by Barry Reese
Nancy entered her room and closed the door behind her, saying nothing. She was angry, though she couldn’t quite specify the reason. She knew that her brother had bestial lusts and she had turned a blind eye to his dealings with such. But this woman... this woman was different.
Nancy stripped out of her garments and began to wash. Normally she would have focused on the pleasant sensations of cleaning herself but she couldn’t stop thinking about her brother’s demeanor and the way he’d looked at Wilma.
One day became two, then three and then four.
Wilma provided three meals a day and Lucas took to doing a few odd jobs around the house. Nancy stayed in her room most of the time but she could hear their laughter. Once she imagined she could hear them rutting like animals on the kitchen table but when she could stand it no more and had flung open her door, she had found them sitting calmly there, playing a simple game of cards. She had retreated to her room, afraid and embarrassed.
I’m losing him, she realized and the thought was terrifying. He had been her protector for as long as she could remember and when it came to their Holy Work, he was essential. She can’t have him, she thought as she lay in bed, eyes wide open. He belongs to the Lord.
And to me.
She finally confronted her brother as he came back from the well, a heavy bucket of water in one hand. “We need to leave this place,” she said, using the tone of voice that had worked on him since they were children.
Lucas set down the bucket and wiped his brow with the back of a hairy arm. “Why’s that?”
“Because God’s mission will not wait. There are demons loose on this world and we are the only ones who can stop them. I am the Lord’s Eyes but you are his Right Arm. I point the way and you bring down the hammer of justice.”
“Wilma asked me to try and patch up the holes in her roof. I’d like to do that before the rain comes.”
Nancy reached out and touched her brother’s chest. “Lucas. Please. We must go.”
“The demons will be there after I fix the roof,” Lucas retorted. He sounded angry, using a tone of voice that she’d never heard before. He immediately realized what he had done and placed his hand over hers. “Nancy, just give me a few more days. This rest has been good for me. I hadn’t realized how tired I was.”
“Are you in love with her?” she asked, fearful of the answer.
“I barely know her,” he answered quietly but it was there in his eyes.
Nancy stepped away, pulling free of his grip. She licked her lips and shifted her weight from foot to foot. “There’s something about this place,” she whispered, lowering her voice so much that Lucas had to lean towards her. “Ever since we arrived, I’ve felt it. We’re being bewitched. This is a test, don’t you see? Will we be blinded by temptation? Or will we be true to our mission?”
“Don’t you think God would want us to be happy?” Lucas asked and the question gave Nancy pause.
“No,” she said at last. “I think he wants us to do His work. Sometimes we suffer in this life so that we’ll be rewarded in Heaven.”
Lucas sighed, picking up the bucket and resuming his march towards the house. “Well, you’ll be a rich woman after you die, Nancy. Richest in Heaven.”
“Lucas!”
He paused, looking back at her. “Yes?”
“I didn’t want to tell you because I love you too much and I don’t want to cause you such pain...” Nancy began to wring her hands in desperation. “But I have seen a demon here.”
Lucas dropped the bucket, rushing back to his sister. He gripped her shoulders so hard they hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? We have to deal with it before it threatens Wilma or the other people in town!”
Nancy looked at her brother, tears in her eyes. “Because it’s her. She’s the one. I didn’t want to tell you but I’m sure of it.”
Lucas let her go, looking like he’d just been slapped. “You’re saying that your Sight has shown you this?”
“Yes. But I know she means so much to you, Lucas, so we can let her be. We can leave this place and, just this once, leave a demon be.”
“I... are you sure?”
Nancy nodded, looking to the ground. “I can only tell you what God has shown me.”
Lucas hesitated, his hands clenching and unclenching. At long last, he picked up the bucket of water and moved towards the house.
Nancy walked through Desolation, feeling more alone than she ever had before. She wasn’t sure what Lucas would do but she hoped he’d make the right decision. As he’d said back in the saloon on the first day they’d arrived, they were family... and that took precedence over everything.
