Saturday, September 30, 2023

πŸ‘»πŸŽƒSaturday's Series SpotlightπŸŽƒπŸ‘»: D'Avaire by Jessamyn Kingley Part 6



Brazenly Daray #22
Summary:

For one sentinel, tradition is everything until he meets a pointy-eared photographer who is no elf.

Teverild is a man who refuses to allow anyone to call him an elf, despite his pointy ears. Having left his tribe behind centuries ago, Teverild is now a successful photographer. Although his phone contains the numbers of powerful people within the Council of Sorcery and Shifters, and they endeavor to include him in family and other important events, he rebuffs friendship. The concept of mates eludes him, and he doesn’t want that connection either.

As a sentinel, Skeleton Lord Cassius Daray strives for perfection. His purpose is to aid his people, and he works diligently to further the goals of the Sentinel Brotherhood. At home, Cassius enjoys being with his family and throws himself into his hobbies, but there is something missing. What Cassius wants most is to find a mate.

With a penchant for trouble, Teverild winds up on the wrong side of the law. His penance is to teach a group of sentinels the basics of his craft. Teverild wants to get the class over with, but his life changes forever when he meets Cassius. Drawn together immediately, they must overcome their ghosts if they want to forge a future and build a love that will sustain them both.





Triple Affinity #23
Summary:

With the odds stacked against them, can three men find love?

Joining the Council of Sorcery and Shifters was a simple decision for the ruler of the brown bears. Two centuries later, Artair Ursus Arctos is a successful leader with a loving family, and the only thing he wants is his mate. Artair is fascinated by magic and secretly hopes to find forever with a sorcerer.

As a child, Lochlan Airle had privilege and wealth but lacked any control. He walked away from his prominent family at eighteen, only to get fired from countless jobs. Behind the scenes, his mother uses all her connections to break his spirit, but she will not deter him. After finally landing a job at the Circle of Mages, a matebond is the last thing on his mind.

Twenty-six-year-old Riker McKenna has a hard-earned doctorate and enough magic to guarantee immortality. Although his brother’s decision to stay with their wastrel parents broke his heart, Riker is determined to make the most of everything. When he qualifies for employment at the Circle of Mages, he does not know it will lead him to his mates.

Within a week, the three men meet and must confront the poor odds of triple matebonds in the Council. To reach the affinity they desire, they will have to rapidly adjust to each other and all the surprises life has in store.




Lockmage Legacy #24
Summary:
Defining a legacy is never easy.

Beta Donnell Ursus Arctos devotes his life to protecting his leader and defending every bear in his clan. Some call him overprotective, but Donnell prioritizes safety. When he’s not working, Donnell has simple hobbies that others consider boring. Although Donnell is surrounded by family, wealth, and prestige, the bear shifter pines for Fate to pair him with the other half of his soul.

For Joshua Brenton, little is going right. On the same day, Josh loses his job and his run-down apartment. But there is a bright light on the horizon—the annual retreat for mages. As an aqua mage, Josh has been disrespected since birth, but Fate has recently selected new leaders. After sweeping changes are made, Josh is randomly selected to prove his worth in the newly instituted mage testing.

Josh is stunned when he meets the mage rulers and is invited to their home. Upon ringing the doorbell to the mansion, Josh meets Donnell, and they discover that they are mates. Although the pair are instantly drawn to each other, Josh learns he is more than a mage and must unravel a past he’d prefer to forget. It will be up to Josh and Donnell to chart a future while dealing with the surprises they encounter along the way.



The Vampyr's Husband #25
Summary:
For one vampire, finding his mate is far easier than convincing him Fate is real.

A shrewd business owner, Vampyr Lord Nikolai Volkov has one of the most powerful companies on the planet. Besides success, Nikolai has a loving family that leads the vampires, but he aches to find his mate. Although Nikolai is proud to be a vampire, he begs Fate to bring him someone to adore—someone who can quench his need for blood. Nikolai believes his other half will be a human, and he’ll stop at nothing to find him.

James Chase swore off love, marriage, and any romantic entanglements at twenty-two when he discovered his boyfriend cheating on him. His father tried to dictate his future, so James left him behind too. Over a decade later, James is a hard-working and successful man who allows no one to impact his feelings. Like every human he knows, James prefers to ignore the Council of Sorcery and Shifters.

At a party James attends to satisfy his sister, he meets a vampire who insists they are mates. James knows little and cares nothing about the people in the Council. Despite Nikolai’s best efforts, James refuses to be swept off his feet. Torn between their two vastly different worlds, Nikolai must convince James that Fate is real if they are to honor her. But first, the vampire will need to persuade the other half of his soul to give their relationship a chance.




Brazenly Daray #22
“Hi, again,” Teverild offered.

“Your class was wonderful; I learned a lot,” Cassius remarked as everyone teleported away.

“Thanks, I don’t even know half of what I said,” Teverild confessed, again surprising himself with his candidness.

