by Chuck Buda
Silence settled over the town. The time had arrived. Everyone wondered to themselves. Would they see the gunslinger today?
Chapter 9
James made his way through the debris that had accumulated behind the buildings. Old wagons with missing wheels or barrels with holes littered the landscape. Excess lumber and iron parts teetered atop some of the refuse.
As James worked his way between the garbage he envisioned the gunslinger’s appearance. In his mind’s eye the gunslinger would start to glow out of thin air, forming a shape that resembled a man. The man would be pudgy with a messy mustache and a tall hat. His ghostly spurs would clink and a wailing moan would escape the man’s dead lips. James could almost smell the rotting flesh of the corpse as it shot its way down Main Street.
His breathing grew cumbersome from his efforts to hurry through the junk. His heart hammered in his chest. The feeling of the adrenaline pumping through his veins bringing back bittersweet memories of Iowa.
James rounded the end of the building and sprinted up the alley towards the center of town. A plume of dust followed his feet. He noticed a sheen of sweat forming along his brow from the mid-day heat and the exertion. As he reached the end of the alley, James paused to see that the town looked abandoned. Not a soul stirred. No horses tied to railings. No dogs wandering the porches for scraps of food. Just a silent, barren town. James thought to himself that this must be what a true ghost town feels like. Empty and creepy.
He covered the remaining twenty yards to the horse trough in front of the post office. James dove along the dirt and slid in behind the wood structure. An odor of sweat mixed with horse dung surrounded the trough. James slowly raised his eyes above the top of the wood to peer across the street. He noticed a few faces peeking around curtains or tucked in the cracks of doorways. The town felt empty but it was full of fearful eyes.
James looked up at the clock tower and the minute hand was a shade to the left of the twelve. Only seconds remained before the much anticipated specter visited. The butterflies had stopped fluttering in his belly as the bile replaced them. Fear had stepped in where excitement once stood. His ears were ringing due to the overwhelming silence. Not even the wind, which was ever present in Kansas, dared to make a sound.
He started to second guess his ability to take on the spirit on behalf of the town. What made him think he was so special that he could rid a dark, otherworldly force from the town? What if he was just lucky back in Iowa? And even if it was skill, hadn’t he needed the help of the medicine man and his friend George? Neither of which would be here to help this time. All his confidence and dreams of glory died away. He felt his hands shaking and the muscles in his thighs twitched with dread. What had he gotten himself into? It was bad enough he pretended he could take on an evil ghost, but he actually set himself right in its path by coming outside. He felt so foolish.
The clock tower chimed loudly. The sound was deafening in the empty street. James jumped at the noise before his mind told his body that it was the clock and not a pistol. His head turtled back down behind the trough. Then he raised his eyes once more to see what might happen. Thoughts returned to his mother and Carson. He knew that his mother was worried sick about him not coming home on time as she expected. He figured that worry would turn to anger once he got home later. Or if he got home. Alive.
He chastised himself quietly for the risk he was taking with Carson. He had promised to look out for the boy and help raise him like a brother. Instead, he was risking his life for a fantasy. What if he died out here? Who would protect Carson? Would his mother be able to handle that responsibility plus run the brothel all by herself? James was sure she could handle anything, but hadn’t she been burdened enough in life? She raised him in a whorehouse on next to nothing and now because of his mistakes, she had gotten dragged into caring for Carson too. She deserved better than this. James’ heart swelled with sorrow for how hard his mother’s life had been.
Another chime from the clock tower shook James out of his reverie. He glanced up and down Main Street but nothing had appeared. Yet.
James focused on his nervousness now that he was back in the moment. The shaking and twitching in his extremities belied his apprehension. Part of him wished Carson were by his side. Whenever James was around Carson he felt more sure of himself. He didn’t know if it was because Carson was slow, which made him feel brighter. Or the fact that he was so dedicated to looking out for the boy that it didn’t leave him much time to think about his own self-doubts. He whispered to himself that it was most likely the second reason.
A third chime rang from the clock tower. James lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He said a quick prayer and then quietly asked the Lord to protect his mother and Carson. Even in this dangerous moment, he was more concerned with their welfare than his own. The thought made him question his sanity as he was the one in the direct line of fire. Literally and figuratively.
James glanced over the trough again. He heard the sound of a door clicking shut across the street. His eyes followed the sound and he couldn’t believe what he saw. The Mayor had exited Clip’s Barber Shop. The portly man stood defiantly on the porch outside the shop. James could see a clump of faces pressed up against the window from inside the barber shop. The expressions on the men’s faces was one of terror.
The clock tower chimed again.
Mayor Samuels lit a cigarette and shook out the match stick. He flung it into the street and puffed a huge cloud of smoke. The Mayor looked left and then right, up each end of Main Street.
The clock tower chimed.
The Mayor took several hesitant steps forward, stepping off the porch and onto the street. James fought the urge to scream to the Mayor to duck or hide. Surely the man knew what time it was. And hadn’t James heard that the Mayor insisted that the legend of the ghost gunslinger was a fairytale? Even so, why would he risk his life to prove it?