A drop of rain hit her shoulder and Nancy looked up to see the skies darkening overhead. A rumble of thunder shook the earth beneath her feet and she had to close her eyes as rain began to fall in thick sheets all around her. She covered her habit with her hands, bolting for the safety of the empty Sherriff’s building. She crouched there, grateful to be out of the rain. The thunder came again, sounding like the explosion of a cannon. She heard the horses in the stable complaining about the noise and she didn’t blame them. The strength of the storm was overwhelming.
“Times like these, you’d almost think God was venting his anger, wouldn’t you?”
Nancy jumped, having thought she was alone. She turned to see a man seated in a rocking chair, hidden by the shadows. He rocked to and fro, the chair creaking slightly. She couldn’t make out many details about his appearance but he seemed to be youthful and fit. “His power is awesome to behold,” she answered.
“That it is,” the stranger confirmed. “Makes it hard to know what works are His and what works are those of Man, though. If you see a burning blaze, how do you know it was God’s plan at work? Maybe it was just the act of a mortal man, doing evil for his own reasons.”
“Why are you talking like this?” Nancy asked, a wet shiver going down her back.
“Well, you are a nun, aren’t you? Thought you’d like a bit o’ Bible talk.”
Nancy stood up, looking out into the rain. The storm was weakening a bit but there was no sign that it would let up completely, not for a good long while. “You can recognize the true hand of God,” she said. “He always signs His work.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course I do.” Nancy adjusted her habit. “God speaks through me.”
The stranger watched as Nancy stepped back out into the rain, hurrying towards the widow’s home. “Sure he does,” the man muttered, “But are you ever really listenin’?”
Lucas was standing outside the house when she got there. He looked lost, his hair soaking wet and his eyes wide.
“Lucas?” she asked, moving to stand next to him. The rain was still coming down hard but now it had a melancholy quality to it.
“We better get going,” Lucas said, shouting to be heard over the rain. “It’s going to be hard traveling in the rain but we need to get away from here.”
“Did you tell Nancy we were leaving?”
“Yeah. I did.” Lucas looked at her and for the first time in their lives, she knew that he was regarding her with suspicion. “You were telling the truth? About what she is?”
Nancy nodded slowly. “Yes. But we’ll let her be. Just this once. Just for you.”
Lucas wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face hard against his chest. “I love you, Nancy. I don’t understand why God did this to you but I won’t let you face it alone.”
Nancy smiled, feeling her confidence returning. “Everything will work out, if we just trust in the Lord.”
A jagged burst of lightning cut across the sky, like a knife slipping through warm flesh.
In the dark recesses of her house, Wilma sat at the kitchen table, her head resting against the wall. Her eyes were open but they saw nothing, nor would they ever again. There was a single bullet hole that lay between them.
THE RAG DOLL KID
by David Boop
The Rag Doll Kid loo
ked at the rapidly cooling body on the floor. He circled it with curiosity. He took in the face from different angles. No matter which way he tried, he couldn’t deny the fact the body looked exactly like him.
He bumped the toe of his boot against the blooded scalp. It was spongy under the dirt-water hair. He walked around to the front again, crouched, and examined a hole just about an inch above the left eye. It still leaked a bit, looking like a scarlet worm crawling down a flesh-colored apple. The worm extended its reach across the dead man’s nose and over his moss-like mustache to pool on the floorboards. It would slink through the gap between the planks and drop the twelve or so inches to the Arizona dust.
“Yep. No doubt about it. That’s me.”
The Kid’s voice sounded funny, like he was talking in a cave. He guessed that’s how ghosts were supposed to sound, anyway. Least, that’s the way his pappy had made them sound as they’d sit around the fire and tell stories about wolf spirits and ghost trains. He shook his head at the thought of being known as the Ghost of the Rag Doll Kid from then on.