“I’m so glad we finally met and that you’re my mate. Did you want to come and meet my family now?”

Teverild didn’t want to disappoint the smiling man in front of him, but his entire being recoiled at the word family. It was nothing personal against Cassius—in fact, Teverild already knew at least one member of his family. Arch Lich Chander Daray had saved Teverild by allowing him to join the Council, and he and Drystan had offered help in countless ways.

It was their attention that had inspired him to ink his skin with images of skulls that most people found macabre. To Teverild, they represented second chances, and he wondered, as he stared into the hopeful face of a man who had once been a skeleton, if Fate had kept him fascinated by such images because of Cassius. While that might’ve been a hopeful or fanciful thought, Teverild was too deeply rooted in grim reality to let it flourish.

“I can’t. I have an appointment to keep,” Teverild lied. Cassius’s crestfallen expression caused words to continue to sputter out. “Some other time maybe.”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“I’d have to check my calendar,” said Teverild, sneaking in a step toward the door.

“I guess you must be really busy.”

“I prefer to be.”

Cassius’s grinned, making Teverild want to melt at his giant boots. “Which makes it that much more awesome that we finally met. I could kick myself for not going to Elf’s first shift now. We could’ve been together for years.”

It was a bit unsettling to Teverild that Cassius assumed they were simply going to be together because Fate had decreed it—but it also warmed him for some inexplicable reason.

“That was a spectacular day.”

“You took really great photos of Elf.”

“Thanks,” Teverild responded, edging closer to the hallway.

“Where are you going?”

Teverild blinked heavily. “I told you. I have an appointment.”

“I mean, do you have a car or are you using DΓ©rive? I could walk you to the parking garage or to the teleporting station.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“You didn’t answer my question, and I want to,” Cassius argued.

His mind filling with images of being stalked by a cloaked assassin, Teverild wondered how in the world he was supposed to get out of this mess he’d stumbled into. “I can walk on my own. It’s no big deal.”

The big shoulders slumped again, and Teverild acknowledged that he was already learning how easy it was to disappoint his mate.

“Okay, if that’s what you want, then I won’t keep pestering you. Can I text you later?”

“Sure…if you want.”

“Can I ask you one last question before you go?”

Teverild had a hand on the door, and he was somehow unsurprised that his attempt at an easy escape hadn’t succeeded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Are you interested in trying to be mates, or would you prefer it if I didn’t bother you again?”





Triple Affinity #23
“Well, gentlemen, what did you have in mind to while away the hours of our Friday night?” Riker asked, stacking his hands behind his head.
“I didn’t realize this was such a formal occasion. Should I change into fancier clothes?” Lochlan teased.

“You’re already wearing too much, Gorgeous,” Artair responded.

A blush swept over his skin, and Artair’s blood flowed south. Lochlan’s shyness beckoned him with the same strength as Riker’s blunt sexiness.

“Damn, but you look good,” Riker said. “I bet you get flushed like that when you come.”

Instead of being embarrassed, Lochlan grinned. “I don’t have a mirror around when that happens.”

“Pity,” Artair remarked.

“You’re an aqua mage, manipulate your element so there’s a curtain of water that reflects,” Riker suggested.

“Perhaps he’s a little too busy to worry about magic,” Artair said. “Or his partners in the past have objected.”

“I haven’t had any partners in the past,” Lochlan muttered.

“Perhaps partner isn’t a good word,” Artair remarked. “It suggests a level of intimacy that doesn’t exist between two people getting together to fuck.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever referred to the guys in my past as partners,” Riker commented.

“I’ve never had sex before,” Lochlan blurted out.

Riker sat up straight. “You haven’t?”

“No. It’s a rather long story, but I tried once. I couldn’t find any takers,” Lochlan explained.

“You went somewhere in that body, with that face, and couldn’t find anyone willing to have sex?” Riker asked. “How is that possible?”

Lochlan’s gaze hit the bed, and he shrugged. “Perhaps as my mate you see me in a way others don’t.”

“While I disagree with the notion that it’s something to do with our matebond that makes us attracted to you, the important part of this discussion is for you to understand that we do want you and we think you’re gorgeous,” Artair explained.

“I don’t really care what anyone besides you two thinks, anyway. I find you both attractive too.”

“Have you kissed anyone?” Riker asked.

With a shake of his head, Lochlan continued to stare at his lap. “No.”

“Do you want to?” Artair asked.

The aqua mage’s eyes met Artair’s, and there was no mistaking the need in the pale depths. “I’d like that very much.”

“Artair, you should kiss him first,” Riker ordered.

“Why?”

“You met him first.”

“It’s not that easy. It’s Lochlan’s first kiss ever. Not only is it important to him personally, but to us as a trio. We need to move forward making sure no one is slighted or left out,” Artair said. “This warrants discussion.”

“I’ll kiss him right after you do…unless we should kiss second.”

“I told you it was complicated.”

“It’s not,” Lochlan replied. “We can share a simple kiss three-ways. I want my first kiss to be with both of you.”

