Firefly Rain
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Firefly Rain

3.7 23
by Richard Dansky

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When Jacob left home for a new life, he pretty much forgot all about Maryfield, North Carolina. But Maryfield never forgot him. Or forgave him.

After a failed business venture in Boston, Jacob Logan comes back to the small Southern town of his childhood and takes up residence in the isolated house he grew up in. Here, the air is still. The nights are


When Jacob left home for a new life, he pretty much forgot all about Maryfield, North Carolina. But Maryfield never forgot him. Or forgave him.

After a failed business venture in Boston, Jacob Logan comes back to the small Southern town of his childhood and takes up residence in the isolated house he grew up in. Here, the air is still. The nights are black. And his parents are buried close by. It should feel like home—but something is terribly wrong.

Jacob loses all his belongings in a highway accident. His car is stolen from his driveway, yet he never hears a sound. The townspeople seem guarded and suspicious. And Carl, the property caretaker with so many secrets, is unnervingly accommodating. Then there are the fireflies that light the night skies . . . and die as they come near Jacob’s home. If it weren’t for the creaking sounds after dark, or the feeling that he is being watched, Jacob would feel so alone. He shouldn’t worry. He’s not.

And whatever’s with him isn’t going to let him leave home ever again.

Editorial Reviews

Library Journal

When his Boston-based business fails, Jacob Logan returns to his North Carolina hometown to take a brief respite before once more seeking his fortune elsewhere. After settling into his now empty family home, maintained by an elderly caretaker hired after the deaths of Logan's parents, Jacob discovers that neither peace nor quiet is within his reach as strange events conspire to cut his contacts with the outside world. Soon, Logan realizes that his life and that of anyone he cares about depend on solving the puzzle whose pieces lie in his house, in the strange behaviors of the townspeople, and in the tantalizing mystery of the fireflies. Dansky's ability to build terror slowly and talent for hiding his clues in plain sight demonstrate an attraction to old-fashioned, classic horror. The author of the "Exalted: Trilogy of the Second Age" series (Chosen of the Son; Beloved of the Dead; Children of the Dragon) and as well as a writer and designer of video games, Dansky now exhibits his talent for original supernatural fiction in this tightly paced tale of mystery and terror. A good choice for most horror collections. [Discoveries™ is a new fantasy-tinged speculative fiction imprint that expands the publisher's scope beyond its traditional shared-world boundaries.-Ed.]

—Jackie Cassada
School Library Journal

Adult/High School -Jacob Logan returns to his childhood home after a failed business attempt and several years after the death of his parents. From the moment the novel begins, readers know something is not right in the house. Strange and scary things begin happening right away, and it is clear that the creepy caretaker is not to be trusted. Event upon event keep readers turning the pages to figure out what it all means. Are the townspeople trying to drive Jacob away or keep him there forever? Why are his parents haunting the house? Why do the fireflies refuse to come anywhere near the property? Question after question arise and, at times, the plot seems a bit bogged down by all the clues and mysteries. However, mystery, fantasy, and supernatural/horror fans will find much to keep them intrigued. Though the protagonist is a bit hard to feel a connection with, the nonstop events surrounding him will keep readers hooked, if only to find out what the ghosts and the townspeople are up to. Ultimately they will understand that in order for Jacob to face his future, he must come to terms with his past. Compelling.-Jane Ritter, Mill Valley School District, CA

Product Details

Gallery Books
Publication date:
Product dimensions:
8.22(w) x 5.36(h) x 0.91(d)

Read an Excerpt

Firefly Rain

By Richard Dansky


Copyright © 2010 Richard Dansky
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9781439148631


Dear Son,

Your mother just informed me of your intention not to return home for the holiday season, and I have to say, I am disappointed in you.

I?m sure you have plenty of reasons that seem good to stay at school over Christmas. You have your friend, you have a life up there, you maybe even have a girl. I don?t know?these aren?t things you?ve shared with us since you?ve been away. I can understand wanting your own place and your own life, and I?m sure the house where you grew up seems boring and quiet compared to all of the excitement of the big city, but it?s where you came from, and that ought to mean something to you, at least at Christmas.

I have a certain amount of sympathy for wanting to find something of your own, especially at your age, but that should never come at the cost of causing pain to others, especially not those who love you. I cannot count the number of times you?ve promised your mother that you would be home for Christmas this year. Needless to say, she misses you terribly, and the news that you are not coming home has hurt her badly.

