Nightmare Island Series, Book 1: False Awakening by Stella Drexler

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and the rain pelted steadily against the ancient stained glass window. The pale moonlight outside caused the surreal scenes upon the glass to glow eerily blue, casting ghostly images across the steel grey carpet. The tall, slim young man pushed open the window abruptly, allowing the hot, wet rain to soak the carpet and the beautiful, sapphire blue drapes that rippled in the sudden gust of wind.

He hated that glass, hated the contented, tranquil faces of the sleeping children and the fantastic scenes swirling above their heads: magical creatures, places and people. Innocence: perfect, simple, uncorrupted. He wanted to smash the window to tiny pieces, as if doing so would tear the sweet, blissful images from the sleeping children's dreams. Turn all of them as dark and twisted and damaged as he.

Not yet. It wasn't time yet. The children would dream their magical dreams, and he would wait for his moment. Just a bit longer. And then there would be monsters and devils and fear and suffering, so very much suffering.

How long could they last, the children? How much could their fragile, innocent minds endure? The adults didn't seem to last long at all. The children...they were much stronger. Their pliable, moldable little minds seemed so much readier to accept his manipulations, to warp and twist and change.

Adults: well, they just broke. No sport in that.

Behind him, the library door creaked open, and a shorter, younger man poked his head reluctantly into the library. "What are you doing in here?" he asked the taller man.

"The storm bringers are particularly enthusiastic tonight."

The smaller man moved into the room, frowning disapprovingly out at the raging storm. "They'll see it from the mainland."

"The mainlanders don't see anything."

They were silent a long moment, and the tall young man turned his face to the rain, closing his eyes as the drops streaked like tears down his cheeks. He took a long, deep breath as if he could scent his moment in the salty sea air. Beside him, his companion watched the lightning slash through the darkening sky, miserable and scared and full of doubt. But he had chosen, and there was no going back now. No one can run from their dreams.

The taller man spoke again, and his companion started guiltily from his seditious fugue. "It is nearly time. So very nearly time." His voice was low and fervent but there was no excitement in it, no glee. It was cold and passionless and possessed. It was that voice that terrified his companion, the voice no one else had ever heard, that no one else could possibly guess was beneath the charming, good-natured face the taller man showed the world. "What have you discovered, my friend?"

My friend. Meaningless words to such a man. "They leave tomorrow."

"Excellent. In their absence--" He paused, abruptly, like an animal scenting his prey on the air. "Someone's here."

"What? No, I--no, I came in alone. No one followed."

"Someone is here. Oh, yes. Someone who doesn't belong here. In my province." He didn't sound angry. No, instead he sounded coldly, deadly amused. He turned away from the window, spinning in a slow circle, his eyes distant, as if he were seeing into the air around them. "There you are, dreamer. This is no place for you. Let's show you something else, shall we?"