Another chime of the clock tower.
James was beside himself. The desire for self-preservation battled with his instincts for helping others. He wondered if this was his moment for heroism, saving the Mayor from the gunslinger, rather than defeating the ghost.
DONG.
James whispered a quick prayer for the Mayor and watched the street from behind the trough.
Chapter 10
Mayor Samuels reached for the door knob with a shaky hand. He hoped nobody witnessed his obvious fear. He felt the eyes on his back. The same eyes that avoided his as he approached the door. The moment had arrived and there was no turning back now.
He turned the knob and stepped out onto the porch. The clock tower bell had already chimed. It sounded off again.
His eyes scanned the street. Nothing stirred. His memory couldn’t recall any time in which this street was not bustling with traffic. Even when they first built this town, Main Street was a constant scene of noise and chaos. Men shouting and cussing. Horses trotting. Wagons toting goods and supplies. The Mayor knew it got like this each year when the gunslinger arrived, but only since the Sheriff and Tucker got shot. And the Mayor hadn’t seen those times since he was hiding in his office like a coward. Feigning disdain and indifference for the town’s belief in the legend.
The clock tower rang.
He opened his coat and removed a cigarette from his pocket. Again, his hand shook as it retrieved his smoke. The Mayor struck a match against the support beam and fired his cigarette. The smoke scratched his throat but soothed his nerves. He tossed the match stick into the dirt.
Another chime.
The Mayor took a long drag on the cigarette. He held the smoke deep in his lungs for several seconds before exhaling a huge cloud of smoke into the still air. He noticed that it was probably the first time in his life that there wasn’t even the slightest breeze in Kansas. He wondered if even the wind was smart enough to hide from the monstrous spirit.
DONG.
The eyes from the men in the barber shop behind him filled his back with needles. The sens
e of their stares overwhelmed him. It made him realize that there was so much that man still didn’t understand about the world. All the unseen. Like sensations and ghosts. He asked himself what else he didn’t know which he should.
His life began to kaleidoscope before his eyes. Working on his grandpappy’s farm. The time he broke his leg when he fell out of a tree. His fight with his daddy over control of the farm. Leaving home to find his true calling in life, but mostly to escape his daddy’s iron fist. The newspaper proclaiming the new settlement in Wichita. The road to town, filled with danger from the Indians, the beasts and of course, unscrupulous settlers. And then the day he arrived here. The sounds and smells. So many people in one spot. The excitement of a fresh start. The women. Definitely the women. Like nothing he had ever known before.
Another chime.
A tear streaked down his cheek and he realized he had been crying as he recalled the life that led up to this moment. He snorted his runny nose and took a few steps forward. As he stepped off the porch onto the dirt street his knees buckled a bit. He took the cigarette away from his mouth. The paper had stuck to his dried lips.
The Mayor extended his arms like Jesus on the cross and strode into the street. He spun in a slow circle and addressed the peering eyes. “Ain’t nothing to fear.” He circled. “Just a man. Standing. In the street.”
The clock tower sounded.
He tried to remember how many times the clock rang. But he realized he had lost count. He thought it didn’t really matter much at this point.
As he turned he saw the faces. People stared at him from windows and behind curtains. Everyone wore the same expression. Their eyes wide to absorb everything. Their jaws hung open as they held their breath in wait.
“No such thing as the gunslinger.” His voice cracked. He hoped it didn’t sound as bad to the townspeople as it did within his own ears.
The clock tower chimed.
“I told you all it was hogwash. An old wive’s tale. A camp fire story to scare folks.”
The Mayor was feeling a bit more confident. With each chime and no appearance yet of the gunslinger. Mayor Samuels began to think he might be vindicated. His own legend for being the man who built this town and kept it running safely would expand. Generations to come would remember him for his achievements, but most of all, for conquering the haunted gunslinger. Adding the supernatural to his resume would only further ingrain him in the spirit of the town. Maybe they would name a building after him. Or maybe rename the town. Samuelstown has a nice ring to it. There would be a monument. No. A statue. Yeah, definitely a statue.
DONG.
He took one more drag of the cigarette and then flung the butt into the center of Main Street. The smoke billowed through his nostrils as he searched the windows for a response. The Mayor chuckled out loud. His confidence had come back as he envisioned a glorious victory. Perhaps the annual visitation was finished. But the folks of the town would think it was because of his willingness to stand up to it. To face down the evil and live life unopposed. He always had a flair for the dramatic. He figured it was time to goose the act to embellish his legend.
The clock tower rang.
“I ain’t afraid of you, gunslinger. I don’t believe in your power or your presence.” Mayor Samuels placed his hands on his hips in a display of impatience. “You’re just a washed up fairy tale. Unimportant.” He wanted to raise the bar a little. Give something to the bible-thumpers. “The Lord has damned you to eternal hell. To burn with Satan and his followers.”
Another chime sounded.
The gap between bells extended as the Mayor realized the clock was finished. Twelve chimes had sounded. He turned and looked behind him. There was nothing. He faced forward and still there was no ghost.
