In the throws of every parent's worst nightmare, Dezmond Daamon, has become the guardian of his recently deceased son's daughter. To add to his burden, the six year old child is marked as a demon hunter, drawing demons to her. There is no way she will ever be able to lead a normal life.
Determined to shield her from her fate, he can think of no better place to begin her training than the rebuilt remains of his former family home. Haunted by more than ghosts, Dezmond must confront his past or become a casualty of his nightmares.
Dalcourt Delivers a Powerful Dream World that is Best Enjoyed While Awake
Dalcourt's writing is smooth and fluid. In a setting as lucid as the dream world, transitions between realities can be difficult. This quick, exciting read was easy to follow, and even easier to get wrapped up in. We all wish there was some method to the madness of our dreams, and Dalcourt brings that to life here in just 8,000 words. Worth the read in this promising collection of short stories. Eagerly anticipating getting to read her other works.Harris Rodriguez
Dream Eater Excerpt
“Dezmond!” A young boy was pushing on him, urging him to wake.
Dezmond groaned, "Leave me alone."
He felt the boy climb up on him and began to pry his eyelids open. "I know you're awake, Dez. You promised you'd help me with my project! Now wake up! Waaaaaaake up."
Dezmond attempted to frown at Alistair, but it was far too difficult a feat to accomplish when both top eyelids were pulled from their respective eyes. "Get off, my eyeballs are shrivelling!" He pushed his sibling to the floor. "I thought you meant you wanted help tomorrow. It's got be..." Dezmond reached for his digital clock and stared down at the oppressive numbers dutifully shining up at him. It took a moment for him to understand what he was reading, the numbers didn't quite make sense. His brain assured him that the numbers were 'far too early in the morning to be checking the time'. He agreed with his brain and put the clock down.
The child smiled fondly at the older man. Alistair was nine years old and at this time, and he was Dezmond's elder brother and favourite playmate.
They were in his childhood home in the bedroom where he and Alistair would build forts out of their beds, using their blankets and pillows. One tall window allowed the moonlight to shine down on the boys. Dezmond remembered this night. It was August, and Alistair was eager to grow his own special berries this year. The concept of growing produce still eluded the children, but try they did like they did every year by planting everything from buttons to sticks and watching and waiting for signs of growth.
Reasonably, Dezmond wasn't so keen on sneaking off to the shed to check on the progress of whatever Alistair had planted this year. He stared down at his older brother. Alistair would be found in the morning...
Dezmond rubbed his aching chest. The boy leapt to his feet and pulled on his brother's sleeve. "Come on we don't have much time."
The older man got up out of bed. His bones ached and it hurt to breathe. He struggled to focus. Memories of a forgotten life nagged at him, begging for attention. Yet he couldn't grab hold of the threads of that reality. A part of him so desperately wanted to be here with his brother, to return to that time in his life when all was well and the demon hoards were just superstitious nonsense.
He followed Alistair out of their shared bedroom.
Giggling caught his attention. "You can't find me," came the familiar taunt of his young wife.
Dezmond's heart skipped a beat. He dashed deeper into the darkness of the sleeping abode, leaving Alistair calling after him.
He was outside. The sunlight was sparkling through the whispering leaves. It was late summer and his love for Desdaria was in full flux. He caught sight of her summer dress caught on a breeze, betraying her presence behind an ancient oak. He played along.