Deadtown and Other Tales of Horror Set in the Old West

by Carl Hose

  Reno moved fast, snapping his Colt from its holster in a blur. He fired once. The bullet hit Calvert dead center of his forehead. Calvert flopped back like a sack of wheat.

  Angus managed to get his gun out while Reno was occupied with Calvert. He fired twice. The first shot zipped past Reno, shattering the mirror behind the bar. The second shot grazed Reno’s arm. Reno dropped to one knee and got off two shots of his own. The first bullet slammed into Angus’s stomach, the second tore into his neck before he hit the floor.

  The sheriff came through the batwing doors then, followed by the little man with the weasel face. Both men took in the sight of the two corpses on the floor. The sheriff leveled his Henry at Reno.

  Reno got to his feet, laid his gun on the bar, and said to the barkeep, “You think I could get that second whiskey now?”

  * * *

  The witnesses backed up Reno’s story. The sheriff didn’t much care for Reno, but he had no just cause to hold him. In fact, he didn’t want to hold Reno at all. He insisted instead that Reno ride out of town immediately.

  Reno did.

  He had a lot of time to think as he headed back to Sarah. There would be no more trails, no more dirty towns, saloons, or cattle. The road he was about to take could very well be as tough as the one he was leaving behind, but it damn sure wouldn’t be as lonely.

  Dead, White, and Blue

  “You sure you know where you’re going?” Justin asked.

  Justin Reynolds, who was sitting in the passenger seat of the SUV, shifted nervously and looked out at the dark, narrow dirt road ahead.

  Beau Shelton was behind the wheel. He glanced over at Justin, agitated. “Man, how many times do I have to say it? I know what I’m doing, okay? Just shut the fuck up and let me drive.”

  The road was barely wide enough for the SUV, filled with giant holes and littered with rocks and tree limbs, making the ride uncomfortable.

  Beau reached into his shirt pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, then punched in the cigarette lighter.

  “How do you know this old man isn’t loony tunes?” Justin asked.

  “Do I look like somebody who can’t tell a nut case when I see one?” Beau responded, lighting his cigarette.

  He took his eyes off the road for a split second, about to continue giving Justin a piece of his mind. Something darted from the tree line, right across the path of the SUV.

  “Watch out,” Justin screamed.

  Beau swerved, narrowly missing the ass-end of what looked like it might have been a wild dog. The animal disappeared through the tree line on the opposite side of the road as Beau brought the SUV back on track.

  “Jesus, you trying to kill us?” Justin said. “Pay attention to the road.”

  Beau tried to play it cool, but it was clear from the tense expression on his face that he’d scared the shit out of himself as well.

  He stopped the SUV and shut off the engine. “Grab a flashlight,” he said. “We’re walking the rest of the way.”

  “Walking?”

  “This is as far as the road will take us. The old man lives way up in the woods. He’s one of those hermit types.”

  Justin reluctantly got out of the SUV with Beau.

  “Okay, listen,” Beau explained. “The old man’s a little spooky, but he knows his shit, so let him talk. If half of what he says is true, we’ll be rich and famous before this is all over.”

  The woods on either side of the narrow footpath were dark and dense, even with the flashlights. After walking for nearly twenty minutes, they emerged into a clearing at the top of the hill. A small cabin sat dead center. A single flickering light burned in one window of the cabin. A dark, vague shape rocked back and forth on the porch, and as the two college boys drew nearer, the shape began to take on human definition.

  Beau stopped at the foot of the stairs, and Justin ran into him before he realized they weren’t going up onto the porch.

  “It’s me,” Beau said. “I brought my friend.”

  A moment of silence followed, then the sound of a match striking. A small flame flickered in front of the old man’s face, highlighting his gaunt features as he lit his Chesterfield. He puffed a cloud of smoke around his head, kept the cigarette clamped between his lips, and said, “Well, come on up and cop a squat. Let’s get on with it.”

  Beau and Justin climbed the rickety stairs and stood in front of the old man. Neither made a move to sit.

