“Wrap him up,” he told Grady.
He stepped away from the bed, walking over to the window, and Grady took one of the rags and wrapped it taut around the wound.
“We should go have a look around. See if we can find some supplies,” Addison said.
Grady looked up with a worried look on his face.
“It’s dark, Boss. Couldn’t we wait until morning?”
Addison looked over at him.
“Dark? You scared of the fucking dark?” Addison asked, looking back out the window. “I can’t wait till morning to eat. Besides, your boyfriend there is probably gonna be ready for some food himself when he wakes up from his nightmares.”
Addison walked to the door and looked over to Grady.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
***
Addison stood in the middle of the road and glared at the different buildings in the town. A gust of wind came through and stirred the dirt under his boots. In the silence, he could hear every word from the wind’s gentle voice. The sun had gone down and the sky was clear; stars filled the sky.
Grady took his time getting outside. He stepped through the front door, holding a fresh bottle of whiskey in his hand, and drinking straight out of the bottle.
Addison looked over to him.
“You’re gonna get drunk?”
Grady shrugged. “So what? It’s not like I gotta put on a show for anybody.” He stuck his arms straight out. “Ain’t no one here, Canter.”
Addison rolled his eyes and looked down the street.
“Did you get a real good look around the general store?” Addison asked.
Grady stumbled down the two stairs that led up to the front of the inn, almost tripping over his own foot. He laughed.
“There was way too much shit in there, man. It was overwhelmin’,” Grady said.
Addison took his right hand off his hip and pointed down the dirt road.
“Go give a look inside the blacksmith’s place. I’ll check out the general store and the saloon.”
Addison pulled his gun out and checked the ammunition. He slipped three more bullets in the chamber.
“God forbid you find more alcohol. Maybe you can find some ammunition or some weapons in there.”
“Whatever you say, Boss,” Grady said, giving Addison a salute.
The general store and the saloon were on the opposite side of the road from the blacksmith. Addison decided to check the general store first.
He pushed the door open and walked in. His boots rocked the wooden floor, and his spurs clicked as he moved. Addison held the lantern up in front of his face so he could see. The shelves behind the counter were stocked full of goods. He walked over to the counter and noticed there was a lantern—larger than the one he carried—sitting on top of it. He lit it, giving extra illumination to the room.
He ran his hand across the counter and then looked at his palm. He expected it to be covered in dust, but it wasn’t. How long had this town been empty before the three bank robbers had ridden into it?
The thing that troubled Addison most was that the town appeared to have been occupied very recently. The place looked like it had been touched yesterday. Now, there was not a soul in sight. The only thing that Addison could muster up was that the people of the town had packed up their stuff and abruptly left. What kind of people would just leave a place like this? he thought.
Behind him he heard a faint, high-pitched noise break through the silent air. He waited for a moment to see if he heard it again.
The scream bled through again.
He turned and headed for the door.
Grady, suddenly sober, arrived outside at the same time.
“What the fuck was that?” Grady asked.
They heard another scream, and noticed it had come from the hotel. This time, it was longer.
Addison went into a dead sprint toward the front door of the inn. Grady hesitated, but followed. He felt a little bit of piss drip down his leg, but ignored it.
Grady reached the front door of the hotel, and jumped back as he heard the guttural scream come from upstairs.
***
It was deafening. The scream echoed through the lobby of the inn and jammed into Addison’s ears like a knife. He covered them as tight as he could, cupping his ears with his palms. He closed his eyes and tried to block it out. It was like nothing he’d ever heard. He shook his head like a dog drying off from a bath, and decided he needed to follow the screams and try to save Samuel.
Grady came through the door with tears running down his face; he was scared. His bladder had released fully down his leg.
Addison raced up the stairs.
“Boss, don’t go up there,” Grady yelled.
Addison ignored him and kept heading up the stairs for Samuel’s room.
When he opened the door, his brain couldn’t process what his eyes saw.
***
Samuel squirmed all over the bed. Only his torso and his hips moved; the former shaking, and the latter rising and falling on the bed. Even though Addison didn’t see anyone else in the room, it was as if Samuel was being held down and restrained by someone.
His eyes were wide open, and Addison wondered if Samuel was having a nightmare.
“Samuel,” he shouted.
No response. Only another scream. Hearing it from inside the room was almost more than Addison could take. He backed into the hallway to try and escape the shriek.
Grady approached him, crying still.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?” He asked.
Addison only shook his head, before forcing himself to walk back into the room.
“Get the fuck away from me,” Samuel yelled.
Addison squinted at him. At first, he thought that Samuel was talking to him. But his head was looking back and forth to each side of the bed.
“Don’t hurt me,” Samuel yelled again.
Addison threw his hat on the dresser, then began to walk toward the side of the bed to try and wake Samuel up from his nightmare.
