled Elliot—he’d been to plenty of desolate places before. It was something else, something about how the place felt, as though it was watching them through eyes neither human nor mechanical.

“Check this out!” Sophia’s voice broke his thoughts. She stood in front of what must have been the town’s square. A fountain stood in the center, bone dry and caked in rust. She tilted her head to the side, inspecting it. “Ever get the feeling a place has a story it’s just waiting to tell you?”

Elliot nodded, his unease gnawing louder at the back of his mind. “Or a story it doesn’t want you to know.”

It wasn’t long before they came across the first sign of warning—an old wooden board nailed to a weathered lamppost. Its letters, scrawled in red paint, were faded but decipherable: KEEP OUT. Beneath it, another sign had been etched in a hurried hand, its jagged strokes full of desperation: LEAVE BEFORE IT FOLLOWS.

“Creepy,” Sophia said with a scoff, brushing a hand over the sign as though to dismiss the words entirely. Elliot felt a cold knot twist in his gut.

“We should go,” he said, his voice sharper now. But Sophia waved him off.

“Oh, come on! It’s just old ghost stories—urban legends to keep kids away. We’ll be fine.” Her laughter echoed in the hollow air, but it carried no warmth, only a strange hollowness that seemed to belong to the town itself.

And then, from the corner of Elliot’s eye, he saw it: a smear of shadow against the clear, sunny sky. A lone storm cloud hung low on the horizon, impossibly dark and foreboding. He blinked, trying to shake the image. Surely it was nothing—just an errant fragment of weather. Yet, somehow, he knew that wasn’t true.

As the sun dipped lower, the town seemed to shift, its edges blurring with an unnatural haze. The air grew heavier still, pressing down on them like invisible hands. In the growing dusk, Elliot felt the first drop of tension trickle down his spine. Unseen and unsaid, the raincloud on the horizon seemed to take its first breath.

Chapter 2: The Storm Appears

The air grew thicker as they ventured deeper into the town, their footsteps stirring up motes of dust that hung in the still air like suspended time. The houses here seemed smaller, shrinking into themselves with age, their boarded windows like blind eyes. Elliot couldn’t shake the sense that they were being watched—not by people, but by the town itself.

“Do you feel that?” Elliot asked, his voice low, though he didn’t know why he whispered.

Sophia glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Feel what?”

“This… heaviness. Like the air’s… different,” he said, fumbling for words. Even as he spoke, his pulse quickened, though there was no visible reason for it.

Sophia only shrugged. “Maybe you just need a snack or something. Blood sugar.”

Elliot forced a weak laugh, but his eyes darted again to the cloud. It was there—closer than before. It loomed low over the western edge of the town, so dark it seemed to devour the sunlight. It wasn’t just a storm cloud, he realized. It was unnatural, its edges too sharply defined, almost like a jagged wound in the fabric of the sky.

The wind picked up for the first time since they’d entered the town, tugging at their clothes and hair. Strangely, the cloud didn’t move with it. Instead, it seemed to hover in defiance of nature, as though tethered to them by some invisible thread.

“Look at that,” Elliot said, pointing to it.

Sophia followed his gaze and frowned. “Weird. The wind’s blowing east, but it’s… hanging there?”

Elliot nodded, his throat tightening. “Yeah. It’s like it’s… watching us.”

Sophia chuckled nervously. “Okay, now you’re just creeping me out.” But even as she said it, Elliot noticed her step falter slightly. For all her bravado, he could tell the town was starting to get under her skin too.

They pressed on, coming to what must have been the main street. Shops with shattered windows and peeling paint lined the road, their signs swinging lazily on rusting hinges. A single lamppost stood at the street's end, and beneath it lay something odd—a small pile of scorched stones, blackened as if struck by lightning.

Sophia crouched down to inspect it, brushing her fingers over the surface of one of the stones. The moment she touched it, a low, almost imperceptible hum filled the air. It wasn’t loud, but it seemed to come from everywhere at once, vibrating in their bones.

“What the hell was that?” Sophia asked, standing abruptly.

Elliot looked around, his skin prickling. “I don’t know. But let’s get out of here.”

As they turned to leave, a droplet fell from the sky, landing with a quiet hiss on the ground near Elliot’s foot. Both of them froze, staring as the drop ate into the dirt like acid, leaving a small, bubbling crater.

