They all looked at the ground for several moments until Roy raised his head and surveyed the area. “What in tarnation happened to the old lady?”
A search was made but no trace of the woman was to be found. They quickly refilled the saddlebags and barely took the time to scavenge the cabin for anything useful, an old skinning knife, a sack of beans, some other stuff. Then they torched the cabin after dragging the bodies inside and shot the livestock. As they mounted, Roy again asked, “What about the old lady?”
Jedediah Creed watched the flames dance and remembered all the other houses, barns, cabins and storefronts he had watched burn in his career. “She's gone, can't last long out there. Damn her black soul anyway.” He put spurs to his steed and never looked back.
After a half hour's ride, the shadows were becoming long in the late afternoon sun. Creed seemed jumpy and that had his men spooked, it just wasn't Jed's way to let things get to him. Their path led them into a parched creek bed that by its depth had not always been so barren, and when they emerged on the other side a figure stood waiting. At first it seemed to be a shadow, tired of its place on the ground, had stood up to stretch itself. Jed's horse reared up and almost threw him back into the gully onto Roy and Clyde. After a moment's confusion they rode over the edge again, this time with guns drawn and ready for a fight. There, in a shadow of her own making, stood Ninie wrapped in a ragged old black shawl and surrounded by a circle etched in the sand. Inside of that circle was a second circle comprised of arcane artifacts of every shape and texture, many of which were disturbing to the eye.
“Old woman, get out of our way or I'll kill you where you stand!” Jed thundered in a voice that would have done John Brown proud. All three horses whirled and bucked wildly for a moment until they could be brought into line. Ninie stood quietly and watched. Creed took aim and shot. Somehow the bullet missed its mark and he fired two more, to no effect. Ninie glared, then broke into a smile that was devoid of any good will. “I have what they call a talent.” She croaked out and then cleared her throat, spit on the ground and continued. “Unlike most, I came into my talent late in life. I'd known others who knew this way and they tended to piddle away their talents on frivolous things, love charms and such.”
Clyde dismounted and stormed towards her waving his pistol but stopped abruptly when he reached the outer circle. “You're a witch, that's what you are you old black scarecrow.” Roy stayed on his horse and screamed, “What the hell do you want?!” Ninie ignored both of them and kept her eyes locked with Jedediah's.
“Bein' older, I had learned patience, and how to let my pain and anger set and simmer at a low boil. You know why you never hear of no big magical things that rip the world asunder for everyone to see? I'll tell you why, a spell like that takes a long time to prepare and not many have the patience and focus to do such an awful thing.” The wind picked up around them and dust started to sting their eyes. “I said I'd already learned patience and the focus was easy 'cause it was born of a hate for a man who had done unspeakable things to my daughters and then sold them off like livestock. That man who we had to call ‘Massa’ chopped off my husband's hand and beat my boy 'til he was near dead. What he done to me ain't even worth mentioning.” The men were frozen in awful fascination at the woman's tale. “So it took me over three decades, but I slowly and with great care crafted a spell that would bring down the very fury of God upon that man and gain me vengeance such as has never been witnessed by mortal man… but then the war came and afterwards, freedom. By that time Massa was a pitiful, droolin' old fool and I couldn't hardly see the point no more.” She raised her head and looked at the setting sun. “So, as it happens, I still had that spell sittin' around like a loaded shotgun but I figured I'd never have a use for it.” Then she hissed in a voice that could barely be heard, “That changed today!”
Creed shook himself out of his stupor and bellowed. “You and your kind should be kissing my feet! I fought for your freedom, I bled for you, I rode with John Brown !”
Ninie let out a dry raucous laugh, “Ain't you heard? Old John Brown's body is moulderin' in its grave.” She waved her skinny arms and all hell broke loose.