The Mayor squinted in the sunlight as a faint breeze picked up some dust. He thought to himself that it was over. The wind was back. The noon time had struck. And there was no sign of the gunslinger.
He had to put an exclamation point on the scene. Something that would look good in the newspaper headlines in bold print. A quote to be remembered in history books and repeated around dinner tables.
“I am Mayor Thomas Samuels. I don’t fear you. Take your best shot right now or forever burn in hell.” He stretched his arms outward once again like he was nailed to a cross. A vision of vulnerability sprinkled with defiance.
Chapter 11
As the Mayor stood in the middle of town, a disturbance emanated from the end of Main Street. It sounded like a static, crackling noise. The sound was faint, but discernible. Small flashes of light popped several times and then a shape took form within the flashes. The shape was hazy at first and then filled slowly with color. This form was more solid than the ghost which had appeared in the past. It was sheer at first but then became opaque. It was the gunslinger.
The gunslinger was tall and lean. He had short gray hair and a coal black mustache which was neatly trimmed. His eyes were blacker than night. The gunslinger wore a long, leather duster over his black pants and ruby-colored shirt. The hat upon his head was also black. The top was short and flat.
Mayor Samuel’s face drooped. His arms were frozen in the outstretched position. His eyes opened wide with horror. The Mayor’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something but no words came forth. His lips just trembled.
James fought his bowels from loosening. He rubbed his eyes as if he just woke from a long nap, not believing the apparition before him. He swallowed hard and felt his breath seize in his chest.
The gunslinger took two steps forward in the direction of the Mayor. The spurs clinked with each boot touching down. He swung his duster back with both arms, revealing two gun belts overlapping each other. A shiny six shooter hung on each hip, looking out of place among the dirty clothing. His eyes narrowed so that wrinkled laugh lines spread outward toward his sideburns.
“Wha…wha…wha…” The Mayor stammered to speak but gibberish is all that came out. He wet himself as he stood before the ghost.
The gunslinger drew both pistols in less than a second and spun the weapons around his fingers. The guns came to a rest in his palms and he fired a shot from each. Both rounds skittered on either side of the Mayor. They were warning shots.
“Nobody makes fun of me or questions my existence.” The gunslinger spoke with a raspy voice that sounded like sand swirled around in his throat.
The Mayor dropped to his knees, arms still outstretched. The legs could no longer support the heavy body as all blood rushed to his brain in a last ditch effort for survival.
The gunslinger squeezed off two more rounds. One struck the Mayor squarely in the chest. Blood splattered through his white shirt. The second round went right between the Mayor’s eyes. He was dead before his body slumped to the dirt.
James tucked his head down with each shot. His breathing had returned, hard and sporadic. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Not only was he witness to a ghost which was beyond comprehension, but he was also witness to the death of the town’s popular mayor. He heard somebody screaming “No” in a loud voice. James peered carefully over the trough to see Sheriff Axl Morgan sprinting up the street towards the Mayor’s body.
The gunslinger fired several more shots. The ghost laughed a creaky, wicked laugh which immediately sent chills down James’ spine. Each shot was dodged by the sheriff as he kept coming. Sheriff Morgan reached the Mayor’s body and crouched down next to it. He pulled his pistol from the holster and fired several shots of his own at the gunslinger. Two shots went wide but the third struck the gunslinger in the belly. There was just one problem. The bullet passed through the gunslinger’s midsection as if he wasn’t even there.
Sheriff Morgan realized the shot had no effect so he dropped the pistol in the dirt and picked up the Mayor under his arms. As he began to drag the corpse back down the street, two more shots struck the Mayor’s chest, spraying blood onto the front of the sheriff’s clothes. He dropped down to the dirt, using the Mayor’s body as
a shield.
James couldn’t sit on the sidelines any longer. He sprang up and leaped over the horse trough. His first thought was to run to the Sheriff to help him escape. But as quickly as he thought this, James decided it was no use. The gunslinger would just continue to take free shots at the men. So his instinct snapped him into action. James charged the gunslinger at a full sprint.
The gunslinger heard James coming his way and swung on his heels to face the threat. He pulled the triggers and two more shots whistled past James. One scratched James’ cheek with a searing heat. The other narrowly missed his head as he ducked while running. The gunslinger aimed again and squeezed the triggers. But both pistols were empty. The guns clicked over and over as the ghost kept pulling the triggers.
James zigged and zagged as he ran toward the apparition to avoid the bullets. His body kept the pattern even though the hammers clicked on empty chambers. James swallowed a lump and felt a surge of adrenaline run through his veins. Now he had a chance to stop the gunslinger before he could reload. He had no idea how that would happen but he was determined to give it his all.
The gunslinger spun his pistols around his fingers again and then re-holstered them. He croaked the same evil laughter as he stared right through James with his black eyes. “I’ll be back for you.” The ghost spoke without moving his lips yet James heard the voice inside his head. “James.” The gunslinger knowing his name stopped James dead in his tracks. He was confused that a ghost could know who he was when he had never seen it before. The chills shot from his spine through his limbs as he understood the evil that must exist for such a power to be possible.