He cringed. Would he haunt this cabin forever? Once the town folk found his rotting corpse, they’d most likely burn the place down. Then where would he be? Out near the trail into Drowned Horse, haunting that cactus people always peed on? Wasn’t that worse?
He took a look at the body again.
“God, hope I don’t stink too bad when I’m found.”
The image of his once friends and neighbors gathered outside the cabin, each battling to be the one to put the torch to the walls, leapt to mind. Maybe the preacher man would say a few words, using his Christian name.
“Lord, commit the body of our fallen brother, Matthew Ragsdale, to your eternal embrace, or at least have pity on his wretched soul before Satan’s foul minions drag it to the fiery pits of hell. Amen.”
Children would dance around, singing that dang-blasted rhyme he tried not to hear in his sleep.
Women folk, say goodbye to yer men.
The Rag Doll Kid has come agin’
Oh, mama, keep your boy in tow.
The Rag Doll Kid will kill him so.
The men would all head for the saloon to toast their good fortune. Few people liked to have their mistakes shoved in their face, yet those mistakes were painfully clear when they saw the rag doll hanging on Matt’s belt.
Matt tried to leave “the Kid” stuff behind him. Heck, it’d been seven years. He didn’t bother nobody. He stayed home as much as possible, stepping out occasionally to see what a red dust-filled sky would do to the sunset. He was rarely disappointed in the view.
Why had someone chosen now to kill him? And who? He’d sent all the ones that’d have a grudge against him to their final judgment, or so he thought.
He checked the window. Had he heard the sound of shattered glass just before the flash of light that put him in this state? Matt found a bullet hole there, as well. The mystery gunman had been waiting for him a long time in that desert, hoping he’d get just the right angle; one without any chance of missing. The sharpshooter had to know if he missed, the Rag Doll Kid would see him dead.
The shooter was good. Matt peered through the bullet hole, trying for a guess at trajectory. There were a few spots he could lay without chance of the sun gleaming off gunmetal. A gulley about three hundred yards out seemed about right. Had the killer set himself up at night and waited through the morning for Matt to give him the perfect shot?
Weren’t many men could do that. Matt actually knew of only one still alive and, if it was him, why’d he chose now when there’d been so many chances to kill “the Kid” in the past?
Matt felt the beginnings of a draw against the back of his shirt. Instinctually, he knew this pull would rip his soul off this Earth. He wanted answers and figured he didn’t have all that much time to get them.
Despite his ghost-like state, Matt was able to move things around with some effort. The door latch felt slippery as finally he grasped it and slid it clear. When he walked out into the midday sun, he could still hear his boots against the porch.
He cursed when he couldn’t get close to his mare. He’d hoped to untie her and let the old girl carry him into town, but she spooked as he approached. Instead, Matt walked out by the yellowed cactus and waited. It only took an hour before the daily stagecoach to town stirred up a dust cloud on the horizon. Like clockwork, it slowed as it approached. Matt slid away from the spot that would soon be wet, not just for that reason, but to also be away from the spookable horse team. He slid around to the back of the carriage and climbed up on the luggage rack. He looked at his cabin one last time, knowing that eternity had something else in store for him.
The town of Drowned Horse was true to its name. A town that nobody ever planned a move to, they ended up stuck there like a carcass in the wash after a big rain in Flagstaff. A passerby would think the place was just wood waiting to be burned.
It was both eerie and refreshing to walk through town and not have people look away.
Damn! Never realized that Martha Fenski had such pretty green eyes, Matt thought.
He headed for Nathaniel Chalker’s smithy. The serrano-thin young man was in the back. He had just put something under a tarp. Sweat-slicked black hair leaked down the back of his head like pitch. The smith turned around abruptly, like he’d felt someone in the shop. Matt stood firm, waiting. Nate surveyed the place with nervous eyes that took in every corner. He moved into the center of the room. Matt took the opportunity to slowly walk to the tarp. He picked up the edge. Nate’s special rifle lay beneath it. Once, the twenty-ish man had drunkenly bragged on killing a coyote with it from four hundred yards. It was fortune that Matt had been within earshot.