“Clearly, he’s the brains and beauty in this relationship,” Riker crowed.

Artair grinned in full agreement. “Shall we?”

To keep Lochlan from overthinking, Artair cupped his neck in his hand and did the same to Riker, bringing them both forward slowly. After closing his eyes, Artair gently pressed his lips to both his mates at the same time. It was chaste, simple, and perfect. A sense of beauty swept through Artair, and he vowed to move whatever mountains or cross any river to make sure they were together.





Lockmage Legacy #24
Instead of knocking, Josh strode backward to take in the giant house done in brick and wood. It was lovely—too nice for someone like Josh—which had him wondering for the millionth time what the hell he’d done to himself by agreeing to venture there.

Sucking in a deep breath, Josh stalked over and rang the bell. There was no need to continue repeating the same nonsense. Josh had made a promise. He might not have shit, but that didn’t mean he lacked honor. Within seconds, the door whipped open, and Josh gaped. The blood rushed to his groin and his dick hardened as the smell of the beach hit Josh’s nose. A ridiculously handsome man with dark hair and light brown eyes stared at him with as much shock as Josh felt.

All his eagerness to leave deserted him, and although the bear gawking at him was far above his level, Josh was keeping him. The shifter was Josh’s gift from Fate, and even if he didn’t deserve him, they were meant to be. Or perhaps the goddess wanted to make up for some of the shit he’d endured. While Josh didn’t have a clue how to handle a relationship, he was excited to learn. Collecting his scattered thoughts, Josh grinned up at him.

“Hey there, Handsome, I’m Josh.”

“Joshua Brenton?”

“Yep, that’s me. Your mate.”

Some of the astonishment left his face, and Josh cataloged the strong jaw, straight nose, and masculine beauty. Josh decided it was a countenance he’d never tire of appreciating.

“Believe it or not, I figured out the mate thing,” the man replied.

“Yeah, your dick is probably as hard as mine. What do I smell like?”

The bear cocked his head. “Like the seashells on your temple.”

“You smell like the beach too. Cool,” Josh said, his hand coming up to trace the tiny tattoos that went up his temple and over part of his forehead. “So, what’s your name?”

“Donnell.”

“Can I call you Donnie?”

“Absolutely not. Come inside.”

“Come inside where?” Josh asked cheekily. “I mean, we just met, so maybe it’s a bit early to discuss preferences or whatever, but I’m down if you are.”

“Get in the house,” Donnell demanded with a chuckle.

“I’m happy to follow you anywhere.”

“You probably just want to check out my ass.”

“Duh,” Josh said.

With a shrug, Donnell turned and walked away. Josh wasn’t the least bit offended, because the man’s backside was perfect. At nearly a foot taller than Josh, the shifter had a muscular build that was showcased beautifully in his tailored shirt and trousers.

“Enjoying the view?” Donnell asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Are you ready to get in here, or are you going to stand on the porch gawking all night?”

“Yeah, I guess I could come in,” Josh muttered. The moment Josh stepped in the house, his gaze was ripped from Donnell long enough to appreciate the glorious fountain that represented the four elements that comprised the Circle of Mages. “That’s fanfuckulous.”





The Vampyr's Husband #25
A strange excitement coursed through him that James couldn’t explain. Lifting his head, his gaze locked with the most handsome man James had ever seen. His raven hair fell in loose layers nearly to his collar, and his face was a study of elegance with high cheekbones and a firm jaw. The smile he was wearing was almost intimate, as if they were lovers, but James didn’t even know his name.

When Vivian wrapped herself around his arm, James had an overwhelming urge to push her off the man. His sister was chatting, but the stranger never stopping staring at James. As he drew closer, James saw warmth in his pale blue gaze and nearly returned his grin. Then, James noticed the fangs.

Disappointment coursed through him, and he wanted to dismiss the man completely. Although it was technically against the law for a vampire to be on human land, James was like everyone else he knew and didn’t bother alerting the authorities on the extremely rare occasions when he encountered one.

Perhaps the vampire understood no one would dare cross a woman like Vivian, who was so connected in DC circles, by phoning the police when he showed up, or maybe the man was arrogant enough to flaunt his rebellion of the treaty.

“Vampyr Lord Nikolai Volkov, this is my brother, James Chase,” Vivian said, stopping a few feet from James with a vampire at her side.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chase,” Nikolai remarked, holding out his hand.

Although there was a war going on inside him over whether it was smart to touch the vampire, James greeted him with a handshake. “The pleasure is mine, Vampyr Lord.”

“Please, call me Nikolai.”

Something about the Vampyr Lord made James want to smile at him, but he clenched his jaw instead and yanked his hand away. The vampire was stunningly gorgeous, and while James’s hormones were screaming at him to ogle the man, he refused to give in to his baser instincts. James also refused to be enticed by him, no matter how badly he might yearn to touch and taste him.

“Play nice, gentlemen,” Vivian murmured. “The caterer needs me. I’ll be right back.”

