by Chuck Buda
Curse of the Ancients
1870’s. A peaceful town in Iowa territory. The townspeople dislike their new visitor. An Indian man. But they are about to find out that the color of his skin is the least of their worries.
A young man, James Johnson, illegitimate son of the legendary Wyatt Earp, dreams of adventure and following in his daddy’s footsteps. James and his mentally disabled friend, Carson, are about to come face to face with an evil previously unimaginable in their little town. An evil they invited in.
All hell’s about to break loose.
Supernatural forces are at work and the body count is rising...
Curse of the Ancients is the first novel in the Son of Earp series by Chuck Buda. It is approximately 57,000 words and contains adult language and scenes of horror. Reader discretion is heavily advised.
Curse of the Ancients
By Chuck Buda
Copyright © Chuck Buda (2016).
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any semblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read his work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought this book, or telling your friends or blog readers about this book to help spread the word.
Thank you for supporting my work. Without you the story would not be told.
Cover art by Phil Yarnall /SMAYdesign.com
Contents
Curse of the Ancients
Copyright
Dedication
Special Thanks
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Continue the Adventure
Director’s Cut
Join the Earpers
About the Author
I Need Your Help!
My Other Series
Dedication
Dedicated to my parents.
For always believing in me and putting up with all my “moments”.
Special Thanks
I would like to thank Christopher Zingaro.
Honest (sometimes too honest), dependable and a perfect sounding board for my musings.
Chapter 1
The sun blazed across the grassy plains like a bonfire. His dark skin glistened as he sprinted for the woods ahead. He leapt over a fallen tree in the knee-high golden grass. Afraid to glance behind, Crouching Bear lurched forward as he searched for places to hide and relief from the heat.
He knew that his time was short. The tribe would be coming for him to avenge his mistake. The spirits might forgive him someday, but his people would not. They must make an example of him. It was how the tribe governed itself. Warriors were celebrated and a man who failed to achieve this lofty status was demonized as less than a man, or worse, a coward. Crouching Bear was no coward. And he wasn’t a warrior either. At least, he wasn’t any longer.
Crouching Bear studied the ways of the warrior soul. He spent countless months practicing among the elders, harnessing the great warrior spirit. He had proved himself a valuable hunter and fierce fighter. Until the moment where everything changed.
The tribe had tried to live side by side with the light-skinned. They accepted the terms of peace in order to coexist in the unforgiving expanses of the plains. Then the white man ran out of resources to feed and shelter their kin, and turned upon the peaceful tribe. They lost women and children. Their livestock was taken. The village burned. So the tribe defended their territory. They summoned the warrior spirit and attacked the settlement in a blood fury. Crouching Bear had fought the raiding white man with his brothers. He terrorized the men with collected scalps. He stabbed a woman, round with unborn child inside her. He slaughtered the white man’s loyal dogs. And he killed Laughing Crow, by accident.
Laughing Crow was the Chief’s middle son. He was a fierce warrior and very strong. He was named for being an intelligent leader with a jovial sense of humor. Unlike most braves, he enjoyed the lighter side of life and shunned the seriousness of others. Laughing Crow was known to play tricks and he always had a funny story about emptying the anus. While many feared him, just as many followed him. But on that day his jokes had cost him his life.
Crouching Bear had finished adding another scalp to his pouch when he noticed a man sneaking into one of the shelters. He followed the man inside and landed upon his back with knife blade. The dead man hit the floor and Crouching Bear rolled him over to collect his token. That is when he learned that Laughing Crow had dressed himself in white-man’s garments. Laughing Crow wore a heavy wool coat with a tan, felt hat. His hair was tucked inside the coat and all Crouching Bear saw was a man trying to escape. The last prank was the most costly.
In a panic, Crouching Bear tried to bring back Laughing Crow’s warrior soul but it had already flown. Then several tribesman found him over the body and took him to the Chief. A hearing was held and Crouching Bear was banished from the tribe. Before they released him to the wilderness, he was cursed so that he and his future sons would always walk alone. A blood bounty was issued, and Crouching Bear knew that more than a few warriors would seek him out, not only to avenge Laughing Crow’s death, but also to elevate their status within the tribe.
He finally reached the tree line and discovered a game trail. It snaked to the left and then rose gradually through the forest. He would have to leave the game trail if he wanted to hide, but he knew the tracking skills of the men would lead them to the same conclusion. Crouching Bear found a thicket beneath a grove of spruce trees and settled down for a rest. The dappled sunlight cast shadows around the grove, providing more cover. He picked a few berries from his pouch and popped them into his mouth. The berries had soured and oozed juices on his fingers.
