by Chuck Buda
The second location was the alleyway between the haberdashery and the saloon. There were ample barrels and crates stacked along the edifice which would afford James a safe vantage. The downside of this location was that it was a bit behind the rumored area of the ghost and it was in direct sight of James’ room. So when his mother looked out the window to find out why James wasn’t home yet like she expected, she would be able to see him crouched down in the alleyway.
Before he could decide on which spot to use, the door to the store opened as Mr. Miller walked a customer out. He immediately saw James and his bald head wrinkled up with anger.
“James. What on earth are you doing out here? I explicitly told you to dust the shelves, not sweep the porch.” Mr. Miller rested his large hands on his hips to accentuate his disappointment.
“Yes, sir. I dusted the shelves and didn’t want to stand around with nothing to do. So I figured I would clean out here a bit.”
Mr. Miller glanced at the clock tower and quickly realized the time. “Oh my. I lost track of time. You were supposed to head home for lunch twenty minutes ago. Now give me that broom and run along. There is no more time to waste if you are to arrive home safely.” He reached for the broom.
“Sorry, sir. I just have to finish one more thing before I go.”
“Nonsense. You’ll leave now and not waste another minute.” Mr. Miller sternly pointed James toward home.
“I accidentally spilled some rice in the storeroom, sir. And I don’t want mice to get into it. So I’ll just be one minute to clean it up before I run home. I promise I’ll be quick. And thorough.” James played on Mr. Miller’s obsession with cleanliness and order. He also knew the proprietor was deathly afraid of infestations of any kind as it could ruin his business. Mr. Miller’s expression went from anger to fear when he heard about mice.
“Very well. Make it quick. I’m going to lock up now so you’ll have to leave through the back door. Now get going. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something were to happen to you because you stayed too long at work.”
James smiled and nodded his head. He scrambled through the door and ran between the shelves to the storeroom in the back. As he ran he heard Mr. Miller close the door and secure the lock bar in place. James had lied to Mr. Miller to gain some more time. He hid for a few moments in the storeroom. The butterflies were going mad in his belly. In less than five minutes he was going to see something that both excited him and frightened him at the same time. The last time he felt like this, he was chasing his old friend Crouching Bear.
James ran through his options one last time. He decided to use the horse trough since his mother wouldn’t be able to see him. Plus, he would have a front row seat to all the action. The flutter in his stomach shot some bile up his throat which he quickly swallowed down. The time had come to get into place. He opened the storeroom door and then closed it behind him. He saw Mr. Miller crouched down behind the register, his eyes just above the machine, staring out the front window.
“I’m off, Mr. Miller. See you after lunch.” James shouted and waved to his boss who he had clearly startled. James figured the man was scared of the ghost and his fast exit had only added to the old guy’s fright. James dashed through the back door and slammed it shut as he ran past the buildings. He was in such a hurry that he never heard Mr. Miller wish him well on his way out.
“Godspeed, James.” The man swallowed a huge lump in his throat and ducked back down behind the register.
Chapter 6
Mayor Samuels leaned back in the chair. His whiskers itched his cheeks and he liked being clean-shaven. Except for the goatee. The barber shop was busy this morning, probably because men wanted to get cleaned up before the ghost gunslinger showed up at noon. The Mayor was of the same mind but he wouldn’t admit to that openly.
Clip Jones sharpened the razor along the strap as he spoke. Nobody in town really knew Clip’s first name. He had introduced himself as Clip when he first opened shop and the name stuck on account of his profession. Clip was lean with strong arms. His jaw was square and accentuated by an extremely receding hairline.
“Y’all are gonna make me earn my money this morning. I haven’t seen a line like this since the Gullickson funeral.” He dragged the razor back and forth upon the leather.
Mr. Simpson scratched his stubble and joined the fray from the waiting area. “The missus wants me ta have a clean face ‘afore the shootin’ starts. An’ she says I need ta have a clean face fer the undertaker lest I catch a bullet.” He guffawed and the crowd of men joined in the nervous laughter.
Mayor Samuels spoke to the group while he looked at them in the mirror. “Now I told you all that this fable is just malarkey. Nobody is going to be forced to meet with the undertaker today.” Clip finished sharpening the razor and began applying shaving cream to the Mayor’s cheeks and neck.
Simpson shot back at the Mayor. “Seems like you ‘er thinkin’ the sames as us, Samu’ls. Aintcha here ta git cleaned up fer the shootin’ too?”
Clip Jones glared at Simpson while he smoothed out the lather on the Mayor’s face. “Now, mind your manners, Simpson. This is the Mayor of our town you are addressing here. And if you get fresh, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Mayor Samuels raised a hand in Simpson’s defense. “That’s all right, Clip. The man has a right to speak his mind. God gives every man that right, regardless of which end the words are coming from.” A round of applause and jeers flew up at the Mayor’s retort. Simpson slapped his leg with his dusty hat and slumped down in his chair. When the noise abated, the Mayor got back on his soap box.
“I recognize that this story has everyone on edge. But it is just that. A story. Sometimes when men believe so strongly in something, it has a tendency to come true.” The men looked confused. “What I mean to say is that the ghost doesn’t appear each year because the town believes in him. The ghost appears in our minds, and then the panic takes over and folks get all jumpy. And when folks get all jumpy, bullets fly and people get hurt.”