The second Vivian scurried off, James scowled and took a gulp of his wine while he willed his errant body to get itself under control. There weren’t even any roses in sight, so James had no clue why the scent wouldn’t leave, but at least his cock was no longer tenting his trousers to the same extent.

“There are plenty of people eager to meet you, Vampyr Lord,” James said. “I won’t keep you.”

“I suppose I must mingle,” Nikolai mused. “Will you give me your phone number?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Vampyr Lord.”

“I disagree. I would like to see you again in a more private setting. I’d like to get to know you.”

The vampire’s arrogance was no longer in question, and James lifted a brow at his audacity. “You run a large company and are probably used to getting what you want, Vampyr Lord, but I’m not interested.”

“Are you sure?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“At least you stopped called me Vampyr Lord,” Nikolai muttered. “I can explain everything, but it’s rather difficult to do it at a party.”

“I can’t decide if you’re overconfident or so used to bending people to your will that you think if you repeat yourself enough, I’ll comply. This is my sister’s party. I’m here under duress. The last thing I’m looking for is to hook up with a vampire. My blood is not for sale, Vampyr Lord.”

It irritated James that Nikolai’s confidence was infinitely attractive. Why arrogance was suddenly a trait that appealed was a mystery to James, but he gave nothing away.

Nikolai’s sensuous mouth pursed, but he offered no other outward clue that James’s rudeness perturbed him. “Mr. Chase, I beg you not to ignore the odd feelings you’re experiencing. I know it must be overwhelming and strange. I’m not trying to bend you to my will. On the contrary, I want to make you happy.”

“Make me happy? You don’t even know me, Vampyr Lord,” James said with a laugh. “I want nothing to do with you. Enjoy the party.”



Saturday's Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4
Part 5  /  Part 6  /  Part 7  /  Part 8

Monday's Mystical Magic

Sunday's Short Stack




Author Bio:
Jessamyn Kingley has published over thirty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, Jessamyn eagerly adds new tales to her D’Vaire series and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. Jessamyn shares a home in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her thick stack of beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends. 


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Brazenly Daray #22

Triple Affinity #23

Lockmage Legacy #24

The Vampyr's Husband #25


Friday, September 29, 2023

πŸŽƒπŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜πŸŽƒ: Benighted by JB Priestley



Summary:

'Priestley is one of the finest and most popular storytellers of the last hundred years.' - Dame Margaret Drabble

'Abundant life flows through J.B. Priestley's books. He was the last of his kind.' - Stan Barstow

'J.B. Priestley is one of our literary icons of the 20th century. And it is time that we all became re-acquainted with his genius.' - Dame Judi Dench

Philip and Margaret Waverton and their friend Roger Penderel are driving through the mountains of Wales when a torrential downpour washes away the road and forces them to seek shelter for the night. They take refuge in an ancient, crumbling mansion inhabited by the strange and sinister Femm family and their brutish servant Morgan. Determined to make the best of the circumstances, the benighted travellers drink, talk, and play games to pass the time while the storm rages outside. But as the night progresses and tensions rise, dangerous and unexpected secrets emerge. On the house's top floor are two locked doors; behind one of them lies the mysterious, unseen Sir Roderick Femm, and behind the other lurks an unspeakable terror. Which is more deadly: the apocalyptic storm outside the house or the unknown horrors that await within? And will any of them survive the night?

Benighted (1927), a classic 'old dark house' novel of psychological terror, was the second novel by J. B. Priestley (1894-1984), better known for his classics The Good Companions (1929), Angel Pavement (1930) and Bright Day (1946). The basis for James Whale's 1932 film The Old Dark House, Benighted returns to print for the first time in fifty years. This edition includes the unabridged text of the first British edition, a new introduction by Orrin Grey, and a reproduction of the rare jacket art of the 1927 Heinemann edition.



CHAPTER I 
Margaret was saying something, but he couldn’t hear a word. The downpour and the noise of the engine were almost deafening. Suddenly he stopped the car and leaned back, relieved, relaxed, free for a moment from the task of steering a way through the roaring darkness. He had always felt insecure driving at night, staring out at a little lighted patch of road and groping for levers and switches, pressing pedals, had always been rather surprised when the right thing happened. But to-night, on these twisting mountain roads, some of them already awash, with storm after storm bursting upon them and the whole night now one black torrent, every mile was a miracle. It couldn’t last. Their rattling little box of mechanical tricks was nothing but a piece of impudence. He turned to Margaret.

 ‘You needn’t have done that,’ she was saying now. She had had to raise her voice, of course, but it was as cool and clear as ever. She was still detached, but apparently, for once, not amused. 

‘Done what?’ Philip returned, but his heart sank, for he knew what she meant. Then he felt annoyed. Couldn’t he stop the damned thing for a minute? He was easily the coldest and wettest of the three of them.

‘You needn’t have stopped the car,’ Margaret replied. ‘I was only saying that we ought to have turned back before. It’s simply idiotic going on like this. Where are we?’ 