More droplets followed, hitting the ground in a slow, deliberate pattern. The storm cloud had crept closer now, its shadow spreading over the town like a dark stain.

“It’s raining,” Sophia whispered, her voice trembling for the first time. “But the sky—it’s not supposed to…”

Elliot grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the direction they came from. “We need to go. Now.”

But as they ran, the raindrops seemed to follow them, hissing and sizzling wherever they landed. The street behind them began to dissolve, the asphalt warping and curling as if recoiling from the rain. The storm wasn’t just a thing of nature—it was alive. And it was coming for them.

Chapter 3: The Manifestation

The rain came in brief, acidic bursts, each drop hissing against the ground like tiny, whispered warnings. Elliot and Sophia ran, their breaths ragged, the soles of their boots slipping on the slick, warping pavement. The storm cloud above seemed to swell, growing darker and denser with each passing moment, its shape roiling as if alive.

Elliot’s chest ached as he pulled Sophia toward the nearest building—a decaying storefront with its windows shattered inward. They collapsed against the wall, trembling, as the rain continued its relentless assault just outside the crumbling doorway. The air inside was damp and thick with the scent of rot.

Sophia pressed a hand to her knee, struggling to catch her breath. "What the hell is happening, Elliot?" Her voice was sharp, but there was a tremor in it that betrayed her fear.

"I don’t know," he said, his voice low, barely audible over the distant hum that seemed to emanate from the storm itself. "But it’s not... natural. That thing... it’s—" He cut himself off, unwilling to put words to the growing dread gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Sophia turned her gaze to the street outside. The rain had begun pooling in shallow craters, the ground beneath it dissolving into a blackened, viscous slurry. And then she saw it—a flicker of movement within the cloud. She blinked, thinking it a trick of the light, but no. There it was again: a shifting, indistinct form, coalescing and dissipating within the storm’s writhing mass.

"Elliot... look." Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely more than a breath.

He followed her gaze, his blood running cold. Within the storm, shapes began to emerge—not solid, but hinted at, like phantoms pressing against the veil of reality. The contours of a face formed briefly, cruel and angular, its eyes hollow voids that seemed to pierce straight through him. It dissolved back into the swirling cloud, but its presence lingered, as if etched into his very perception.

"We need to keep moving," Elliot said, his voice trembling. "This thing—whatever it is—it’s not going to stop."

They ventured deeper into the building, hoping to find another exit that would lead them away from the storm’s shadow. The interior was a graveyard of forgotten lives: overturned furniture, faded photographs, and shelves covered in a thick layer of grime. On the far wall, a mural caught Sophia’s attention. It was crude, painted in long, desperate strokes, but its meaning was unmistakable. It depicted the storm cloud, looming over the town, its rain falling like daggers onto indistinct figures below.

Beneath the mural, words were scrawled in jagged, uneven letters: IT REMEMBERS. IT JUDGES.

"What does that mean?" Sophia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elliot shook his head, but his gaze was drawn to a rusted filing cabinet shoved against the corner. He pried it open, the metal screeching in protest, and pulled out a brittle stack of papers. The top page was dated decades ago, the ink faded but legible. It appeared to be a report—an account of the town’s final days.

The words were chilling. Mentions of sacrifices, a pact to stave off a "great unraveling," and a storm that came as both punishment and reminder. The reports spoke of townsfolk vanishing, their bodies never found, and a warning passed down: “Do not enter. Do not awaken what was bound.”

Sophia scanned the page over his shoulder. "So... this thing was called here? By them?" She gestured vaguely at the town around them.

"Looks like it," Elliot said, his voice hollow. "Whatever it is, it doesn’t care if we’re not part of their mess. It just... exists. And now we’re part of it."

A sudden crash echoed from somewhere outside, followed by a low, guttural rumble that didn’t sound like thunder. Elliot’s stomach churned as the realization hit him: the cloud wasn’t just following them—it was hunting them. And now it was close.

As they stumbled back toward the front of the building, the storm surged forward, its shadow swallowing the street. This time, the face in the cloud remained, its features sharper, more defined. A cruel grin twisted across its ephemeral visage, and its hollow eyes flared with a lightless intensity. It was no longer just a storm. It was an entity—aware, deliberate, and filled with malice.