Clip tugged the Mayor’s ear back to get a closer shave along his sideburns. He had a tendency of screwing up his face while he worked as if he were shaving himself. It was a crude display of life imitating art. “I buy that notion, Mr. Mayor. Really, I do. But we can’t deny what happened several years ago when Sheriff Morgan got hit and Sammy Tucker took one in the keister. That actually happened.”
“I’m not denying that it did happen, Clip. All I’m saying is that nobody knows for sure where those bullets came from. People think they saw shots coming from this ghostly image but lots of people had their guns pulled in sheer panic. It could have been shots from anybodys’ gun.” The Mayor rolled his head back and to the right so Clip could get under his jowls. A murmur of disagreement rumbled throughout the men awaiting their turn.
“Besides, descriptions of this ghost were inconsistent. Some saw a whitish shape, some saw a clear outline of a man, and still others couldn’t describe it at all. Surely, if the ghost existed, at least two descriptions of it would have matched, don’t you think?” The Mayor made some strong points but the men only shifted uneasily.
“I guess your explanation sounds as valid as any.” Clip wiped the remaining streaks of shaving cream with a towel. “I still wouldn’t tempt fate. I, for one, will be hidden in the shadows today at noon.”
“There aren’t any shadows at noon. Just to prove the legend isn’t real, I will stroll across Main Street today and show the folks of this fine town that their fears are unfounded. This ghost story will come to an end today. I’ll stake my life on it.” The Mayor made sure to connect his gaze with each individual in the shop as he spoke. His final statement hovered like a dark cloud and most of the men averted their eyes, afraid that the Mayor’s defiance would drag them down too. They seemed superstitious. Simpson made the sign of the cross as protection.
Mayor Samuels stood up to check out his clean shave in the mirror. Clip Jones removed the chair cloth. As the Ma
yor leaned toward the mirror, he recognized the fear in his pupils. He did his best to make it look like he was inspecting the shave but it was just a ruse. Mayor Samuels looked deep into his frightened eyes, searching for something, anything which he could hang his hat on to convince himself not to follow through on his promise. His love for the town and his egotistical desire to remain a steadfast leader of the town had backed him into this corner. He feared for his life because deep down in his gut, he knew the gunslinger was real. And he had sentenced himself to death.
The Mayor reached into his pocket for a coin. His nervous fingers fumbled for a moment in his trousers. He removed the coin and handed it to Clip Jones.
“A fine job, Clip. A fine job.”
“Thank you, Mayor. But I couldn’t accept your payment today. This one is on the house.”
The Mayor tilted his head in surprise. “Are you saying my money is no good?”
“Not at all, Mr. Mayor.” Clip searched for the right words. “It’s just that I would like to show my appreciation for your bravery today in the face of our horrifying visitor.” Clip looked at the men gathered in the waiting area. The men did anything but look at the barber or the Mayor. Some studied their boots while others brushed off their hats or cleaned their dirty fingernails.
“Bravery has nothing to do with it. It’s confidence that everything will work out just fine. Now you keep that money because you earned it. And I won’t hear another word about it.”
Clip extended his hand and the Mayor shook it. As the Mayor turned to leave the barber shop he couldn’t help but notice the silence. Not one man looked at him as he strode towards the door.
Chapter 7
Carson played solitaire at the table. He found peace in a deck of cards. Something about the smoothed edges and the square stack in his small hands felt good. Of course, he preferred to play card games with someone else. He loved to win games and playing alone didn’t produce the same happiness that he felt when he would beat the pants off James.
His mind clicked through the numbers and suits as he worked out the combinations before him. Sarah was stirring a pot of lentil soup on the cast iron stove. She lifted the wooden spoon to her lips and blew on it before tasting it. Carson watched her as his belly growled and his mouth flooded with saliva.
Sarah looked at the little clock next to the bed and saw that it was nearly noon. “Where is that boy? He should have been here by now.”
Carson giggled. He knew why James wasn’t home yet.
“What’s so funny, Carson?”
He sat up and stopped laughing. “Um, nothing.”
“Then why did you just laugh?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Sarah approached the table. She lowered her eyes on Carson to pressure him into giving up the goods. “Something had to have made you laugh. Is it me?”
Carson couldn’t help himself. He giggled again.
“Then what is it that you find so funny?”
“James.”
Sarah’s eyebrows knit together. Her crystal-blue eyes searched Carson’s face. “What about James?”
“He’s hiding.” Carson giggled.
“He’s hiding what?”
“He’s hiding for the ghost.”
Sarah panicked. “He’s what? What do you mean he’s hiding for the ghost?” She glanced around the room as if James might jump out from under the bed or from behind the changing panel.
Carson realized by her reaction that he did something bad. His face sunk and the laughter died away. He wasn’t supposed to say anything. James swore him not tell his mother the plan for watching the ghost. James was supposed to see the ghost and then come home and tell his mother that he got caught up at work. And then he decided to stay in the store for safety. Carson felt warm tears fill his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to tell and now James would never trust him again.