When he was halfway to the bed, something caused Addison to fall backward onto the floor and land on his tailbone. He grimaced and leaned to his left side so that his tailbone wasn’t being pressured from the ground. He felt a sting in his chest, and brought his hand up to it and began rubbing his sternum. It was as if someone had pushed him, the heel of their palms driving into the center of his chest.
“No,” Grady screamed.
Samuel let out a howl that sounded like the devil was ripping his balls out from his scrotum.
From the floor, Addison saw Samuel’s hips raise off of the bed, and fail to fall back down.
When he finally made it back to his feet, he wished he had just stayed on the floor, and curled up into a ball.
Samuel’s forehead began to split at the hairline. It started near his right temple and lengthened to the opposite side. Blood ran down into his eyes as he continued to writhe in agony. His hips thrust off and on the bed more rapidly, as he tried desperately to escape from whatever held him.
Grady turned into the hallway and emptied his stomach on the wooden floor. He went to his knees and wept.
Addison couldn’t look away. The sound of his comrade vomiting in the hallway did nothing to steal his attention. He stood and watched.
The sawing around Samuel’s head continued until it met back at the origin of the cut on his right temple.
Samuel became quiet and still; he was likely in shock from the pain.
His head began to make a wet, ripping sound.
The hair on top of his head began to peel away from his skull.
The sound of it shot through Addison’s nerves. Even still, he couldn’t look away.
Moments later, Samuel’s entire scalp was taken back from his head and floated in the air next to him. His eyes rolled up to look at it, as blood dripped from the underside of the scalp that had once covered his skull. His skull was now exposed atop his head, hidden only by stains of blood, and som
e remaining flesh.
Addison cocked his head as he watched Samuel’s expression change to one of utter fear.
“No, please, no,” Samuel shouted.
He tightened his entire body and screamed as an explosive impact hit his chest. Blood began to stain his white shirt right over where his heart lay.
Addison jumped back and tried to focus on the wound. It looked like a stab wound, but he didn’t see a knife.
Samuel stopped moving. His chest failed to rise. Arms, limp at his side.
Then all the lanterns in the hotel went dark.
***
Grady had already mounted his horse when Addison came walking backwards out of the front door of the inn. His face showed his lingering shock, and he fought to process what he had just witnessed.
“Come on, Addison,” Grady yelled.
Addison didn’t move. He stood on the wooden patio at the front of the hotel, replaying the scene in his head, of Samuel being scalped alive. The scent of iron that had come off the blood still hung in his nostrils. Samuel’s scared eyes would be forever cemented in his thoughts.
“Boss,” Grady shouted again.
At last, Addison turned his head slowly and looked at Grady.
“We have to get out of here,” Grady told him. “Now.”
Addison shook his head and walked to his horse, giving one more glance back at the hotel.
Grady’s patience had worn thin. He gave his horse a swift kick to the bottom of its ribs, and began his exit out of Blackwater.
Just as Addison swung his right leg over the top of the horse, he heard the scream and the crash.
Grady was lying in the dirt, in the middle of town. His horse, startled, didn’t look back or stop. It ran out of Blackwater, and disappeared over the hill beyond the town.
Like he had with Samuel, Addison just watched Grady lay there, writhing in pain from the fall. Addison couldn’t move.
“What the…” Grady said, his eyes becoming large. His hands were now stretched over his head, lying flat on the ground.
The dirt around his body began to stir, and his body began to slide backwards on the ground.
As he passed by the inn, Grady looked over to Addison, who was still watching from atop his horse.
“God, help me,” Grady cried.
His body slid another thirty yards past the inn, leaving a trail of dust swimming through the night air.
Addison could barely see through the dark of night, but Grady appeared to be standing now. He moved, shoulders hunched, up the eight wooden stairs. Grady’s cries elevated, but Addison couldn’t make out where he was.
Then, a group of lanterns came on around the howls, providing enough light for Addison to witness.
Grady was at the top of the executioner’s platform, his head secured in the noose. His cries were relentless.
Addison kicked his horse and began to ride to him.
After he had gone twenty yards, his horse stopped. Addison heard something through the air and then felt a blow to his chest, sending him off of his horse and onto dirt, landing on his back.
He grimaced and reached for the middle of his back.
“Canter!”
The shout came from Grady.
Addison looked at him. Samuel and Grady never called him by his last name. And for some reason, in this time of fear, it filled his heart with emotion.
Grady just looked to him, tears coming down his face.
“Run,” Grady mumbled through the tears.
The wooden platform beneath Grady let go, and he dropped through the hole, his feet dangling a foot above the ground. His neck didn’t snap during the fall; he swung back and forth with his hands at his throat, fighting a winless battle to pull the noose from his neck.
Addison stood and tried to run to him, but a sudden gust of wind took him off his feet.