You?re a grown man now, or close to it, and I?m sure you think you can make your own decisions. Part of being a man, though, is understanding those decisions, and weighing what they cost. There?s more in this world than you and your wants, son. You?d do well to remember that.

We?ll leave a place for you at the table, just in case you change your mind. Your mother would be pleased if you did.

Father hadn?t signed the letter, hadn?t needed to, really. There was no one else it could have come from. I?d read it when it had first arrived, then I?d tucked it away in a place where I couldn?t find it easily when the mood struck me to throw it away.

And now, here I was holding it in my hands, the last thing that was mine in a place I?d lived in for years without leaving any kind of mark. I was leaving, heading back to Carolina with my tail between my legs and the memory of a failed business behind me. It was time to go somewhere else, to regroup and recover.

Even if that meant going back to a place I thought I?d never see again. In Boston, the wounds were too fresh, the failure too new. Distance was needed. It would just be a temporary visit, I told myself. I?d be in and out, recharged and ready to take on the world again, somewhere else.

So my belongings, the few I?d wanted to keep, had gone on a moving truck headed south, and here I was ready to follow. ?A retreat,? a former employee of mine had called it, and she?d been right. I was falling back.

The letter was still in my hands. I felt the rasp of the paper under my fingers?old, heavy typing paper that hadn?t aged well. It was dry and brittle, and carried with it an unpleasant weight of memory and expectation. It was the last letter Father had ever sent me, and the notion of bearing it back to its point of origin seemed suddenly, deeply wrong.

I crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. Then I turned out the lights, hung my key on a hook over the kitchen sink, and went out to where my car?and the road back to Carolina?waited for me.

That letter had been written on the occasion of my not coming home for Christmas my junior year of college. It was the first time I?d felt brave enough to stay away, to make sure that miles stayed between me and that house, that land. It wasn?t that I hated my parents. I loved them both, and they?d loved each other, but in a way that had cost them for loving. I?d never really fit in that house, and living there had been like being stretched over a too-tight frame.

Father?d died six years after sending that letter, five years after I?d graduated and announced I?d be staying in Boston for good. It was his heart that had finally given out, but I had to figure the rest of his organs had been just disappointed they?d lost the race. Liver, lungs, kidneys?the doctors told me they were lined up one after another, ready and willing to go.

Mother went ten years after Father?s passing. I think I was partially to blame for that, though no one ever said as much to my face. My visits home grew shorter and shorter, and I made them less and less often. There was a business to run, after all, and quiet evenings in North Carolina farm country didn?t offer much compared to the nightlife on Lansdowne Street. Besides, there was always a sense of expectation when I did make it home, an unspoken question hovering in the air of when I was going to come back for good. Mother never asked, so I didn?t have to answer, but it hung there between us every time.

I nearly missed her funeral because we were closing a deal for distribution with some Japanese firm that week and they wanted me there for the signing. There would be plenty of time to make it back after the meeting, I told myself, and I almost believed it.

In my darker hours, I wonder if Mother deliberately chose that moment to die, to see if just once I?d choose her over whatever it was I?d found up north. As it was, it was a near thing, and I made it home with only hours to spare. I remember driving like a madman from the airport in a rented car that was too big for my needs and too slow for my wants, but which had been the only one left on the lot. I also remember cursing everyone and everything else for my lateness.

They buried her out back, next to Father but with enough space between them that it was clear they didn?t always see eye to eye. Afterward, we gathered at the house, to share memories and reassure one another that we wouldn?t forget her. Friends of the family asked me a dozen times and more if I was all right, if there was anything I needed, if there was anything they could do. I thanked them all, told them gravely that I was fine, and promised them I wouldn?t sell the property. ?Family land stays in the family,? I told them, and I?m pretty sure I meant it. And since there was no other family, no aunts or uncles or cousins out there to maybe cast their eyes on the property, that meant it stayed with me.

Before the last of the well-wishers drifted away, I made arrangements with a man named Carl Powell, a friend of Mother?s, to serve as caretaker on the property in my absence. Carl was weathered and lean, and I couldn?t even guess how old he was. He still had all his teeth and most of his hair, and he?d been an occasional visitor at the house for as long as I could remember. I knew that he had been a big help to Mother in her declining years, and I felt good giving him the key and a check to cover the first year?s worth of maintenance.

?Keep your money,? he?d told me at first, when I?d asked him if he was willing.

?Carl, it?s an old house, and it?s going to need some work,? I replied. ?And it?s a fifteen-mile drive for you to get here from your place. I can?t not give you money for doing this.?