Sarah stepped forward and grabbed Carson by the shoulders. She implored him to provide more information. “Where is he? Where is James hiding? Is he in this building?” The questions flew out of her mouth.
Carson couldn’t respond. His lips trembled with disappointment that he couldn’t do the one thing James had asked of him. He didn’t understand how it came out of him so easily. Carson pointed a finger at the window that looked over the street above the saloon.
Sarah let go of Carson and ran to the window. She raised it higher so that she could poke her head out to see. Her eyes searched the street, both up and down. There didn’t appear to be any pedestrians or movement outside. A quiet hush filled the air.
Carson pushed his chair back and hurried to the window too. He didn’t want to miss the ghost. He squeezed under Sarah’s arm to lean over the window sill. Carson rubbed the lingering tears from his eyes as his betrayal washed away with the excitement of the coming apparition. He really wanted to help James fight the ghost but he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape James’ mother.
Sarah backed away from the window and tugged Carson’s arm. “You need to stay away from the window. What if this…this thing is real and a bullet flies up here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t get hurt.” Carson responded innocently.
“Promise me you will not go near the window. I need to know that you are safe. I have to go find James before he gets hurt. So promise me that you will not go near the window.” Sarah repeated herself as her eyes begged Carson to comply.
Carson looked down at the floor then back into Sarah’s eyes. “I promise.” He said the words but he had no intention of doing as she asked.
“Good. I love you.” She kissed his forehead and turned to leave. “I’ll be back shortly with James. Remember, stay away from that window.” She pointed at the glass again. Just then the clock tower chimed the first of twelve bells. It was noon. And time had run out for the town.
Sarah gasped when she heard the first chime. She charged through the door and slammed it behind her. Carson heard her footsteps run down the hall to the staircase. He turned on his heels and ran back to the window. Carson stuck his head out and leaned as far over the sill as he could without falling down to the street. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a thing.
Carson wondered where James was hiding. His eyes searched for James as another bell chimed. Carson hoped that James didn’t fight the ghost today because he wanted to be part of the battle too. James told him that he was only going to watch today so that he could come up with a better plan to fight the ghost next year. But Carson wasn’t sure if he believed James. He had no reason to distrust his best friend. Something in James’ eyes had shown Carson that maybe James said things just to protect him. He didn’t think James meant any harm towards him. Yet, he had a suspicion that James would rather lie to him than get him mixed up in something that he couldn’t handle.
Carson smiled as another bell chimed. He was confident that he could do anything that James could do. They were a team. They both shared the same dreams of riding out of town and saving people from crooked men. James wanted to be like his daddy. Carson wanted to be someone different. He didn’t understand what that meant but he knew deep inside that he wanted to be his own type of hero. He knew he was different from other folks. More than a few people had called him names and made him feel less than a person. Which is why Carson aspired to be bigger than life. He would show everyone. Someday, he would be a hero. And James would be by his side.
Carson shifted his hands to change his view. His eyes scanned Main Street, looking for the ghost and his best friend in the whole world.
Chapter 8
Time was slipping by quickly. Folks in town had been edgy and in a hurry all morning. The foreboding of the annual ghostly visit had people nervous and moving quickly. People wanted to make sure they got important packages mailed or picked up their daily groceries. The whole town tried to squeeze an entire day into three or four hours. Because nobody wanted to be out and about when the gunslinger arrived.
Most folks ran thei
r errands in silence, preferring not to tempt fate by acknowledging the abhorrent day. Heads down and feet moving with expedient purpose. While others worried with neighbors or co-workers about the potential disruption. Spoken or not, the mood infected everyone on some level.
The hardware store and lumber yard chose to keep their doors closed today. A sign in front of the lumber yard read, “Closed until further notice.” The further notice would probably be the undertaker’s request for wood to construct a coffin, or two. The haberdashery and the post office posted signs for an “extended” lunch break. One stated it would re-open at 2 p.m. while the other was 3 p.m.
The establishments that remained open were the saloon, the apothecary, Doc Stinson’s office, Clip’s Barber Shop and Miller’s General Store. Of course, if anybody inquired with each proprietor about their plans for the noon hour, to a man, they would admit they planned to lock the doors and keep a vigilant eye upon Main Street.
The clock tower reached into the blue sky, brick red juxtaposed against white cumulus clouds that drifted by. Its white face smiled down over Main Street as its blackened hands spun upon their axes. The hour hand was firmly on twelve. While the minute hand moved toward the same mark. Within minutes, both hands would point to heaven and signal the noon hour.
A man on his horse glanced at the tower and tugged the reins to leave the center of town. A woman walked quickly while holding her hooped skirt up off the dirty street. She spied the time and increased her pace towards the apothecary. Several others hurried along on their way into buildings, away from the momentary visitation.
Above Main Street, windows were sliding down and latches were switched into place. A balcony door was secured with a squeaky turn of the lock. Blinds were being drawn, shades were pulled down and curtains were draped over windows. People still believed that if they couldn’t see the evil spirit, then the evil spirit must not be able to see them. It was a childish notion, but one that couldn’t be avoided regardless of age.