The winds swirled around her and buffeted the three outlaws so they could barely see what happened next. It looked like her body was flaking off bit by bit and joining the sand and dust, swarming like angry hornets towards a suddenly dark and threatening sky. The noise was like a locomotive whose last stop was the gates of hell. Then, as the last bit of dust swirled into the sky, a sudden calm replaced the fury and the men coughed to clear their lungs of the Texas landscape. Squinting his eyes, Clyde stepped into the circle where all that was left was the black shawl. He blinked the sand out of his eyes and nudged at the shawl with his toe. “What the hell was that all abou…”
Clyde's last works were cut off by a roar that split the sky and was the harbinger to a solid column of air which dropped out of the clouds like the avenging fist of some angry god. It struck square in the circle and flattened Clyde like a flapjack with bones. As the column began to rotate and pick up sand and stones the size of fists, Creed and Roy lit off in opposite directions, the only thoughts in their mind were of abject terror.
Jed glanced back and saw the dust devil head off after Roy and a few minutes later it seemed to stop and he imagined he could hear Roy's screams above the mighty roar of the wind. He put spurs to his horse and redoubled his speed.
The dust devil doubled back on its track and started a deadly game of cat and mouse with Jed that would last through the long night ahead and into the next day. Sometimes it would hang back and give him hope, then suddenly it would be there in his path and he had to wheel his horse in a new direction. Twice his horse fell in accomplishing this maneuver, and at each fall the devil would bide its time as he got remounted. Once, the ever growing pillar of dust and debris jumped up off the ground and hopped right over the heads of him and his terrified steed landing in a field of boulders. Those huge rocks flew in all directions like they had been kicked by a petulant child. And still he rode though he knew his ride was about ready to drop and he had long since lost all sense of where he was. In the distance he saw shapes that could only be buildings - a town! For a moment a spark of hope seemed about to ignite but his horse extinguished it with a forward pitch that left the horse dead and the man lying in a heap on the ground. He lifted his head and gazed toward the town but all he saw was the dust devil grown to monstrous sized, spinning and bouncing but holding its position.
“What?!!!” he screeched, “I've lived my life in righteousness and all I've ever been is spit on! You want me? Take me!” As the dust devil inched towards him a line from a sermon he had heard as a boy came to his mind. “…Those that soweth the wind shall surely reap the whirlwind!”
As the terrible wind ripped at his skin and tore the flesh and muscle from his face and arms he lifted his voice in song, “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, He hath trampled out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored, He hath…”
When the good folks of Tickletree emerged from their root cellars, amazed that their town had been spared from the approaching twister, they began a search to see what damage might have been done. It was Jimmy Shaw that found the horse and what was left of the man up on the ridge overlooking town. It was several hours later that the sheriff opened the saddlebags to find the gold so recently and tragically stolen from the Tickletree Bank.
That Sunday, Preacher Sventon proclaimed it a miracle sent from the hand of God Almighty and at the back of the room a tiny black lady stood and
hollered “Praise be!” Several startled parishioners answered, “Amen”
Renee James is not the VP and General Manager of Intel's Software and Services Group. She would dress much nicer if she were. She has spent a lifetime visiting new places and meeting new people thanks to the miracle of books.
It was my hope to say something about bullies and terrorists with this story. No cause is ever nob
le enough to justify the actions inflicted upon innocents by children, grown to adulthood, who still enjoy pulling wings off flies.
Night Bird
by
Don Hornbostel
Lucky for me being the town marshal of Tin Cup, Arizona, was meant to be a temporary job. The telegram from Prescott said for me to fill in until Frank Thayer could make the ride down from Colorado and get sworn in. So, when I heard talk about this Annie Durbin woman being able to turn herself into smoke and pass through walls, I just turned away and had myself a laugh. I’d be out of Tin Cup in a week, ten days at most, and leave all this witch and spirit talk in the dust.
Then Annie Durbin snapped off a shot at old Hess Kaufman who claimed he was just sitting in the shade behind the Blind Bull Saloon, minding his own business. He swore the woman walked up to him toting a carbine, never said a word, and just up and shot him for no reason. Wasn’t anything serious, lead barely creased the meaty part of his leg. Hardly even bled. But there he was, leaning across my desk, waving his arms and barking about how Annie tried to kill him. “You gotta haul her into jail.” Then he got real serious, dropped his voice a bit, and leaned toward me. “Ever since her man died, that widder woman’s been dabblin’ in the black arts. “Circuit judge rides down this way, don’t he?” I scratched around on the desk in hopes I might locate a schedule. “He can work all this out.”