?Fine,? he said, but there wasn?t a lot of joy in his voice. ?I?ll give you an accounting at the end of the year.?

?I trust you,? I said, which was probably the worst thing I could have said. ?Let me know if you need any more.?

?I will,? he said in a voice that promised just the opposite, and he stuffed the check into his pocket. Carl left without another word to me, and hardly any to anyone else.

Reverend Trotter, an old family friend, was the last to leave. He?d given a fine and gentle eulogy for Mother, and he?d been sharp enough to make sure I didn?t have to speak more than a few words about her. Like everyone else in that church, he knew that a few words were all I had.

?Jacob,? he told me, and he wrapped his hands around mine, ?the times ahead are going to be harder than you think. You?ve lost both parents now, and that?s the sort of thing that hits a good man hard. If there?s anything you need, or if you just have to talk to someone, don?t hesitate to call.?

?Thank you, Reverend.? I squeezed his hands for a moment, then pulled mine away. ?I think I?ll be all right, though.?

He gave me a look that said, clear as day, he didn?t believe me. ?That?s a big house full of memories you?ll be staying in, Mr. Logan, and those memories just might come knocking harder than you think. I don?t like to think of you out here by your lonesome in the middle of the night, realizing deep down that she?s gone and you?ve got things you never had a chance to say.?

I smiled at him. ?Don?t worry, there?s no chance of that. I have to go back to Boston. I?m leaving the day after tomorrow.?

He blinked and took a step back. ?So soon? You sure you don?t need more time here, just to pull yourself together?? He leaned in close and added conspiratorially, ?Besides, some folks might take that as disrespectful.?

My smile got a little harder. ?I know how to show respect for Mother, Reverend. Other folks can say what they like. Carl Powell?s going to be taking care of the house, and I?m better equipped to handle the legal paperwork back home. Staying here wouldn?t do anyone much good.?

?Staying home might do you more good than you think,? he corrected me, then shook his head. ?I?m sorry, I?m speaking out of turn. Chalk it up to worry, Jacob. That offer stands, even if you have to call me from the big city in the middle of the night.?

I held the door open for him. ?I do appreciate that, Reverend. Thank you.?

?You?re welcome. You take care of yourself, Jacob Logan. Come back sometime.? He walked across the porch and down to his car without looking back, without expecting an answer.

?Some time,? I said softly, after he?d gotten in his car and driven off. The sun was going down as he did so, and long shadows marked my way as I walked back down to where they?d buried Mother. As the sky got darker, the fireflies came out to light my way.

I sat down there by the graves and waited, reading the inscriptions on the headstones a dozen times and wondering why I wasn?t feeling more. It wasn?t until full dark came that I finally stood and wiped the stones clean of the fireflies that landed on them in their hundreds, one by one by one.

Only then did I walk away.

The drive took two days. I could have made it in one but didn?t see the need. The truck with the rest of my belongings was following well behind, following the sort of route that let it leave earlier and arrive later than I would, without any way to check on it in between. In practical terms, that meant that there wasn?t any sort of schedule for me to keep, which was the sort of practicality I liked. I hadn?t called ahead to let Carl know I was coming, and I liked it that way. There was a vague notion in my head of drifting back into town and making as light an impression as possible. Maybe I could be gone before anyone noticed I?d come.

Ten o?clock had come and gone by the time I turned off the state route and found my way through the little town called Maryfield. Mother and Father?s house lay on the other side of it, well outside the city limits, and driving straight through was the only way to get there. There were more lights and shops than I remembered, but not many, and I didn?t feel like stopping to further consider the differences. Two days on the road had me bone tired. There?d be time enough to explore later if I felt the need.

A quick left onto Harrison Farm Road led me right back out of town and into the dark. The road had been mostly gravel when I was growing up; now the asphalt extended farther, and the houses and streetlights with it. But soon enough the last of the lights faded behind me. The town had crept closer to the house, but it still had miles to go before it was knocking on the door?my door, really. For that I was thankful, and there was a smile on my face as I drove off into the dark.

The road narrowed to one lane of hard-packed gravel, bounded on each side with a drainage ditch. Strangers had trouble with the road if they drove it after dark; watching neighbors winch station wagons back up onto the road had been a common pastime in my youth. I knew it, though, knew it well enough to take in the landscape as I drove. I could see the outlines of the trees that lined the road and not much else. The only things visible beyond them were the lights from the few houses I passed and the fireflies in the fields.

