Hell Snake

by Bernard Schaffer

  “It sure don’t,” Cody Canada said.

  “I feel better already,” McGinty said. He pushed the balled-up paper through the cell bars and tossed it toward the sheriff to dispose of. “Here you go, Sheriff. Thanks for the grub.”

  “I wish we had more of it,” Reuben said. He bent down to pick up the paper.

  “Hey, you know what this all reminds me of?” McGinty asked. “Alma.”

  “Alma who?” Reuben asked.

  Cody Canada laughed. He reached up to pick a piece of sinew out of his teeth and flicked it at the wall.

  “Alma’s not a what, it’s a where,” McGinty said. “Out in New Mexico Territory. You all heard about what happened out there, didn’t you, Cody?”

  “Oh, I heard about that,” Canada said. “You heard about Alma, Sheriff?”

  “Of course I heard about Alma,” Reuben said defensively. “I just didn’t realize that’s what you were talking about.”

  “What those Apache did to all them settlers out there, boy,” McGinty said. “Nasty stuff. Apache got special ways of torturing the ones they catch.”

  “It’s good for us there aren’t any around anymore,” Reuben said. “I’m glad we killed them all.”

  “That’s right,” McGinty agreed. “Well, not all, I guess. What’d we say? A few thousand fighters left, probably gathered together down there in Oklahoma?”

  “That’s what we said,” Canada agreed.

  “You know what’s funny about what happened in Alma?” McGinty asked.

  “I’m not sure anything’s funny about what happened in Alma,” Reuben said.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean funny as in makes you laugh. Funny as in makes you think,” McGinty said. He leaned against the bars and said, “Victorio, the Apache who led that raid, only had seven men. That’s all he needed.”

  “Wonder if that Indian policeman couldn’t find seven Apache down there in Oklahoma to bring up here?” Canada asked.

  “Oh, I bet he could find more than seven,” McGinty said.

  “You know what, Cody?” McGinty asked. “It don’t really matter if she’s Apache or not. All the tribes got special ways of treating the men they kill.”

  “Especially white folk who took one of their girls,” Canada said.

  “Well, at least they’re all down there in Oklahoma.”

  “Just a few days’ ride away,” Canada said.

  “It almost makes me glad to be safe behind these bars.” McGinty turned around and lay down on top of his bunk. His legs were so long they dangled over the end of the cot. “You keep an eye out for us while we catch some shut-eye, Sheriff,” McGinty said. “’Course, by the time you see them, it’s gon’ already be too late.”

  “Here you go, Sheriff,” Cody Canada said. He crumpled up the wet paper in his hands and tossed it at Reuben. The sheriff watched it bounce across the desk in front of him.

  * * *

  * * *

  Elliot Reuben rode toward the woods as fast as he could make the horse go. He’d left the office as soon as he’d heard Blackjack McGinty let out his first gurgled snore.

  Of course, the Red Priest had the kidnapped Indian girl with him, Reuben thought. Even though he’d spoken true when he’d said he hadn’t seen any such girl, he knew it was probably true.

  Wind stung his eyes as he rode and he had to cover the top of his hat with his right hand to keep it from flying off. Forget the hat, he told himself. You’ll be losing a lot more than the hat off the top of your head if a raiding party comes.

  He knew that all the men in Elan Valley were no match for a raiding party of any size, and who would that raiding party come for first?

  They’d come for him.

  Reuben was the only law officer in those parts. There weren’t soldiers stationed nearby. No big cities with regimented police officers to summon for aid. No large towns with deputies to come to his rescue. The Indians would come for him and they’d cut pieces off of him just to see how long he lived without his ears and nether parts and whatever else they wanted to remove. Then they’d scalp him and tie him to the back of their horses and drag him across the road until he died.

  Anyone in Elan Valley who saw that would be too cowed to fight. Even if they wanted to fight, any raiding party worth its salt would be sure to set every house and barn on fire in a ten-mile radius.