Elliot’s legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to move, grabbing Sophia’s arm. "We have to go now!"

They burst into the street, the rain sizzling as it landed around them. The face in the cloud followed, a silent specter of judgment, growing larger and more defined with each passing moment. The town seemed to twist and shift in its presence, as though reality itself bent to its will.

And through it all, the words from the report echoed in Elliot’s mind: “It remembers. It judges.”

Chapter 4: The Chase

The rain fell harder now, each drop carving searing craters into the earth. Sophia’s lungs burned as they sprinted down the street, the acidic air scraping at her throat. Elliot was just ahead, his hand clamped around hers, pulling her forward like a lifeline. Every step felt futile, as though they were running in circles, the cloud's malevolent shadow never far behind.

“Where are we going?” Sophia shouted over the cacophony of sizzling rain and crumbling stone.

“Away!” Elliot yelled back, though the answer felt hollow. The streets all looked the same now—twisted, distorted. Landmarks that should have guided them out seemed to shift and double back on themselves. The town wasn’t just abandoned. It was alive, a labyrinth that refused to let them go.

Behind them, the storm surged closer, its dark, roiling form blotting out the sky. The face within the cloud was clearer now, its cruel grin stretching wider, its hollow eyes pulsating with a rhythmic flicker, as though mocking their desperation. It wasn’t following them out of hunger or curiosity. It was hunting them for sport.

Elliot’s grip on Sophia’s hand tightened. “In here!” he shouted, veering toward what looked like an old church at the edge of the town square. Its doors hung crooked on their hinges, and its steeple leaned precariously, but it offered shelter—however temporary.

They burst through the doors, slamming them shut behind them. The air inside was thick with damp and decay, the wooden pews warped and splintered. Sophia sank onto the floor, her chest heaving, her face streaked with sweat and rainwater. Elliot paced, his hands pressed against his temples.

“This isn’t… this isn’t possible,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Storms don’t… do this. Clouds don’t—”

“Elliot,” Sophia interrupted, her voice sharp. “This isn’t the time. We need to figure out how to stop it.”

He stopped pacing, his eyes wide. “*Stop it?* How do you stop a… a storm? Did you see it? It’s not even—”

“Elliot!” Sophia snapped, forcing him to focus. “Listen to me. This thing, whatever it is, it’s tied to this place. That face in the cloud, those warnings we saw—they mean something. There has to be a reason this thing exists. We just have to figure out what it is.”

Elliot stared at her for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Alright. But where do we start?”

Sophia’s eyes swept the room, falling on an old, water-damaged altar at the front of the church. Behind it, etched into the wall, was a faded symbol—a swirling, spiral design surrounded by jagged lines. It was eerily similar to the shape of the storm cloud itself.

“Over there,” she said, pointing. They approached the altar cautiously, their footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Sophia ran her fingers over the engraving, tracing its lines. Beneath the symbol was more writing, but it was barely legible, the letters worn away by time. She squinted, trying to make out the words.

“‘The binding…’” she read aloud, though the rest of the text was too fragmented to piece together. She turned to Elliot. “Do you think this could be… some kind of seal? Something they used to trap it?”

Elliot frowned, his mind racing. “Maybe. The reports we found earlier said something about sacrifices. What if they… I don’t know, summoned this thing and then tried to contain it?”

Sophia shuddered at the thought. “And now it’s loose because… we trespassed?”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, but there was no time to dwell. Outside, the storm roared, the sound reverberating through the walls like a living heartbeat. The face appeared again, pressing against the stained-glass windows, its grin splitting wider. The rain began to seep through the cracks in the walls, sizzling and eating away at the wood.

“We have to move,” Elliot said, grabbing Sophia’s arm. “This place won’t hold.”

As they scrambled toward the back of the church, they stumbled upon a trapdoor hidden beneath a tattered rug. Elliot pried it open, revealing a narrow set of stone stairs leading downward.

Sophia hesitated. “What if it’s worse down there?”

Elliot glanced back at the storm, now almost inside the church. “It can’t be worse than that.”