It was going to be a good summer for them, I could tell. Already the ground was thick with gold-green light, and the air above the fields danced with those cold sparks. It had been a long time since I?d seen fireflies in that kind of abundance?Boston isn?t partial to that sort of thing?and for a moment I was tempted to pull over and catch one in my hands. Then I thought about the two stones standing out past the pine trees and the empty house waiting for me, and all temptation fled.

The driveway came up on me suddenly, and I had to jam on the brakes to avoid overshooting the turn. Only the mailbox on the side of the road had let me know where the driveway was, and even then I?d nearly missed it. A dark house set well back from a dark road on a dark night is easy to miss, I told myself, and then I realized how truly dark it was. Even with the sky mostly clear and a half-moon shining down, the house I called mine was just plain wrapped in shadow. It had the look of a place that had gotten used to being ignored and liked it that way.

And not only the house was dark; so was the land it stood on. From where I stood, I could just see the road and the neighbor?s property beyond it. There, in the distance, I could see little specks of light dancing in the air. A turn to the east, where the old Tolliver farm was, and I could see the same thing. Mr. Tolliver had been a mean son of a bitch and put up wire along the top of the fence at the property line, and near as I could tell, there were even fireflies crawling their way along that. And I was sure without looking that if I turned back west, toward town, I?d see them there, too.

But on my land, nothing. I could hear the frogs out there in the dark, but sound wasn?t the issue. Light was, and I couldn?t see any clear over to the boundary. No fireflies crossed the line that separated my land from anyone else?s.

I stayed out on the porch for an hour, watching, but none of them ever did.

I finally got tired of waiting on the fireflies and decided to do something useful with myself instead. The hour was late enough that I didn?t feel like unpacking everything from the car, but I could certainly manage enough to get me through until daylight. With a bundle of clothes and a toothbrush tucked under my arm, I slid the old brass-colored key into the lock on the porch door. It went in smoothly, with no sound and no resistance. I unlocked it, looked around, and laid my hand on the knob.

Feeling the weight of years, I twisted it and shoved the door open. It swung smooth and silent on the hinges without making so much as a single creak. I think I would have preferred the noise.

Stepping through into the kitchen, I pocketed my keys and dropped my clothes on the kitchen counter. Even without turning on the light, I knew where everything was?counter to the right, kitchen table farther on and to the left, and light switch on the wall by the door.

It felt the same, too. Ten seconds under that roof and it all came flooding back. Just big enough to feel hollow and just small enough to feel cramped; that was my parents? house. Hot in the summer and cold in the winter, dark in the daytime and noisy at night?the sensations spun me around and tried to carry me away.

I forced the thoughts out of my head and went back out to the car for a small bag of groceries I?d picked up at a convenience store on the way in. It wasn?t much, just enough to get me through a couple of days as I settled in. The fridge was running, much to my relief, so I tossed the entire bag in there?bread, beer, prepackaged cold cuts, and all?with the intention of sorting it out in the morning.

I shut the door and, after a moment?s hesitation, locked it. It felt strange to do so here, where you never locked your door unless circumstances were strange and dire. It would have felt stranger not to, though. It would take more than one night to break a decade and a half of Boston habits. The car was locked up tight, too. There were things in there worth stealing, I was certain, even if there wasn?t anyone around to steal them.

Satisfied and bone tired, I grabbed my clothes and toothbrush again, and let memory guide me to my old room. Tossing the toothbrush on the dresser, I swept the dust off my childhood bed and found a clean blanket to wrap myself in. There?d be time enough in the morning, I figured, to set myself up properly. Weary from the road, I turned out the lights and lay myself down.

And no light came in through the window.

? 2008 Richard Dansky


Excerpted from Firefly Rain by Richard Dansky Copyright © 2010 by Richard Dansky. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

RICHARD DANSKY is the author of five novels, including the Trilogy of the Second Age for White Wolf's Exalted RPG. His short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines. He works as the Central Clancy Writer for UbiSoft, working on the storylines and content of most Tom Clancy-themed computer games.