  “Dang it, I ain’t gonna bite,” the old man barked. “Got a crick in my neck and cain’t be lookin’ up at ya whiles I talk. I told you’ns to cop a squat, now go on and do it.”

  The boys dropped to their haunches in front of the old man, who continued rocking steadily in his wooden rocker, sizing them up like he might be reconsidering their worthiness of his tale.

  Beau took out his cigarettes, fumbled out his lighter, and lit up.

  “Bad habit, that one,” the old man said. “Cain’t say much about it, though. I was ten years old when I lit my first one. Ancient now, and still smokin’. Like my beer to boot. Ain’t nary a one of ’em done me any harm.”

  He looked out at the woods. “Nice night, ain’t it? A little chilly is all, but nice just the same.” He paused a thoughtful moment, then said, “Well, I promised you boys a story, didn’t I? Good a time as any to get to it.”

  But he didn’t get to it right then. He puffed his cigarette silently for another minute, still rocking to and fro, staring out at the woods. When he finally did get around to speaking, he took his time with the words. He wanted the facts laid out just so, and rushing him wasn’t part of the process.

  “The old rock house outside of town, that’s what you’re wantin’ to know about, ain’t it? She’s a fine bit of history, that one. Been standin’ since before the Civil War. You boys know about the Civil War, am I right?”

  “Some,” Beau said.

  The old man gave him a reprimanding look. “Some?” he bellowed with indignation. “Why, that was only the most disgraceful time in our country’s history, that’s what it was. Brother against brother, blood spilt right here on our very own soil, fightin’ betwixt and between ourselves like a buncha damn savages. They don’t teach it that way in the schools, do they? No, they pretty it up for the books, but it weren’t pretty at all, I can tell ya that.”

  The old man leaned over the side of his rocker and spat. “Don’t teach it that way at all, no sir,” he went on. “I’m gonna give you kids a lesson ’bout the Civil War you’ll never forget. Lotta good men died in that war, Americans one and all, Union and Confed’rate alike.”

  “What does the war have to do with the old rock house?” Beau asked.

  “It’s got everything to do with it, boy,” the old man snapped, annoyed by the interruption. “You show me a little goddamned patience and maybe you’ll learn somethin’.”

  Beau shifted uneasily, lighting another cigarette off the butt of the first.

  “Like I said,” the old man continued, “that old stone house you’re so fired up about has been around since way before the Civil War, but it weren’t ’til the war came along that the house took on any special meanin’.”

  The old man reached up on the windowsill and took down three bottles of beer. He kept one for himself and handed the other two bottles to Beau and Justin. “Drink up, boys,” he said. “Wet the whistle while I illuminate your minds to some hard facts.”

  He made a scratchy noise in his throat as he pulled up a wad of phlegm, which he washed back down with a slug of beer. “Durin’ the war, ya see, you had yer Unions and yer Confed’rates. Call ’em North ’n’ South, call ’em Blue ’n’ Gray, hell, you can call ’em Billy Yank and Johnny Reb if you’re of a mind. It don’t matter what name ya give ’em, fact is, they was all Americans, ever damn one of ’em, and they was killin’ each other off.”

  “Why?” Beau asked. “I mean, what was the point?”

  “Diff’rence of opinion is what it boiled down to,” the old man responded in his infi
nite wisdom, coughing up more phlegm. “Always pans out that way, don’t it? Everybody thinkin’ they got the only goddamned answer there is.”

  The old man fell into silence once again, returning his attention to the woods as he lit another Chesterfield. An occasional skittering noise came from the darkness as some wild animal or another moved around out there. Beau and Justin sat in tense silence, waiting for the old man to come back from wherever it was he’d gone off to.

  He finally did.

  “Guess I best be gettin’ to the part about the old stone house,” he said. “That old house served ’er purpose durin’ the war. She’s got lots of history behind her, that’s a fact. Mostly, though, she’s just got the ghost, and I reckon that’s the part you come all this way to hear about.”

  Beau and Justin nodded in unison, eager to hear about the ghost. The old man took a pull on his cigarette and followed it with a coughing fit, then he continued in the same careful manner as before.