With no other options, they descended into the darkness, the trapdoor slamming shut above them. The hum of the storm grew fainter, but its presence lingered, an oppressive weight pressing down on them even underground. The stairs led to a cavernous space—part basement, part crypt—its walls lined with more of the spiral symbols.

In the center of the room stood an altar, unlike the one above. This one was pristine, untouched by time or decay. Resting on it was an object, small and wrapped in layers of blackened cloth. Sophia stepped closer, her hand trembling as she reached for it.

“Wait!” Elliot grabbed her wrist. “What if touching it… I don’t know, wakes it up?”

Sophia glanced at him, her jaw set. “Elliot, it’s already awake. This might be the only way to put it back to sleep.”

She pulled the cloth aside, revealing a stone figurine—a miniature replica of the storm cloud, complete with the cruel face etched into its surface. Beneath it was another inscription: The price is blood.

The crypt seemed to groan around them, the air growing heavier. Elliot’s mind raced. What did it mean? Was this the key to stopping the storm—or just another piece of its curse?

Before they could decide, the trapdoor above shattered, and the first drops of the rain began to fall.

Chapter 5: The Realization

The rain hissed and sputtered as it seeped into the crypt, devouring the ancient stone like a hungry beast. Elliot and Sophia stood frozen, the figurine between them emanating an almost imperceptible vibration, as though it recognized their presence. The words etched beneath it—The price is blood—hung in the stale air, their meaning as ominous as the storm that loomed above.

Sophia’s voice trembled as she finally broke the silence. “What… what do you think it means? Whose blood?”

Elliot’s mind reeled, scrambling for answers. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s… symbolic? Like a ritual sacrifice or…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

Above them, the storm raged, its guttural hum reverberating through the walls of the crypt. The face in the cloud appeared again, leering through the shattered trapdoor, its hollow eyes glowing faintly. It wasn’t just observing them—it was waiting.

Sophia gripped the figurine tightly, her knuckles white. “This thing—it has to be the key. The mural, the reports, everything—it all points to this.” She stared into Elliot’s eyes, her resolve hardening. “We have to do something.”

Elliot shook his head, panic creeping into his voice. “Do what? We don’t even know what this thing is! For all we know, this figurine could make things worse.”

“Worse?” Sophia snapped, her anger laced with fear. “We’re trapped, Elliot. That thing is going to kill us if we don’t try something.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, silence enveloped them, save for the distant hiss of rain. Elliot looked at Sophia, really looked at her—the defiance in her eyes, the tremble in her voice. She was terrified, just as he was, but she was right. They had no choice.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if we’re going to do this, we need to understand what we’re dealing with.”

Sophia nodded, her breathing shallow. Together, they turned their attention back to the crypt. Symbols covered the walls, spiraling patterns interspersed with jagged lines and crude depictions of the storm cloud. It all seemed disjointed at first, but as they examined it closer, a story began to emerge.

The symbols told of a pact made long ago—a desperate bargain between the town’s founders and a powerful, malevolent entity. The storm was its physical form, a harbinger of its wrath and a reminder of the price of failure. The pact was simple: prosperity in exchange for blood. Every decade, a sacrifice was required to keep the storm dormant. But at some point, the sacrifices had stopped.

“They broke the pact,” Sophia murmured, tracing a finger over the symbols. “That’s why it’s here. To punish them.”

Elliot frowned, the weight of the truth sinking in. “And now it’s punishing us for stepping into its territory.”

Sophia’s gaze fell back to the figurine. “If this is the key… maybe we can use it to bind the storm again.”

Elliot hesitated. “But what if the price is—”

A deafening crack cut him off as the ceiling began to collapse, chunks of stone crashing to the floor. The storm surged into the crypt, its face filling the space with an unbearable intensity. The temperature dropped, and the air grew so dense that it felt as though the walls themselves were closing in.

Sophia clutched the figurine, her eyes blazing with determination. “We don’t have time to think. It’s now or never.”

Elliot nodded, his fear giving way to resolve. “What do we do?”

Sophia knelt before the altar, placing the figurine back on its pedestal. The storm’s face twisted in fury, its hollow eyes flaring as though it recognized their intent. The crypt seemed to groan under the weight of its anger, the walls quaking as cracks spiderwebbed across the stone.

Sophia closed her eyes, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. “We return what was taken.”