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Firefly Rain 3.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 22 reviews.
SoCalMom More than 1 year ago
I love ghost stories, and creepy small Townes but this one was dreadfully disappointing. At best, it was boring and predictable throughout. The whole time I read this, I felt like there was something missing: Substance. The ghost story was fragile; maybe the author wanted to focus on one man's paranoia and delusions instead. Either way, it was inadequate.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Seemed forced and thrown together at the end.
sailaway7289 More than 1 year ago
Started this book last night and finished it around 2pm this afternoon. Yes, I stayed up after I got off work to finish the book though I kept telling myself I’d stop after one more chapter all the way to the end. There is so much about the book that I really liked. His talk about chasing fireflies, his descriptions of a small town bent on not being yanked into the 21st century, the fields, the woods, the farm and even the house made me homesick for a home I never had. It was so idyllic that I wanted it to be my home – minus the parents that is. To sit out on a large porch watching the sunset with only the sound of the bullfrogs breaking the silence – to look up not only at zillions of stars but also thousands of fireflies – to feel that sense of peace of mind…wow, it really spoke to me. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on though I found myself getting angry with Jacob a time or two for his bullheadedness. He was so blind but then, that is what the book is about, him realizing his mistakes and claiming his home. The moral of the story is keep your promises – don’t promise stuff lightly with no intention of fulfilling it. Promises made and broken affect more than just yourself and can hurt a person so much that they can’t forget it, even after death. The book is not scary – the ghosts are very friendly and nothing scary happens through the whole thing. It goes to show that not every ghost story has to involve ghosts bent on revenge or death. I found the ghosts endearing and wouldn’t mind being haunted if it were by good ghosts. Before I went to bed I was thinking I would give the book a C because I was so disgusted with Jacob for being so stubborn. However, now that I’m refreshed and rested, I easily give the book an A because it made me think, it entertained me and it was well written.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I did read this book, but I don't know why I stuck with it. The dialogue really got on my nerves--I almost felt as if I could have done better. I didn't like any of the characters--I was barely rooting for the protagonist. The firefly premise was a little goofy--fireflies take souls to heaven, so don't be scraping them off tombstones. The guy's mother's ghost was preventing people from dying until they made sure her son stayed home. But then when they got rough with her son, she changed her mind and decided to go ahead and go to heaven, along with her husband's ghost and the townspeople she'd been keeping alive. So, all of a sudden, her son could leave home, but then he decides he really doesn't want to. What's up with that? And, what about his father--whose spirit made him stay home? His mother's? And why?? But I do know why I picked up the book--I was hooked by the cover. I couldn't resist it, hoping for another Haunting of Hill House, I guess. But I don't want to hurt the author's feelings--he should keep on writing, because I bet he'll get much better with more practice.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
AutumnNights More than 1 year ago
I was captivated by the cover design of this book (unfortunately, I regularly do judge books by their covers), then intrigued by the synopsis. It was a totally random find and looked like a good, spooky, thriller for summer reading. The beginning was a bit rough for me. Mostly, the writing style irritated me and I found the dialogue to be mundane. But I read on, interested in figuring out the answer to the mystery, and as I did, the writing became less bothersome (I guess I got used to it), and I was pleasantly surprised to see how well the author gave different voices to his characters. That southern dialect took some adjusting for me... Regarding the story... I didn't think it was as scary as some other reviewers thought, and I'm a big-old wimp when it comes to things that go 'bump' in the night. I was a tad disappointed with the ending. All that build up to the inevitable answer and I thought it fell a bit flat. However, I think it's true-to-form for stories of this sort, and so it didn't bother me much. I also had it figured out, for the most part, half way into the book. All in all, I found it to be entertaining and interesting. It was an easy read, didn't take too long to get through and it held my interest.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
AJourneyOfBooks More than 1 year ago
Right off the bat I will tell you that I read FIREFLY RAIN by Richard Dansky in one sitting. I never meant to, but once I turned the first page, the rest followed rather quickly. Not only was the writing style easy to follow and pleasant, the story was compelling; always developing new twists and turns to keep the reader hooked. Jacob Logan is a failed businessman, having lost heart in the business that kept him away from home. Having first left for college, Jacob felt drawn away from home and stayed on in Boston moving up in the business world. As we learn in the beginning of the story, his decision to separate himself from his family was not one that his parents agreed with. Try as they might to convince him to come home, Jacob rarely did. Returning for his father's funeral and then a few select times before his mother's funeral, Jacob neglected his promise to spend more time with his parents. Now, returning to his empty family home and the town he left, Jacob will discover that promises are meant to be kept. We all know