This collection contains nine short stories that are set in the fantasy reality of The Lost Boys film universe. The tenth story is my humorous and sarcastic reaction to the horrible piece of crap sequel that didn't need to be made.
--
"All Hail...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Leave it to Paul to actually find something useful.
David coasted his bike to a halt just before the trestle, leaving it parked behind a tall clump of scrub brush. It would be concealed just enough but that didn't matter. Only he and the other Boys came out here.
Anyone else who did was stupid. And likely dead, to boot.
He didn't need a watch; the moon was a steady and constant source of telling time for him. The pull of blood in his veins, tied to the waxing and waning of the great silvery disc, that was the only time piece he needed now.
Up the short dirt slope and out onto the open train trestle, David walked with ease over the railroad ties that wove the wooden bridge over the open crevasse. The fog off the bay was formed thickly tonight, hiding the wide expanse under his feet.
Paul had been the one to find this place. David had to begrudgingly admit that occasionally Paul was useful for something other then cheap weed and laughs. There was an old hand-painted wood map of the area, the details carved into the panels that hung on one of the walls of the pizza parlor that was situated in the retail section of the Boardwalk. They ate there, a lot, but none of them had ever much noticed the decor.
While getting more pizza, Paul had discovered it. The wooden map was so old that their cave was referenced on it; only not as a cave but as the once-grand resort that brought tourists from around the globe to Santa Carla.
The careful details of the map had given Paul a treasure hunt while he waited for the pie to bake. Picking out the points he knew, he'd finally stumbled across this: the trestle bridge for the Southern California railroad line. He'd excitedly shared his discovery upon his return to the table, and after they'd finished, they'd ridden out here.
What a discovery it was.
Mostly they used it for flying. Just jumped off the trestle and flew around, whooping and hollering their heads off, where no one could hear or discover them. This led to dares and competitions, bets and games; Marko usually ended up being repeatedly pushed off, which resulted in Paul and Dwayne laughing until they almost peed themselves. They had only, on rare occasions, brought someone human out here. Usually just to give them a real good scare before they became dinner.
David stopped in the middle of the bridge then stepped to the outside, ducking under the weak metal pipe railing that did nothing to bar someone from sitting on the very edge of the ties.
His boots dangled over periphery, the fog swirling around as he lazily kicked his feet back and forth. He hadn't told the Boys where he was going tonight. David had wanted to be alone. To think about the task Max had given them.
Time seemed to crawl to a standstill as he sat, thinking.
Off in the distance, he heard the distinct sound of an engine's horn. His alone time was up. The train rounded the corner, headed towards the trestle, its powerful front light illuminating the shadows.
David rose and stepped off the edge, into the oblivion below, just as the train began to cross the bridge.