  “That old house was the finest of its kind in those days,” he said. “Yep, finest of its kind.” His eyes came alive when he talked about the house. “A grand sight it was, owned by a young couple. They owned it before the war broke out, right on up to the tragedy. I’m gettin’ ahead of myself, though.” The old man shifted in his rocker and said, “I’m gettin’ too old for my own good. Too damn old.”

  He dropped into another silent lapse, and when he returned this time, there was a sparkle of tears in his eyes.

  “That young couple, Henry and Emma Sinclair, got themselves in mighty steep durin’ the war. Missouri, ya see, swung both ways, as you young folks like to say these days, but there was folks like the Sinclairs that chose up a side and stuck right to their beliefs. Henry and Emma was Union all the way.

  “Henry, ya see, was a river man. Spent a good deal of his life on the Mississippi, he did, and durin’ the war he took to helpin’ them negro slaves escape to freedom. Him and Emma, they smuggled them negroes through a tunnel in the basement of the old stone house, took ’em right down to the river. Near three miles of tunnel that kept ’em outta sight ’til they was on a boat and headin’ for freedom.”

  “Is that tunnel still there?” Justin asked.

  “Bet your bottom dollar it is,” the old man said. He cleared his throat and glanced at the windowsill. “Could use me another beer.” He shot Beau a look. “Maybe you could run into the cabin and grab us all another. Little fridge right inside the kitchen there. Cain’t miss it.”

  Beau went into the cabin and returned with three more bottles of beer. He passed them around and sat down again, ready to get on with it. He was grateful when the old man didn’t hesitate.

  “Yep, ol’ Henry took them negroes right down to the river and put ’em on that boat. A damn noble effort it was, but foolish as all get out.”

  “What happened to Henry?” Beau asked.

  “Slow down, now,” the old man admonished. “Let me come to it natural. I still gotta tell ya ’bout the light at the top of the house. Back in those days it was a workin’ light, don’t ya know. Whenever Henry was out on the river, Emma would go up in that little room and shine the light ’til he came home. One night, ol’ Henry and two of them negroes sneaked off through the tunnel, and that was the last time Emma ever saw Henry.

  “She kept that light shinin’ a full week before a whole troop of them Confed’rates showed up on her doorstep, fixin’ to take her away. It was the 4th of July, Independence Day, and she knew she’d never see Henry again, so before Johnny Reb could lay hands on ’er, she strung up a rope in that light room and hanged herself. Tomorrow’s the 4th of July, boys. The hunert ’n’ fortieth anniversary of her untimely demise, and if you boys was of a mind, you could do a whole lotta good by helpin’ ’er get ’er independence again. You could help ’er cross over to the other side by bringin’ Henry back to ’er, and here’s exactly how you can do that . . .”

  * * *

  The two-story stone house stood on a hill, surrounded by tall grass and lots of weeds. Ivy grew so thick over the exterior that its faded white stones were not even visible in some places. The windows of the house were boarded up with two-by-fours long since gone to rot.

  “That’s just creepy,” Justin said. “I’m not so sure I want to go in.”

  “Don’t be a pussy,” Beau told him. “This is our shot at the big time. We can get us one of those reality ghost shows.”

  “I’m not a pussy. I’m just a little apprehensive about disturbing the dead. And besides, the place doesn’t look safe.”

  “You heard the old man,” Beau said. “It’s been around for more than a hundred and forty years. It’s not about to crumble now.”

  “How are we going to get inside?”

  Thick slabs of wood had been criss-crossed over the front door and nailed down with nails nearly as big as railroad spikes. Getting in that way seemed out of the question, but Beau set his sights on the windows.

  “It shouldn’t be too hard to break the wood away from a window,” he said. “That stuff looks ancient.”

  They circled the house until they found a window they could easily reach. It was in the back of the house. The boards were loose, and although they were rotten, it took Beau and Justin working together to tear away enough of the boards to allow them to crawl through.

  Justin went first. Beau gave him a lift up to the windowsill. Justin clutched the frame and dragged himself through the narrow opening. When he was in the house, he leaned out and extended his hands, dragging Beau up and through the window.