For the first time since the tribe banished him, Crouching Bear was scared. He hadn’t any time to think or worry as he ran through endless fields. But now he replayed the tragedy in his mind. He felt the ground rumble with many feet searching for him. And he envisioned the slaughter that would arrive once they discovered him.
As he
rested his legs he thought about his parents and sister. He would never see them again and he left them in shame. They would now be labeled as the family of the one who killed Laughing Crow. While the tribe had no reason to blame them for his misdeeds, they would become outcasts just the same. Their future would be lonely and without pride.
A tear trickled down his darkened cheek like a mountain spring. It was so unfair that he could not speak for his mistake. The punishment was more than the crime. Laughing Crow’s death was accidental. Banishment would have been a fitting price to pay. But cursing his soul and his future offspring’s souls was a heavy price. Plus he must forever walk with silent steps so that the blood bounty would not follow him. There must be a place that he could escape to, where the tribe would eventually give up its search. If such a place existed, he must find it to survive.
He brushed the soil from his legs and began to pick his way through the dense forest. Every now and then, he would hide behind a tree or a rock to spy behind him. On one ridge, he carefully climbed a fir tree to gain a better vantage point from the treetops, using foliage for cover. There had been no signs of followers, yet. Crouching Bear expected that the men would use the opportunity to further hone their tracking skills. Giving him a head start was probably one of their tactics too. He figured they would want him to feel more comfortable and let his guard down so that they could easily discover his mistakes. He knew he had to be sharper than them.
Crouching Bear rested against a stump. He tilted his face to the heavens and closed his eyes in prayer to the ancient ones. A twig snapped behind him and his eyes sprung open. He caught his breath and remained more still than a thousand year-old oak tree. A gentle crush of leaves and the slightest whisper of breathing carried to his ears. He silently looked over his right shoulder and a grizzled white man with a thick gray nest of beard stared at him. The white man had Crouching Bear in the iron sights of his rifle. Crouching Bear cursed himself for letting a white man sneak up on him. If he couldn’t evade the white man then he stood no chance of surviving his tribesmen.
“Get up, yer beast. Nice and slow-like.” He used the rifle to direct Crouching Bear to his feet. “Well, looky here. We got ourselves an Injun boy, eh?”
Crouching Bear stood still and looked over the man. The white man was older and probably too weak or slow to deal with him. However, he had the upper hand at the moment as he stared down the barrel of the gun.
“Whatcha got in yer pay-poose there, Chief? Anythings I could use or et?” The white man inched closer to Crouching Bear who could now smell the man better than he could see him. The smell of urine and decaying meat drifted around the man. He spat in the dirt and inched even closer to Crouching Bear.
“Well, I guess the cat gotcher tongue er something but that don’t bother me no-how. I aim to git what I came fer and nothin’ else, so conversationalizing won’t be necessary.” The man squinted and reached slowly for Crouching Bear’s pouch, one hand remained on the rifle with a finger on the trigger. As his dirty hand grabbed the pouch, Crouching Bear dropped to the dirt and swept the old-timer down with his leg. Before he could get his knife out the white man had fired a shot at him. It missed Crouching Bear entirely but angered him more than he had ever felt before. He knew the shot would signal the others to his location and that brought on an overwhelming rage.
Suddenly, Crouching Bear felt a tingle in his side and then it expanded into a burning pain which reached over his chest, around his shoulder and down his spine. His neck stretched to the left and then to the right and he heard the sound of bones crunching. The old-timer watched on in horror as Crouching Bear’s body began to change. He stripped off his garments as his body was on fire. He felt heaviness filling his legs and hips while his chest expanded and grew hairy. His dark skin wrinkled and stretched as long, coarse hairs sprouted from every pore. Crouching Bear lost his thoughts as his head felt like thunder clouds hammering the silent morning. He dropped to his knees and his torso lengthened, doubling in size. The smell of the old man messing himself was pervasive as it seemed that he could now detect odors near and far with a heightened awareness. He roared and stood on his hind legs, towering eight feet above the white man lying on the ground.
In an instant, the monster that was Crouching Bear was upon the man. The old-timer tried to use the rifle as a wedge against the man-bear’s jaws but it was no use. The man-bear swatted the rifle away like it was a piece of kindling. The beast sat on the man’s chest, mauling his face and neck. It devoured the man’s flesh like it hadn’t eaten in days. It drank his blood, slaking its thirst from the long journey. The beast kept feeding, long after the old-timer ceased to be. The meal ended only when there was nothing left but bloody scraps and large bones.