I strapped on my hardware and headed over to the livery. It wasn’t far out to Annie Durbin’s place. When I first caught sight of her, she wasn’t what I expected. When you hear witch, you think old hag with warts and a chin like a smithy’s anvil. But I was way off. Annie Durbin was a little bitty thing, mouse of a woman. Pretty enough, nut-brown hair she wore in a long braid down her back. A face not unpleasant to look at with big brown eyes set wide and all the innocence of a newborn kitten.
“Have to take you in, Miss Durbin” I told her. “This shootin’ business is a matter for a court of law.” She never said a word, just packed a few things in a flour sack and came along peaceable. Arresting women wasn’t my idea of marshaling,
Once at the jail, she headed straight back for the cell on the left, plunked down the sack on the bunk, and then stepped right up, like she was fixing to close the door on herself. I followed her in, went through her sack of belongings, then locked the cell up tight and gave the iron an extra rattle to make sure the lock bolt hit its place. I shoved my desk over to where I could watch her better and vowed to keep one eye open all night.
After supper that evening, I went back to get the tray from Annie. The meat and potatoes were all neatly arranged in a pattern, like she had taken a lot of time doing it. The cup of coffee was still full. The only thing missing was the chicken bones, and I could see Annie had those cleaned and dried on the floor with her. She looked up at me over her shoulder and explained, “It’s witchcraft. Hess Kaufman tried to steal my horse, that’s why I shot him. I don’t belong here and I’m not about to stay.”
“You’re gonna put some hex on me? Tonight?” I turned kinda pale. A feller hears all that magic, curses, and spell talk, and before long he’s got to do some wondering.
Annie must have read my face. “Oh, I’m sorry, marshal. It’s not a spell I’m gonna put on you or anythin’ like that. It’s what I use to turn myself into a night bird— a creature small enough to pass through these bars and fly my way home tonight.”
I hauled in a breath that didn’t come easy. “You gonna turn yourself into a bird? Tonight?” Annie nodded and in that sweet little voice of hers gave an, “Uh-huh.”
“A hoot owl? What?”
“Like I said, a little night bird.” And she once again turned to see what I thought about that.
I scratched at whiskers that had gotten past the blade and asked more. “Night bird? Don’t believe I ever heard of one of those. “You mean a bat?”
Annie laughed, the cutest little giggle. “My night bird is very small and hard to see in the dark.”
I stepped closer to the bars and stared at the layout she had arranged on the wood planks in front of her. “Is that really how you escaped this place before?”
“Yes, as a bird. But I can change myself into just about any creature I desire, ‘cept maybe a person. I never tried that.”
Several pictures ran through my head of that little woman as a lizard or a deer or maybe even a bug, I couldn’t help but picture her halfway into the process. Those thoughts hurt my head. “I’m the law hereabouts, at least till the permanent marshal gets here from Colorado. So, if you do manage to get out of here, I’ll have to come get you and lock you up again. You know that?”
“Oh, sure.” She stood and came to the bars to look up and stare me straight in the eyes. When hers narrowed and she tilted closer, I felt a chill creep up my spine and lodge in the back of my neck. “But a man gets tired of that,” she went on. “Last lawman did. You will, too.”
And she smiled, a sweet smile this time. It made her face downright pretty. Her eyes sparkled again, but in a different sort of way. Without even knowing it right off, I smiled back.
When I got back to my desk, I found it hard to take my eyes off Annie Durbin. She just stood there for the longest time, looking back through a smile that really got to me.
Mostly to change the situation, I tilted my chair against the wall, put my feet up on a pulled-out drawer, and let evening change to night in the street outside. A tired ache crawled through my bones like I’d never felt before, but I fought sleep, had to keep alert. Real sneaky-like I threw a look back at Annie’s cell, and there she was kneeling, back at work, both hands moving through the air above her in what I figured must be some ceremony of magic.