Without hesitation, she pulled a small pocketknife from her bag and drew it across her palm, the blade biting into her skin. Blood pooled in her hand, dripping onto the figurine. The moment the first drop touched it, the air shifted. The storm’s roar faltered, replaced by a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through their very bones.

Elliot’s heart raced as he watched, unsure whether they were saving themselves—or sealing their doom.

Chapter 6: The End and the Unescapable

The figurine pulsed with an otherworldly hum, its jagged surface drinking in their blood like parched soil. Elliot’s hands trembled as he gripped the stone, his breaths shallow and labored. Beside him, Sophia pressed her bleeding palm against the altar, her teeth clenched against the pain. Together, their blood pooled and seeped into the grooves of the ancient carvings, igniting the spiral symbols on the walls in a dim, flickering light.

The storm above howled, its face contorting in fury as though it could feel their defiance. The walls shook violently, chunks of stone raining down around them. The crypt groaned under the weight of the entity’s rage, but for a fleeting moment, Sophia dared to hope.

“It’s working,” she gasped, her voice thin. “It’s—”

Her words caught in her throat as the light from the symbols flickered, dimmed, and then vanished entirely. The figurine fell silent, its vibrations ceasing as the blood disappeared into its jagged surface. The crypt went still, an oppressive silence descending like a shroud. For a breathless moment, neither of them moved, their hearts hammering in their chests.

Then the storm roared, louder than ever, its face pressing against the shattered trapdoor above. Its hollow eyes blazed with renewed fury, and its twisted grin stretched wider as it surged forward. The ritual had failed.

“No,” Sophia whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “No, no, no!”

Elliot slumped against the altar, his skin pale and slick with sweat. Blood dripped from his hand, pooling at his feet. He tried to push himself up, but his legs buckled beneath him. “Sophia…” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “I can’t—I can’t get up.”

“Elliot, no!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him. She grabbed his arm, trying to lift him, but he was too weak. His eyes met hers, and in them, she saw the truth. He wasn’t coming with her.

“Go,” he said, his voice trembling but firm. “You have to go. Now.”

“No!” she shouted, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not leaving you!”

“You don’t have a choice,” he said, his grip on her hand tightening for one brief moment. “Please, Sophia. Run. Don’t let it take you too.”

She shook her head, her heart breaking as the storm’s roar grew deafening. Acidic rain began to pour through the cracks in the ceiling, sizzling as it struck the ground around them. She wanted to fight, to stay, but his pleading eyes left her no choice.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she stood.

“Go!” Elliot shouted, his voice hoarse. “Run!”

Sophia turned and fled, tears blurring her vision as she raced up the crumbling stairs and into the open air. The storm’s roar followed her, its face twisting with triumph as it descended on Elliot. His scream echoed through the town, a sound of pain and defiance that tore through her soul.

For a fleeting moment, she thought she had escaped. The rain slowed, the storm seeming to hesitate, its focus locked on Elliot’s final sacrifice. She stumbled into the empty street, gasping for air as sunlight pierced through the clouds.

But then the rain came again.

Sophia stopped, her chest heaving as she looked up. The storm surged toward her, its face more menacing than ever, its hollow eyes glowing with an insatiable hunger. The first drop struck her shoulder, burning through her jacket and into her skin. She screamed, falling to her knees as the rain intensified, each drop eating away at her being.

As the storm consumed her, Sophia’s thoughts raced. She saw Elliot’s face, his voice echoing in her mind. She thought of the town, the warnings they had ignored, the price they had paid. She thought of the ritual, of their blood spilled in vain. And finally, she thought of the storm, its relentless judgment, its cold indifference.

In her final moments, she understood. There had never been a way to stop it. The pact was broken, and the storm would never rest. It wasn’t punishment—it was inevitability. A reminder that some forces cannot be bargained with, cannot be defied.

The last thing she saw was the storm’s face, watching her with an eerie calm as it claimed her. And then there was only silence.

Above, the town stood still, its ruins untouched by time, as though nothing had happened. The storm dissipated, its presence fading into the endless blue sky. But the air lingered heavy, the faint, acrid scent of rain a quiet warning to anyone who might wander too close.

And in the stillness, the words carved into the walls echoed in eternity: It remembers. It judges.