  It’s hard to mount a defense when you’re worried about getting your wife and children out of a burning house.

  It’s even harder to get them to safety when there’s six Indians running you down on horseback with arrows and spears and tomahawks aimed for your neck.

  “Come on, come on,” he urged the horse.

  He grabbed the reins with both hands and his hat flew off the top of his head. It did not matter. He had to find the Red Priest and beg him to give back the girl. That was his only hope.

  Elliot Reuben was not a superstitious man. He considered himself a Christian, who’d been duly anointed by God to carry out and enforce the law. He knew that the Bible said to fear neither spirits nor demons, and that God was a Christian man’s sword and shield, but Reuben had seen things in the woods that had made him wonder how effective any of that would really be.

  He had not always felt that way.

  From the time he was a young man living in Elan Valley, he’d heard rumors of dark spirits that took men captive and crazed beasts that devoured living flesh in the dark woods. He’d always laughed it off as spooky stories people told to scare each other.

  He’d met travelers who claimed they’d been chased by naked madmen. Hunters who said they’d found half-eaten carcasses of animals that looked like they’d been chewed on by human teeth. There were plenty of people who’d vanished from town and were never seen again, but Reuben had never found such disappearances particularly hard to explain. People moved on. They left without saying good-bye.

  And then, one day, Reuben became a believer.

  He’d gotten lost on the way back from Twin Oaks. He’d taken a wrong turn along an old hunting trail and found himself riding through an open part of the woods. It was broad daylight and nothing seemed ominous about it at all. Everywhere he looked, he saw thick trees full of bright orange and red leaves. Leaves covered the ground as well, wet and slick, and Reuben had slowed his horse to go across them. His horse had always been skittish, even on the best, flattest roads. Out in the woods, there were a thousand things that might make the animal buck in fright. Deer racing across their path, hissing opossums, even thick roots covered by leaves that the horse might mistake for a snake, not to mention plenty of deep holes in the uneven ground for the horse to step in by accident. Reuben had no desire to be thrown. So they took it slow.

  Reuben patted the horse on the neck and did his best to enjoy the view and the slow walk among the pretty trees. That’s when he heard a sound that felt like sharp needles raining down across his exposed back.

  It was a high-pitched laugh, ringing out from behind one of the trees. Screeching like metal scraping against metal, the laughter came out in one long scream.

  His horse’s ears twitched wildly and Reuben spun back and forth in his saddle, trying to see where it was coming from, but the sound seemed to echo from every direction. Then the voice went suddenly silent. The woods were eerily calm and quiet.

  That’s when Reuben caught sight of something crouched behind one of the trees. It had the shape of a woman, but with long, sharp claws instead of fingers and toenails. The claws were black and curved like talons. The thing’s hair was matted with leaves and branches so that it looked like it had sprung up from the woodland floor itself. It skulked in the shadows of the tree, keeping away from the light, but it was watching him with eyes that were bright white.

  Reuben would have shot it.

  In all the times he’d thought back on that moment since, he was sure he would have shot it,
but just then his horse whipped its head and bucked sideways and Reuben caught sight of another one of the foul things coming up on his right side.

  Its arms were extended, reaching for him, and would have had him too, if not for his horse. The animal took off running, dashing across the slick leaves as fast as its legs could carry it.

  Reuben had never yelled at that horse for being skittish again.

  * * *

  * * *

  Reuben followed the smell of smoke and cooking until he found an encampment of brightly colored silk tents, strung up with gold-colored ropes.

  The robed figures were sitting in a wide circle. Many of them were playing musical instruments: flutes and drums and oblong objects made of carved wood filled with some kind of beads or beans that rattled when they were shaken.

  In the center of it all, the two long-haired women who’d attended to the Red Priest were dancing. As they swayed and spun, they swirled their robes, which came open to reveal their shimmering, sweat-soaked bodies beneath.