Engorged, the man-bear licked its jowls and laid down in a thick patch of undergrowth. In between yawns, it slurped the last chunks stuck in its claws. The man-bear blinked slowly several times and then lowered its great head upon the earth. The beast snoozed with a full belly and a quiet mind.
Crouching Bear woke to the sound of a coyote howling in the darkness. The forest was pitch black. His mouth tasted like blood. And his body felt small and very light. He sat naked on the ground, small sticks and leaves sticking to his skin. An overwhelming urge to void his bowels snapped him out of his sleep-induced fog.
The vision of his transformation floated before his eyes, recounting the whole event. The fire and the pain shooting through his body. His heightened sense of smell. The overwhelming desire to feed. The sound of the man’s screams. Crouching Bear knew that it was the curse. The tribe never said what kind of curse they summoned upon him but it was clear that they had created this monster. They used his name against him. He was cursed to live out the essence of the wild bear. It confused him as to why the curse took hold when he came upon the old man. Why hadn’t he turned into a bear while he was running through the fields? Or climbing up the trees? Or wading across a stream?
He fumbled along the ground in search of his garments. His hands scavenged through the soil, dirt accumulating beneath his fingernails. Crouching Bear found his clothes and began dressing when the urge to eliminate once again beckoned urgently. He squatted with his clothes balled up against his chest.
Moments later, Crouching Bear felt like a new man. He finished dressing himself while he tried to figure out his next move.
Chapter 2
James whittled a stick out of boredom. He liked to keep his knife really sharp so the shavings of wood flaked off like shreds of cheese. As he worked the stick, James daydreamed of adventure. Like any other seventeen year old boy in a small, one-horse town, his future lie somewhere out in the wild. He thought this town was boring.
Life for James in Pella, Iowa revolved around working in the saloon all day and then avoiding the brothel upstairs each night. The repetitive cycle was endless but there was no escape. He lived upstairs in the brothel with his mother, so this was all he had.
“You’re making a mess of the rug.” George glared at him under the brim of his hat. James startled at the big man’s intrusion. James knew better than to get on George’s bad side. After all, he was the bouncer in the saloon downstairs. And James had seen George whip many a large dude who misbehaved while tearing up the town. George brushed aside a long curl of his dark hair and spat a wad of chew. It missed the spittoon. He wiped some slick tobacco drool from his dark stubble.
“Sorry. I was just bored. I’ll clean it up.”
“Damn straight you’ll clean it up. Ain’t no customers gonna wait for a lady if the lounge is all dirty.” George glanced at the splatter of missed tobacco on the carpet. “Best clean that up, too.”
James rolled his eyes, in his mind. He wouldn’t dare show disrespect outwardly to the bruiser. He didn’t mind George’s constant attitude but he didn’t like it when George made a mess. George was deadly accurate with a six shooter but he was never accurate with his chaw. Never.
“Hello, George.”
“Ma’am.” Georg
e touched the brim of his hat and turned on his heels. He slowly walked down the wooden stairs to the bar.
“How are you today, darling?” James’ mother, Sarah, bent to kiss his forehead. She ruffled his light brown hair. James thought she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world, let alone the brothel. Her long black hair juxtaposed her crystal blue eyes and fetched her a pretty penny since she looked different than all the other ladies. James had his father’s coloring but he inherited the same double dimples on each side of his mouth from his mother. “You better clean up this mess before Filler comes around. He’ll be fit to be tied if he catches you making a mess on the rug.”
“I know. I’ll make sure everything is tidied up. Mom, I saw the paper this morning and father whooped another one. It said he clubbed the man with the butt of his gun again. People are talking that it is his signature move.”
Sarah rested her hands on her hips and tsked. James knew it bothered her when he regaled in his father’s legend and exploits, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to grow up to be a big, strong man like his father, the legendary Wyatt Earp. His father got to travel to different cities and fight bad guys and shoot things up. All the kinds of adventure that James dreamed about.
“Now, James, you know I don’t like it when you go around talking like that. Your daddy is not someone you should look up to. He can be a mean, self-centered bastard.”
James lowered his head. He had heard this speech so many times before. He whittled a few more strokes and looked back at his mother. “Aw, mom. It’s just that I’m bored being stuck in this town. Every day is the same and there’s a whole world out there just waiting to be explored.” He brushed a wisp of his light hair to the side, leaving a wood shaving behind. “I need adventure. I wanna rid the world of bad guys and be a hero. Not some bar sweep who lives with his momma.”