He felt an icy trickle going down his back and shook himself. ‘Hanged if I know,’ he told her. ‘Somewhere in wildest Wales. That’s as near as I can get. I’ve never found my bearings since we missed that turning. But I think the direction’s vaguely right.’ He wriggled a little. He was even wetter than he had imagined. He had got wet when he had gone out to change the wheel and then later when she had stopped and he had had to look at the engine, and since then the rain had been coming in steadily. Not all the hoods and screens in the world could keep out this appalling downpour. 

‘This is hopeless.’ Margaret was calmly condemning the situation. ‘What time is it?’ 

There was no light on the dashboard, so he struck a match and held it near the clock. Half-past nine. There was just time to catch a glimpse of Margaret’s profile before the tiny flame vanished. It was like overhearing a faintly scornful phrase about himself. He suddenly felt responsible for the whole situation, not only for the delay on the road and the missed turning, but for the savage hills and the black spouting night. Once again he saw himself fussing away, nervous, incompetent, slightly disordered, while she looked on, critical, detached, indulgent or contemptuous. When anything went wrong—and it was in the nature of things to go wrong—she always made him feel like that. Perhaps all wives did. It wasn’t fair. It was taking a mean advantage of the fact that you cared what they thought, for once you stopped caring the trick must fail. 

‘We’d better go on and try and arrive somewhere,’ Margaret was saying. ‘Shall I drive now?’ He was expecting that. She always imagined that she was the better driver. And perhaps she was, though. Not really so skilful with the wheel, the gears, the brakes, but far cooler than he was simply because she never saw the risks. Her imagination didn’t take sudden leaps, didn’t see a shattered spine a finger’s breadth away, didn’t realise that we all went capering along a razor-edge. Unlike him, she blandly trusted everything, everything, that is, except human beings. Now they were not so bad, merely stupid—the thought came flashing as he shifted his position—it was only the outside things that were so devilish. 

‘No, thanks. I’ll keep on. There’s no point in changing now. We’ll arrive somewhere soon.’ He was about to reach out to the switch when the light of a match at the back turned him round. Penderel, who had been dozing there for the last two hours, was now lighting a cigarette. ‘Hello!’ he shouted back. ‘You all right, Penderel? Not drowned yet?’ Penderel’s face, queerly illuminated, looked at once drawn and impish. A queer stick!—mad as a hatter some people thought, Margaret among them; but Philip wasn’t sure. He suddenly felt glad to see him there. 

Penderel wouldn’t mind all this. Penderel blew out smoke, held up the lighted match, and leaned forward, as vivid as a newly painted portrait. He grinned. ‘Where are we?’ Then the match went out and he was nothing but a shadow.

‘We don’t know,’ Philip shouted back above the drumming rain. ‘We’ve missed the way. We’re somewhere in the Welsh mountains and it’s half-past nine. Sorry.’ 

‘Don’t mention it.’ Penderel seemed to be amused. ‘I say, this storm’s going on for ever. I believe it’s the end of the world. They’ve overheard the talk at the Ainsleys and have decided to blot us all out. What do you think?’ 

Philip felt Margaret stirring beside him. He knew that her body was stiffening with disapproval, partly because the Ainsleys, with whom they had all three been staying, were old friends of hers, but chiefly because she didn’t like Penderel, whose existence she had almost forgotten, and was only too ready to disapprove of everything he said or did. ‘We shan’t see even Shrewsbury to-night,’ Philip shouted back. A halt at Shrewsbury had been their modified plan, following upon their delay on the road and their slow progress in the torrential rain. 

‘Shrewsbury!’ Penderel laughed. ‘Nor the Hesperides either. We’ll be lucky if we get anywhere, out of this. I’ll tell you what’—he hesitated a moment—‘I don’t want to frighten Mrs. Waverton——’ 

‘Go on, Mr. Penderel.’ Margaret was icy. ‘I’m not easily frightened.’ 

‘Aren’t you? I am,’ Penderel replied, loudly and cheerfully. He seemed to be for ever putting his foot in it, either didn’t know or didn’t care. ‘I was thinking that you’ll have to be careful here. We’ve had a week’s heavy rain, and thunderstorms for the last two days, and in this part of the world they’re always having landslides and whatnot. Don’t be surprised to find yourself driving into the middle of a lake, or the whole hillside coming down on you, or the road disappearing under the front wheels.’ 

The noise and the darkness made snubbing difficult, but Margaret did what she could. ‘I must say I should be very surprised indeed,’ she threw back. ‘Hurry on, Philip. Open the windscreen. We can’t be any wetter than we are now and I want to look out for any turnings or signposts.’ 

‘Not that I care, you know,’ Penderel called out. ‘I don’t want to go to Shrewsbury. I don’t particularly want to go anywhere. Something might happen here, and nothing ever happens in Shrewsbury, and nothing much on the other side of Shrewsbury. But here there’s always a chance.’ 