Now and then my eyes would drift shut, but I’d force them back open again. Three or four times I made trips to the pump, filled a wash pan and splashed water on my face. Hours passed and dragged the night along with them. The streets got quiet. Morning in a few hours, I told myself. And Annie Durbin will still be locked up.
A sudden noise outside caught my attention and instinct turned my head to look. When I turned back, I saw Annie wasn’t there.
Fast as I could I unlocked her cell and took a look around. She was gone all right, but she’d left her sack and everything in it. And, there on the bunk next to it, neatly folded, were Annie’s clothes. Everything, dress, shoes, underthings. I stuffed it all into the flour sack and hurried over to wake up the man at the livery.
But on my way out the door the strangest thing happened. Something brushed past me, flitted against my cheek. All soft and feathery, it was. Or, should I say, she was. For on the ride out to Annie’s place, through some wild notion, I convinced myself that it was her, making good on her promise to escape, to fly away from me in the shape of that little night bird she talked about.
I urged my horse on faster than I knew was safe on an uneven mountain trail in the dark, but some force deep inside me drove me on. When I got to Annie’s place, she wasn’t there either. I lit a kerosene lamp and searched the house and that little shed… twice. Even walked around out in the hills a bit and called her name. Annie was gone. Taking a seat in her front porch swing, I let my mind reel out thoughts I never would have considered just a few hours ago.
I fetched the flour sack with Annie’s things from my saddle and put it in the house on a table next to the front door. “Guess you’ll need these,” I found myself saying. “When you turn back to human.” And I blew out the lamp.
There was that little flitter up against my cheek again. A quick hand and I caught it., fastened my fingers down over something soft and warm. “Annie?” I whispered, as I opened my hand. But there was nothing there. Nothing I could see.
The ride back to town was long and slow. I let my horse walk and used the time to catch up on the strange things that had happened that night. As I neared the edge of town, the sun’s first light lit the highest roof peaks, and I could hear Emma Wittman’s rooster make the announcement.
Just as I hitched my horse to th
e rail, a man stepped out onto the board walk and gave me a friendly nod. “I been lookin’ for you.” he drawled.
“You Frank Thayer, the new marshal?”
He nodded again, dusted himself off, and thumbed the brim of his hat. Not as tall a man as I’d expected. Clean shaven, kinda quiet mannered with a face that looked too dry and furrowed to form expressions. Put me in mind of somebody’s wirey old uncle. “Made it earlier’n I expected,” he announced with a tired grin.
“That’s good,” I said. “Glad you did.”
“Been here a little while, did me some night ridin’ to get here before the sun got blisterin’ hot.”
We both went inside, Thayer carrying only his warbag and carbine. “Left my other belongings at the livery,” he said, “till I know where I’m bunkin’.” Then his voice changed and took on a more friendly tone. “Say, I don’t mean to be hurryin’ you off or nothin’.”
“I do have some unfinished business I need to look after. Another opinion and another set of eyes might help me sort all this out. Wanna take a ride?”
Thayer looked at me kinda puzzled, like he wasn’t real anxious to get back in the saddle, but he nodded an okay. “Just let me get me a fresh mount from the livery. My old buckskin is plumb winded.”
I nodded and gave the morning sky a glance, wondering how much the day was gonna heat up. “Oh, Annie.” I guess I said out loud.
“Annie?” Thayer asked. “A woman?”
“My prisoner last night. Guess she slipped out without me seeing her.”
On the trail, I filled Thayer in of the particulars of Annie Durbin and explained how the woman fancied herself a witch. I did leave out the jail escape details though. He kinda grunted and nodded at the right times but didn’t call me a danged fool and never asked any questions. I thought that odd. Me, I had all sorts of questions rattling around inside my skull.
Six Guns Straight From Hell - Tales Of Horror And Dark Fantasy From The Weird Weird West Page 11