  They found themselves standing in what appeared to be the kitchen. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like curtains. An old iron stove sat against one wall, a couple of busted wooden chairs sat on the other side of the room, and a table missing two legs sat lopsided in the middle of the room.

  They went through a door at one end of the kitchen. It led to a long, narrow hallway. At the end of the hallway was the front door. To the right of the front door was a big, empty room with a fireplace. To the left of the front door was another room and a set of stairs leading to the second floor of the house.

  On the backside of the stairwell leading upstairs was a small door. It was nailed shut. Not just little nails either. The same big nails someone had used to secure the front door.

  “This is probably what we’re looking for,” Beau said. “Now all we have to do is get in. I knew we should have brought some tools.”

  Justin thought for a second, looked around, then disappeared into the room with the fireplace. He came back with a rusty metal object.

  “Fireplace poker,” he said, grinning as he jammed the end of the poker between the door and frame.

  It took some work, but he was eventually able to pry the door open, revealing the pitch dark beyond. Justin shined a flashlight into the darkness, illuminating a set of rotted wooden stairs leading to a small area that had probably served to cool food in the old days.

  Beau got a Digital Hi-8 from his backpack. The camcorder’s night-shot light made Justin’s flashlight obsolete, so Justin let Beau take the lead. Beau eased down the weak, shaky stairs. When he reached the bottom, he panned the dark basement with the camcorder.

  “Beau and Justin on our first ghost outing,” he said.

  A rat scurried along one ledge, knocking bits of dirt and pebble onto the ground, causing the two of them to jump.

  “Fuckin’ rodents,” Beau muttered.

  The basement was cool, damp, and thick with the smell of wet dirt. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling, hanging nearly all the way to the floor.

  “Tell me again what we’re doing here,” Justin said.

  “Fame and fortune,” Beau told him enthusiastically.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with,” Justin said.

  He turned his flashlight on and moved around the basement until he came upon a boarded-up opening in the wall.

  “Beau, look,” he said. “I think I found the tunnel.”

  Beau filmed as Justin went to work
on the boards. Justin grunted and strained with the effort, ripping away the boards one by one. It took several minutes to expose the dark, foreboding mouth of the tunnel.

  “Let’s do it,” Beau said.

  He was first to enter the tunnel, holding the camcorder in front of him to capture as much footage as he could. As far as he was concerned, he and Justin were about to make history. If, of course, everything the old man had told them was true. If not, well, maybe he could make a documentary for the History Channel. Either way, he planned on making some money from this little venture.

  The walls of the tunnel were made of the same white stone as the house. The tunnel was just wide enough to allow Beau and Justin to walk comfortably side by side. The ground beneath their feet was a mix of mud, rock, and puddles of black water that smelled like sewage.

  The boys slopped through the mud, occasionally slipping on a wet rock or losing traction in the sludge. Cold, dank water reached their ankles, then gradually deepened until it was waist deep.

  “This shit is probably infested with snakes,” Beau said, and no sooner than he finished the sentence, he felt something slither around his ankle. He jumped back, almost knocking Justin down, then quickly regained his composure. It wouldn’t do to let Justin see him freaking out.

  The two of them sloshed through the water. It grew even deeper, reaching several inches above their waists before it began to recede. The walls in this part of the tunnel were dark, wet, and slimy. The boys couldn’t have been more relieved when they rounded a curve in the tunnel and saw a light beckoning them.

  They stumbled from the tunnel. The sun was just beginning to set, streaking the sky with pinkish-purple light. It was a beautiful sight, and Beau fell to his knees, sucking in gulps of fresh air. Justin leaned against a tree and bent over, coughing the last of the sewage fumes from his lungs.

  “That was awful,” he said.

  Beau stood up and looked around, trying to determine where they were. “Which way to the river?” he asked.

  Justin walked to where the ground ended in an abrupt drop off. Looking over the edge, he saw the wide, brown Mississippi River flowing steady and strong in the distance. “There it is,” he said.