“Nate?” Matt said, as he tested the sound of his voice, “What’d you do, Nate?”
The smith turned around wild-eyed, looking for the voice’s owner.
“What? Who’s there?”
“Why’d you kill the Rag Doll Kid, Nate?”
Nate dropped to the floor and crossed himself. He rattled off prayers in succession.
“Why’d you kill the Kid!?!”
Nate wept now. He said between sobs, “What— what he’d done to all them folk. He – deserved – to die.”
“You know that’s not right, Nate. If he was that bad, he would have killed you, like those he hunted down, just to cover his tracks, but he wouldn’t harm a child, would he?”
“He killed – he killed—”
“He killed your dad. Yes, he did. But is that any worse than what your daddy done did to him?”
Nate slipped into a silent torment, but guilt unmistakably furrowed his brow. However, Matt thought there might be more to this. Someone had convinced the lad to settle accounts last night. The smith was hot-headed, but not prone to making decisions on his own. Whatever the crowd wanted, he wanted.
“Nate? Why now? You could have killed him a dozen times since then.”
Nothing.
“Nate? Were you drinking last night?”
Nothing.
The former Sheriff-come-outlaw reached down and grabbed the scruff of Nate’s shirt. It was filthy and sweat stained from the hours he’d spent in the desert laying in wait to kill the Kid. With effort Matt pulled the smith to his feet. Terror rippled his face. Nate screamed as invisible hands shook him.
“Tell me, Nate! Why now!?!”
“Th-th-there was th-th-this man. C-c-came in last n-n-night.”
“Who!?!”
“Idon’tknow!Idon’tknow!Idon’tknow!”
“What did he say?”
“He k-kept buying me whiskey and t-talking about how much he h-hated the Kid and how c-cowardly it was th-that he’d k-killed my pa.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s st-still at the Sagebrush. He w-wanted me to c-come over once I’d done the job.”
Matt tossed his murderer down hard to the wood floor. The Rag Doll Kid spat invisible spit at the cowardly young man’s feet. He stepped backward and uncovered the s
mithy’s rifle, took it up and turned to see the horror in the lad’s eyes. To him, it’d appear as his rifle floating in mid-air aimed at his heart.
“I am a vengeful spirit, Nathaniel Chalker. The same one that claimed your daddy and his friends. Now, I claim you.”
When Nate didn’t move, the Kid spoke with the voice of the grave.
“Run.”
Nate leapt from the ground and fled down the street, The Kid knew he wasn’t too bright and would run straight. The trigger was hard to pull and the recoil launched the gun from his nonexistent hands; however, the bullet was true. The gun’s echo rang through town.
Carried by the force of the impact, Nate propelled forward and slid across hard-packed earth to lay still. People ran to the fallen smith, splayed out in the center of Main Street. At one woman’s scream, more gawkers poured out from behind home, store and saloon doors.
Someone rolled Nate over and held up his head as he tried to speak. Blood leaked from his mouth. The smithy coughed, spewing forth life-juices. Matt leaned over the shoulder of a lady in the crowd and locked eyes with Nate as he lay dying.
“Who done this to ya, Nate?” somebody asked.
“r-rag” *cough* “d-doll k-kiii…”
The last words were but a whisper; however, no one doubted their sincerity. Angered, men shouted orders to search the town. Others jumped on horses and rode off towards the Kid’s cabin.
Well, looks like they will find me before I stink too bad.
Matt headed over to the saloon.
The Sagebrush was the blackened heart of town. Matt knew every face, truthfully more from profile, but enough to spot a stranger. More people funneled out onto the street, lowering the number of patrons in the bar. Matt looked for the most out-of-place person there. He had a list of three when barkers came back in to spread the news.
“It’s true! Nate named the Kid as the one who done him in.”