As Philip started the car again he wished himself a hundred miles the other side of Shrewsbury, moving sedately down some sensible main road towards a fire and clean sheets. The road they were on now seemed little better than a track, twisting its way along the hillside. There were no lights to be seen, nothing but the flashing rain and the jumping scrap of lighted road ahead, full of deep ruts and stones and shining with water. He moved cautiously forward, shaking the raindrops from his eyes and gripping the wheel as hard as he could. This ring of metal seemed his only hold upon security now that everything was black and sliding and treacherous, and even then it rattled uselessly in his hand at times. One silly twist and they were bogged for the night or even over the edge. Earlier it had been rather exhilarating rushing through this savagery of earth and weather, but now he felt tired and apprehensive. Penderel had been exaggerating, of course, perhaps trying to frighten Margaret. But no, he wouldn’t be doing that, though he probably knew that she didn’t like him and was against his returning from the Ainsleys’ with them. He exaggerated for his own good pleasure, being a wild youth who liked to see life as either a screaming buffoonery or a grand catastrophe, something Elizabethan in five acts. Yet there were landslides after heavy rain in this part of the world. There might be floods too. Philip saw them stuck somewhere on this hillside all night. And what a night too! He shivered and involuntarily pressed the accelerator. 

The car roared forward, and though he immediately released the pressure it did not slacken speed because there was a sudden dip in the road. Just in front the hillside jutted into a sharp edge of rock and the road turned a blind corner. Philip had only time to touch the footbrake when this corner swung towards him. He gave the wheel a hard twist; for a second the car went sliding; and the next moment they were round the corner but apparently plunging into a river. The road had disappeared; there was nothing ahead but the gleam of water. In they went with a roar and a splash. Philip gripped the wheel harder than ever; he felt Margaret’s hand upon his left arm; he heard a shout from Penderel behind. Then the roaring and splashing filled the night, but the car seemed to be slowing down. He accelerated and the engine responded with loud spasmodic bursts, but all to no purpose. The car swung forward, stopped, drummed, and then shook violently, swung forward again, then stopped. 

‘Don’t stop.’ Margaret was crying in his ear.

‘Can’t help it,’ he shouted. What a damn silly remark! Did she think they were in a motor-boat! He must do something though. The engine was still running, trembling there under his feet, like a hunted beast. Hastily he shoved the lever into low gear and rammed down the accelerator. The car gave an agonised roar and seemed to shake itself like a dog, but for a moment or so nothing else happened. ‘Here for the night, here for the night,’ Philip heard himself chanting idiotically. Then slowly, almost painfully it seemed, the car moved forward, protesting every yard against the unfamiliar element. And now the road began to climb again; the worst was passed; the lights showed solid ground ahead, and a few minutes’ more splashing brought them out into earth and air. The little box of tricks had won. At least, Philip reminded himself, it had won so far; end of first round. But what was coming next? They were still climbing a little, and now the hillside to the right seemed less steep and rocky, but that to the left fell away more sharply. He could see nothing there but rain falling into a black gulf. It had the curiously vivid and dramatic quality of rain in a film. 

Margaret was saying something and appeared to be fumbling in the pocket in the door. What was it she wanted? He caught the word ‘stop’ in her reply, and so once again brought the car to a standstill. ‘What is it?’ he asked. 

‘I’m looking for the map,’ she replied. ‘We must find out where we are. We can’t go on like this.’ 

‘A good voyage, Waverton!’ Penderel shouted. ‘Have a cigarette?’ Philip found the open case under his nose when he turned, and lit up with Penderel.  Then there was a little click and the whole car was illuminated, transformed into a queer tiny room. The night was banished, wind and rain and darkness disappearing behind the shining screen; Margaret had found the little observation lamp and had fixed it in the plug. She had also found the map and was now bending over it, the lamp in her hand. But it was only a flimsy affair of paper and the rain had played havoc with it. Philip, who was visited by a sudden feeling of cosiness, watched her turn it over and stare at it with wide grave eyes. Then he saw her shake her head; just like a child, he thought. He wanted to tell her so and give her a quick little hug, a sign across a thousand miles of desert; then rush away to the nearest shelter and talk everything out with her. What was she feeling? How odd it was that he didn’t know! 

‘You look,’ she said, holding out the map. ‘I can’t see anything. It’s all a stupid puddle.’ 

He peered at the thing just to satisfy her. Roads and rivers and stout acres were now so many blotches. ‘It seems to me it represents this country very well, for everything here’s under water. The thing’s useless. Besides I can’t make out where we missed the turning.’ He followed a possible road with his forefinger, only to discover that it led him into a long blue smudge, under which some fifty square miles were submerged. Perhaps if they went there, everything would be different. Perhaps they were there. ‘I give it up,’ he told her. Then he turned to see Penderel’s tousled hair and bright eyes above the back of the seat. ‘Would you like to look at the map, Penderel? We can’t make anything of it.’