  The acolytes not playing music were smoking from long, elaborate-looking pipes. The pipe smoke smelled sickeningly sweet and formed a haze so thick Reuben could hardly see beyond it. He felt his eyes and lungs burn as he breathed it in and he could taste its bitterness dripping down his throat. As he navigated through the crowd, someone grabbed him by the arm and spun him backward. To his surprise he was standing face-to-face with a girl with short black stubble for hair. She leaned forward and puffed out her cheeks to exhale a chestful of smoke into his face. She grabbed him by the face and kissed him on the lips, only to blow more smoke directly into his throat. As he choked, she laughed and shoved him away.

  That girl, Reuben thought. Had she been an Indian? He cried out, “Wait!” but she had already gone. He tried to regain his footing and realized his legs felt detached from the rest of him. He could still command them to move, but he could not feel them.

  Reuben couldn’t get his bearings. The people seated around him pointed and laughed as he staggered past. He found himself in the circle’s center, disoriented by the music that pulsated around him, and then his hands were taken by both of the dancing women. They waved his arms high into the air and twirled underneath, then did it again in the other direction. They spun him around until the faces of the people he moved past became blurry.

  Reuben sat down and lowered his head. Sweat poured off his face and dripped from the tip of his nose. Suddenly two large men scooped him up beneath his arms, dragged him away from the crowd, and dropped him on his knees. He braced himself against the cool grass to keep from falling sideways.

  Reuben looked up and saw the Red Priest sitting in a lacquered chair, glaring down at him from behind the eyeholes of his mask. Reuben opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no words came out.

  The priest clapped his hands together and said, “Wine for our guest. His throat is dry.”

  A wooden goblet was dunked into a nearby bucket of wine and the blond-haired dancing woman carried it toward Reuben in both hands. He tried to decline, but she ran her fingers through his hair and tilted his head back so that his mouth opened. Her grip on him suddenly tightened and she turned the goblet upside down and dumped its contents into Reuben’s mouth.

  It was all he could do to swallow enough of it not to drown. He sputtered and choked and fell forward on his hands again and thought he’d be sick. The wine burned the insides of his chest when he breathed. He closed his eyes and tried to right himself. All around him was the chattering of distorted voices and strange music that followed no form. He looked up and saw the truth of the Red Priest.

  The mask was no mask at all, but his true face, and the flames surrounding his head were alive. They twisted about his temples like snakes.

  I am losing my mind, Reuben thought.

  No! he told himself. You are the sheriff of Elan Valley and you will not allow this to happen. Reuben shook his head, determined to clear his mind. “Where is the girl?” he managed to force out of his mouth.

  But the words had come out in an incomprehensible jumble. “Vair—” Reuben tried again, and stopped. His lips felt swollen and they fluttered as he spoke. He closed his eyes and breathed. “Vair ifth th gor?”

  “More wine for our guest,” the Red Priest said.

  Reuben waved his hands no, but this time two male acolytes grabbed him and forced another gobletful down his gullet. It streamed down the sides of his face and neck and soaked through his shirt and the front of his pants until the goblet was empty.

  The priest stood up. He straightened his robes as Reuben gasped and tried to stop from choking. “It is most fortuitous that thou hath come before me this evening.”

  Reuben swayed on his knees. The warmth of the wine flowed to his extremities and they seemed to detach themselves from the rest of him. His hands and feet now moved of their own accord. He could hear his own heart beating inside of his chest so loud that he thought it might explode. The girl. That was what he had come for. He must remember her. “Gor,” was all he managed to say. “Gor!”

  “Yes, yes, gor indeed,” the Red Priest said. “Tonight is the bacchanal. I said thou would feast with me here, did I not? Here is where love and death converge. Where the hunter becomes hunted. Where the king stag is chased by the wild women who serve Dionysius until he is brought down and his flesh is consumed raw. Tonight, thou shalt accompany me to the edge of this material plane! For this night, I reclaim the throne that was taken from me so long ago!”