I get creeped out by scary stories. For me, however, a creepy story is rarely one that involves vampires, werewolves, zombies or other monsters. Scary stories are ghost stories, stories where things go bump in the night where the reader can fully expect something terrifying to be lurking in every dark corner and hover right behind them. That's a scary story to me. FIREFLY RAIN somehow managed to hover between the line of scary story and not so scary story. I would call this an intriguing horror that I would definitely read again. The real part of this story that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up is the suspense. Mr. Dansky develops the story in such a way that the reader never knows what's going to happen next, and right when you start to form a guess as to what is going on, he throws a wrench into the mix that keeps you guessing. It was really easy to become involved with this story, losing myself within the pages. The character development and progression of the plot never slowed down or got stuck in the mud. It's easy to see that the author put a lot of energy into moving the story forward, hooking us and keeping us hooked. Would I normally read a bump in the night story that's pretty much guaranteed to give me nightmares? Probably not (although now I am seriously reevaluating that). Would I read FIREFLY RAIN again? Oh yes! Not only did I get a decent adrenaline rush from the suspense and action in the book, but different parts, especially the end, left me with fodder for my brain to munch on for a while. From the time I woke up this morning to now as I write this review, I have probably thought back to the ending of the story six or seven times, revisiting different aspects and pondering what it means for the future. I would recommend this book to anyone who is looking for a good read and doesn't mind a bit of fright. More than a simple scary story, there is a deeper plot in FIREFLY RAIN as Jacob has to come to terms with his life, his views of the town he group up with, and his treatment of his family. Creating a well rounded story that gave enough terror to keep the lights on in my house while providing enough drama to keep me in a chair reading for 4.5 hours, this is a book that is sure to grab the attention of readers everywhere.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
bridget3420 More than 1 year ago
Jacob returns to the place where he grew up in North Carolina - Maryfield. He even moves back into the home where he spent his childhood. Nothing seems to be going right for Jacob. He loses his stuff, his car gets stolen and the people who live there give vicious stares without explanation. Little does Jacob know, this is just the beginning. There is more going on than he could have ever imagined. If you scare easily don't read this before going to bed because this is one of the most terrifying tales I have ever read. When you're in the mood for a good ghost story, pick this up, you won't be disappointed.
grumpydan More than 1 year ago
Richard Dansky's FIREFLY RAIN is a slow-building, suspenseful horror thriller that will entertain you until the end. When Jacob Logan returns to his childhood home in North Carolina, things just begin to weird him out. Like why don't the fireflies cross the property border and who stole his car and where the hell is it? The caretaker Carl is very secretive and Office Hanratty is one creepy gal. What is going on in the little town of Maryfield and why can't Jacob leave? Dansky pulls the reader into Jacob's dilemma and has created an fascinating tale of terror.
Trebble More than 1 year ago
If you are looking for a ghost story, Firefly Rain might just be your pick. This tale weaves into Jacob's life and in a way it is more about finding out who he is as well as what is haunting him. The book moves along at a good clip and builds suspense. You have to keep reading just to see what is really going on, who are holding the secrets and who is really on his side and why. There are a few intense scenes and nothing too gory. I didn't find it too scary, but felt it is more like a good mystery with ghosts on the side. I give this book 3 1/2 stars. The book is a bit predictable in parts, but does have an ending I didn't expect but would have liked a bit more suspense building up to it. However, it is a enjoyable read and I would recommend it to someone looking for an interesting take on a ghost story.
harstan More than 1 year ago
He chose to remain in Boston after graduating from college; disappointing his parents as the visits back to Mayfield, North Carolina grew shorter in length and longer in gap. His father died five years after Jacob Logan finished school and his mother ten years later. Now with his business failing, Jacob retreats to his hometown where his family home has been maintained by his late mom's creepy elderly friend Carl Powell. Back home, Jacob finds no peace though he initially assumes it is because he failed to see his parents much after going off to college in New England. However, as unexplained things occur like the theft of his car from his driveway without a sound, Jacob concludes his life and those he still cherishes are in jeopardy although he is unsure from what or why. He must solve the enigma of the townsfolks odd behavior towards him, the spirits of his parents haunting him from their nearby graves, and more so the torrential rain of fireflies that seem everywhere except on or near his estate. This is an exciting rural regional horror thriller that grips young adult readers from the moment Jacob returns to a home that fails to welcome the prodigal son back. The story line is action-packed, but at times overwhelms the audience with too much unanswered piled on. Still this is an entertaining haunting as Jacob learns you can't go home unless the fireflies welcome you back. Harriet Klausner
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Lays around her kits
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
She stands up shakily and leans on greypelt crying softly still. "Ok."