Penderel grinned and shook his head. ‘No map for me. I don’t believe we’re on a map. Drive on and we’ll arrive somewhere. Only don’t let it be water. We be land rats.’ 

Margaret made a slight gesture of impatience. ‘It’s absurd now trying to get to any particular place. We must stop at the first village we come to and ask for shelter. What’s that?’ There came a crack of thunder that rolled and clanged among the hills. Philip opened the door on his side, threw away his cigarette, looked out at the thick jigging wires of rain, and then hastily closed the door. ‘More rain and thunder,’ he said, then looked doubtfully at Margaret. ‘We’d better move on and, as you say, get in anywhere.’ There arrived with Margaret’s nod a savage assent from the sky, another roll and clanging of iron doors on the summits above. 

Philip started the engine again. Margaret put out the little observation lamp and with it any fleeting sense of cosiness. The night invaded them once more; they were wet and numbed and maundering on towards a furious autumnal midnight, among cracking mountains, lost in a world of black water; they were sitting crazily behind two lamps that showed nothing but a streaming track, the flashing of the rain, and the gulf beyond. When they moved off, very cautiously hugging the right-hand side, he could hear Penderel’s voice raised above the din. He was singing or at least shouting some kind of song, like a man in his bath. The whole night was going to be one vast bath and so Penderel was singing. A queer youth!—Philip looked down on him from a great height, but then suddenly remembered that Penderel was only two years younger than himself. It was his daft drinking and shouting and singing that magnified these two years. Unlike him, Penderel didn’t seem to have escaped from the War yet, and every night with him was still the night before one moved up to the line. Why didn’t Margaret like him? He wanted to think about Margaret, but just now there wasn’t time. 

There was another sharp bend in the road, not fifty yards away, and he decided to nose round it very cautiously. What a tremendous rumbling there was! Was it thunder? He shouted to the others. Margaret was leaning forward, peering out. ‘Look out, Waverton,’ he thought he heard Penderel shout. The bend was here, another corner as sharp as the last, and he pulled round and ran straight into roaring chaos. A torrent of water was pouring down upon the road and something struck the car, a large clod of earth or a rock, with a resounding jolt. The entire slope above seemed to be rumbling and shuttering. In another minute they would be buried or sent flying over the other side of the road. Dazed as he was, he realised that there was just a chance of escape, and he pressed down the accelerator while he kept the other foot trembling on the brake for fear the road in front should be blocked or should have fallen away. So far it seemed to be clear, though the whole hillside immediately behind them now seemed to be crashing down. The road ran back in a curve, probably between two spurs of the hill. Margaret was shrieking in his ear: ‘Lights! Look, Phil. Lights! Pull in there.’ He saw them not far in front, where the road seemed to bend back again, beyond the centre of its horseshoe curve. Without thinking, he began to slow down. There seemed to be some sort of gateway there, an entrance to a drive perhaps. Then the rumbling and crashing and tearing behind, growing in volume every moment, awakened him to the danger of the situation. 

It was obvious now that there was a house in front, and he could see the open entrance to the drive. But what kind of place was this to stay in, with the whole hillside threatening to descend upon them and tons of water coming down from somewhere? ‘We’d better go on while we can,’ he shouted to Margaret. ‘It’s not safe here.’ But at the same time he clapped on the brakes and brought the car down to a walking pace. They were now only a few yards from the gateway, were actually sheltered by the high wall of the garden. He felt a vague sense of safety, the sight of that wall keeping at bay the terror of the water and the crumbling slope. 

He caught Margaret’s ‘No, stop!’ and instantly obeyed the cry. He did it against his judgment, yet felt partly relieved to be free for a moment from wheels and brakes. She clutched his arm and he could feel her trembling a little. ‘Let’s stay here,’ she was gasping. 

‘We ought to go on while the road’s still open.’ His voice was hoarse and he too was shaking. 

‘Let’s get out and see what’s happening,’ Penderel chimed in. ‘I believe the whole damned hill’s going. Something’s burst up above.’ He was opening the door. Horribly cramped, Philip tumbled out and joined him in the black downpour. At least it was good to be on one’s legs again, and though the night was hideous, the situation seemed less precarious than it did when one was sitting in there, playing fantastic tricks with mechanism. 

‘Are we going to push on,’ Penderel shouted, ‘or stay here and ask these people for shelter? We can’t go back, for that road’s completely done in. And the road in front may be done in too. I’m for staying here.’ 

‘But listen to that.’ The fury behind had not spent itself and even appeared to be gathering force. ‘We’re close to it,’ Philip went on, ‘and the whole place seems dangerous to me. It may be all washed away before morning. And really we ought to tell those people what’s happening.’ 

Penderel walked forward, peered through the entrance, and then returned. ‘They don’t seem to be bothering much about it. Lights on, but no signs of alarm.’ 

‘Perhaps they don’t know.’ Philip shivered. ‘For that matter there may not be anybody there. They may have cleared off.’ 