Grady’s eyes bulged from his skull and, as he spun, Addison saw the shit stain on the backside of his pants.
There was no helping him.
So, he did as his dead friend commanded him.
Addison Canter ran.
***
The wind began to blow with a fierce intensity and a piercing sound that sat still in the air. It became so furious that it created a dust storm in the center of Blackwater. Multiple funnels of dirt and grime rose out of the earth and formed a fog.
Addison’s panting became more frequent. He gasped for air with the dust flying all around him, and the heavy sound of the wind plowing into his ears like a freight train.
He ran back to the inn and mounted his horse. He rode into the middle of the street, staring down through the narrow town. The thought of Grady trying to ride away and being pulled off his horse crept into his mind. Addison had, he presumed, felt the same invisible force preventing him from saving his fellow outlaws just seconds before they’d died.
He hesitated to try and ride out of Blackwater. At the edge of town, he saw the hill with the open pastures beyond. For the first time in his life, the fearless outlaw was scared. Warm piss ran down his leg, and his lip quivered as he tightened his grip on the reins.
The outlaw pulled back on the reins and his horse raised up on its hind legs. Addison unloaded four shots of his revolver into the sky, hoping it might intimidate whoever, or whatever, was in the town.
His horse’s feet hit the ground, and Addison gave him a kick to his belly. The animal began to run down the center of town.
Addison closed his eyes, waiting to be thrown from his horse, and dragged to the platform to be hanged.
When he opened them again, there was nothing but dirt on either side of him, and the horse was climbing the hill. He looked back and saw the town of Blackwater behind him.
In relief, he laughed. Addison couldn’t believe that he’d made it out of the town.
He leaned forward and whipped the reins, signaling the horse to move faster.
Addison looked back again as he climbed over the hill.
The town was gone.
He was confused. It had been there moments ago.
When he looked back in front of him, he was approaching an all too familiar sight.
He saw the sign: Welcome to Blackwater.
It was just as crooked as it had been when they’d first arrived, barely hanging on to the post.
He shook his head, but didn’t stop. He rode through the middle of town again, and out the other side.
Addison climbed the hill, and the same scene unfolded.
Once again, he came across the crooked Welcome to Blackwater sign.
He began to panic.
Again, he rode through town, just to climb over the hill and end up back at the same sign and the same town.
He stopped in the middle of town near the hanging platform and dismounted his horse. He fell to his knees and put his hands in the air.
“Take me,” Addison said. “Kill me. Whatever the fuck you are, just kill me.”
He closed his eyes and kept his arms raised in the air.
For the first time since he’d watched Grady hang, the wind had stopped blowing. The dirt had settled back into the earth and, as he heard it stop, he slowly opened his eyes.
He let his arms fall to his sides, and hunched over, staring at the scene in front of him.
A group of at least a hundred figures stood before him. It could have been more, but it was difficult to see beyond the vast crowd. Most of their faces were covered with masks, only their eyes exposed.
They were pale, deprived of any color.
“What the fuck are you?” Addison mumbled to himself.
At the front of the group, there were a group of Indian males—Addison counted eight. They were unmasked, wearing only animal skin tied around their waist, and each wore a unique head dress.
One of them stepped forward and stopped a few feet away from Addison, looking down to him with no emotion on his face.
The Brave’s mouth didn’t move, but he spoke to Addison, who heard the voice inside of his head.
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“A grave mistake you made coming here,” the Indian said. “Grave.”
Addison just stared at him, still hunched over and looking like he could hit the dirt at any moment.
“You are strong. Must not die. Serve us.”
Four of the dead—two Indians and two white men, with faces turned black from mining coal—approached Addison. They picked him up under his arms and then by his feet. Carried him into the inn.
Addison didn’t scream.
They lay him in one of the beds. He never faltered, never cried.
He accepted his fate.
For all future days—every sun, every moon—Addison Canter became their Heritage.
Enthroned by his own darkness.
“Empty Bodies is dark, enthralling, and offers a terrifying look into a post-apocalyptic world.” - Taylor Krauss, Horror Blogger
Book one of the Empty Bodies post-apocalyptic series! Out now!
For fans of dystopian horror and zombie novels!
Click here for more info
Thank You For Reading
Thank you for reading Heritage.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Something about the dark side of life has always appealed to me. Whether I experience it through reading and watching horror or listening to my favorite heavy metal bands, I have been forever fascinated with the shadow of human emotion.
While in my 20's, I discovered my passion to create through playing drums in two heavy metal bands: Kerygma and Twelve Winters. While playing in Twelve Winters (a power metal band with a thrash edge fronted by my now wife Kathryn), I was able to indulge myself in my love of writing by penning the lyrics for all our music. My love of telling a story started here, as many of the songs became connected to the same concept and characters in one way or another.
Heritage: A Haunting Short Story Page 2