  He extended his arms and the two female attendants came to his side.

  They removed his robe from his body and he stood posing before them all, naked.

  The Red Priest’s sinewy frame was pale and hairless, his flesh riddled with jagged scars. Above, the flames of his mask shined like a glorious halo.

  The Red Priest knelt in front of Reuben and laid his hand on his shoulder. “My son. Does thou know what I see in thy eyes?”

  Reuben felt a great sob well up within his chest. He placed his hands flat on the ground and tried to speak. Nothing but spittle came out.

  “I see the eyes of a king.”

  The priest stood again and a dozen of his acolytes fell on Reuben and grabbed him by the wrists and legs so that he could not move.

  “Fear not!” the priest cried. “We go forward to the feast!”

  Someone unbuckled Reuben’s gun belt and tossed it aside. Rough hands pulled his shirt over his head and yanked his pants down to his ankles. He was stripped of all clothing in seconds and stood before them, trying to cover himself, naked and trembling.

  “And now, a crown for our king!” the Red Priest said.

  A twisted mass of antlers bound with twine and red ribbons was passed above the crowd and Reuben shrank away in fear as it came toward him. Firm hands held him in place as the makeshift crown was fitted around his head. The sharp points of the antlers dug into his shoulders and their hard bony ends ground against his skull.

  The acolytes let go of him and the Red Priest called for Reuben to follow him. Reuben did as he was told, staggering forward on legs that did not feel like his own anymore. He no longer had the power to resist. The priest’s body was smooth in the blue hue of the moonlight and Reuben walked behind him, stepping barefoot on the thorn-covered branches scattered across the earthen floor.

  The Red Priest spoke as he walked. “When I was a young boy, my parents left me an orphan, and I wandered the plains thinking I’d either be devoured by wild animals or starve to death. Instead, I was found by a holy man. When the holy man learned my name, he smiled and told me that I too was a holy man, and that someday, I would lead his people to greatness as the anointed one. He foresaw everything. Or so he thought. What he did not foresee was the arrival of a group of wicked men who would destroy everything we had built. It has taken me many years to rebuild what was lost. It has taken more than that to locate the ones responsible,
as well as the ones who were lost to us so long ago. So you see, Sheriff, what is lost is now found. Perhaps my old master was more right than either of us knew.”

  The Red Priest came to a clearing in the woods and stopped. He looked around at the dark trees and the shadows beyond them and called out, “Children of the Forest, hear me! It is I, John Deacon, come to bring you home! I know thou art here! I can sense thy presence. Tell me, canst thou sense mine?”

  There was nothing but the croaking of frogs and insects.

  “Lo, many years have passed since you were driven into the wilderness! When I last saw thee, you were but children, fleeing from our church as it burned to the ground. Now I summon you in the name of what you once knew as the Great Light! Come and embrace your Holy Father, my Children of the Forest!”

  The Red Priest grabbed his mask with both hands and raised it from his head to reveal his face. The top of his head was bald and liver-spotted. His eyes sagged and his cheeks were lined with deep crevices that ran along the sides of his mouth. The center of his forehead was marred by a gnarled scar that began over his left eyebrow and twisted down past the bridge of his nose. The scar ended in a curl beneath his right eye.

  “Come to me, my children,” the Red Priest said. “See the mark of the snake that I bear from our hateful enemy who destroyed everything. Come to me, and we shall rise anew.” Shapes and shadows moved alongside the trees in the darkness before them. Reuben bent forward and squinted to see them better.

  He gasped as a single figure crept forth from the darkness. It bore the shape of a human woman, with black claws and matted hair. A male creature crept out behind her, and then more and more followed, until there were dozens of them, all naked and reeking of foul decay, until they had Deacon and Reuben surrounded.

  Like feral things, they gnashed their teeth and scratched at the air with their claws. Reuben cringed in fright, but John Deacon waved for them to come closer. “Do not fear me,” he said. “I am the one you remember.”