Margaret was looking out of the car. ‘Why are you standing there?’ For once she sounded forlorn. ‘I can’t stand much more of this. It’s a nightmare.’ 

‘Penderel thinks we ought to stay here,’ Philip told her. ‘But I feel inclined to go on. It isn’t safe here and the road in front seems to be still open.’ He looked forward as far as he could, and though the road was partly flooded it revealed no dangerous obstacle.

‘But is it open?’ Penderel asked the question, and Margaret, still peering out, seemed to echo him. 

The next moment they were answered. There came a rumble and a following roar, this time in front of them, somewhere not far away in the darkness. It seemed as if a whole side of the hill was slipping or being washed away. The noise was deafening, terrifying, like a great buffeting of the ears; and even the ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble. The road in front had gone, and what was left of the horseshoe bend, the little stretch on which they stood, was now being rapidly flooded. ‘Bring her in here,’ Penderel shouted, and rushed to the drive, bent on leading the way. Philip hesitated long enough to feel the sudden chill wash of water round his legs, and then clambered back into the car. The rain was streaming down his face and he could hardly see; his hands were so numbed that they were like pieces of wood; but the engine was running and he contrived to jam in the gear and slip the clutch with only the loss of a few seconds. For a moment or two the car roared helplessly, but then it began to move slowly, with a prodigious splashing, and he turned it through the entrance and up the drive, which ran forward at a slight incline. He could see Penderel hurrying in front, a jerky and blurred figure in the rain, just like a man in a film. Now the house, surprisingly large to be in such an out-of-the-way place, towered above them. What was to be done with the car? Philip couldn’t decide, so merely turned it round the corner, where the drive curved towards the front door only a few yards away, and then came to a standstill. The head lamps shone upon the house and the door was strongly, dramatically, illuminated by their uncouth glare. It was a large door, stout enough for a little fortress, and three broad steps led up to it. Somehow it looked as if it were closed for ever. 

Philip found Penderel looking in at him. ‘Benighted!—that’s the word,’ Penderel said. ‘I’ve been trying to remember it all the way from the gate. I’ll go and beg for shelter. What a night! What a place! I like this, though, don’t you?’ 

Philip stared after him as he walked forward to the door. The night was still a tumult, full of a distant rumbling and crashing and the ceaseless drumming of the rain, yet there seemed to fall in it now a sudden quietness. It was the house itself that was so quiet. Driving up like this, you expected a bustle, shadows hurrying across the blinds, curtains lifted, doors flung open. But so far this house hadn’t given the slightest sign, in spite of its lighted windows. It seemed strangely turned in upon itself, showing nothing but a blank face in the night. You could hardly imagine that great front door ever being opened at all. 

And now Penderel was there at the door, darkening it with his shadow and groping for a knocker. Philip turned to Margaret, who was leaning back, exhausted perhaps. Once inside, out of the night, warmed and dry, eyes meeting eyes again in the light, they could perhaps talk everything out: now was their chance, before they reached home again and custom fell on them like weights of armour. He put out a reassuring hand, and though she didn’t meet it with her own, he seemed to catch a faint smile. Did she whisper something? He couldn’t tell. All he heard now was Penderel knocking at that door.


A storm strands travelers in a house full of dangerous eccentrics.

Release Date: October 20, 1932
Release Time: 72 minutes

Director: James Whale

Cast:
Boris Karloff as Morgan
Melvyn Douglas as Roger Penderel
Raymond Massey as Philip Waverton
Gloria Stuart as Margaret Waverton
Charles Laughton as Sir William Porterhouse
Lilian Bond as Gladys DuCane/Perkins
Ernest Thesiger as Horace Femm
Eva Moore as Rebecca Femm
Brember Wills as Saul Femm
Elspeth Dudgeon as Sir Roderick Femm (credited as "John Dudgeon")






1932  /  1963




Author Bio:
John Boynton Priestley was born in 1894 in Yorkshire, the son of a schoolmaster. After leaving Belle Vue School when he was 16, he worked in a wool office but was already by this time determined to become a writer. He volunteered for the army in 1914 during the First World War and served five years; on his return home, he attended university and wrote articles for the Yorkshire Observer. After graduating, he established himself in London, writing essays, reviews, and other nonfiction, and publishing several miscellaneous volumes. In 1927 his first two novels appeared, Adam in Moonshine and Benighted. In 1929 Priestley scored his first major critical success as a novelist, winning the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for The Good Companions. Angel Pavement (1930) followed and was also extremely successful. Throughout the next several decades, Priestley published numerous novels, many of them very popular and successful, including Bright Day (1946), and Lost Empires (1965), and was also a prolific and highly regarded playwright.

Priestley died in 1984, and though his plays have continued to be published and performed since his death, much of his fiction has unfortunately fallen into obscurity. Recently, some of his most famous novels have been reprinted in England by Great Northern Books; Valancourt Books is republishing Benighted and Priestley’s excellent collection of weird short stories The Other Place (1953).


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