by Chuck Buda
He looked over his shoulder at the Sheriff, who was stoic with his rifle in his hands. The Sheriff nodded ever so slightly at James.
“You wanted respect. So I’m here to show you that I respect you. And what happened to your family.” He looked around, sensing a change in the atmosphere. A low, vibration trembled below the surface of the earth. It worked its way through his boots. He swallowed again.
“Revenge then? Is that what you really seek?”
A breeze kicked up swirls of dust. It was stronger than the gentle wind of earlier. This air brought portents of evil.
“I’m here to deliver your revenge. And put your soul at ease.” James looked over his shoulder again. Sheriff Morgan’s jaw hung wide. James grinned and nodded, trying to reassure the Sheriff that he wasn’t giving him up to the gunslinger. But James did plan on using the Sheriff as his wild card.
The gunslinger buzzed into view, amid the static crackles and pops that filled the air. Just as he always looked, the gunslinger stood opposite James, on the other side of the fire.
James stared into the black pits that stood where the gunslinger’s eyes should be. Another chill worked its way through him. He squeezed the dirty book in his hand.
“What took you so long?”
The gunslinger grinned, a sinewy, skeletal grin. The thin strip of black mustache stretched above the lip-less mouth.
“This needs to end. Tonight.”
The gunslinger didn’t respond. He just stood with his hands at his sides. The bony jaw wriggled left to right as he grit his rotted teeth.
James wanted to get this over with. The impatient side of him wanted to draw down on the gunslinger and try to end the conflict. Regardless of him surviving the battle or not. But the frightened side of him thought more about running until he reached a place where no ghosts existed. The outcome would fall somewhere in between, James figured.
“Shame what happened to your family.”
The gunslinger stood motionless.
“Nobody deserves to die like that. Least of all a wife and a little girl.”
A rumbling groan emanated from the gunslinger.
“You only did what any good family man would have done.”
The gunslinger tossed his duster back so that both pistols were within reach.
James felt the cold sweat line his upper lip. His heart palpitated. It became increasingly more difficult for James to breathe. His eyes focused on the gunslinger’s hands. He knew there would be little time to react if he went for the six shooters.
“Let’s handle this like men. Like smart men. Okay?”
The gunslinger laughed, sending goosebumps across James’ flesh. The sound was loud and pierced right through the core of his brain. James did all he could to avoid dropping to his knees while clutching his ears. He heard Sheriff Morgan shift behind him.
When the laugh finally ceased, James held up his hands in mock surrender. He wanted to show the gunslinger that he wasn’t a threat. Not yet, at least. He hoped he could stay alive long enough to figure out how to take advantage of a moment of weakness.
The gunslinger tilted his head to the side, as if he were trying to figure out what James was doing. James realized that the gunslinger was staring at his hand. The one holding the tattered book. Maybe the gunslinger recognized the jacket even though it was marred with years of dust and ash.
One bony finger stretched out in his direction. It stopped when it pointed directly at the book in James’ upturned hand. He knew the gunslinger saw it. There was no putting the juice back in the jar now. James wondered if the timing was right to share his find with the gunslinger.
His decision was made for him. The gunslinger maintained his position, with finger outstretched, pointing at the book. James knew he had arrived at the point of no return.
Chapter 43
“Psst!”
James heard Sheriff Morgan try to get his attention. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the gunslinger. James’ legs were rooted to the ground. His body stiffened, alert to any imperceptible movements that might indicate he was about to be shot at. James felt like a sitting duck.
“Psst!”
“Not now, dangit.” James bristled at letting the cuss word out.
The gunslinger took a few steps toward James, finger still pointing at the book.
“Take it easy, now.”
“What is that in your hand?” The gravelly voice was almost a whisper.
“This is a book.”
“I’m not blind, James. What kind of book?”
“Um, it is a journal or something. With drawings in it.”
The gunslinger lowered his finger. James felt relief that it wasn’t pointing at the book. Then he tensed when he realized both hands were closer to those guns now.
“Where did you find it?”
“Here. In the remains of your homestead.”
“What makes you think this was my homestead?” The ghost moved closer.
“Well, you’re Doddy aren’t you? Uh, weren’t you? I mean.”
The gunslinger stared at James. The black eye sockets gave him another shiver. James wondered if the gunslinger was truly Doddy. He almost doubted it for a second. Especially after the gunslinger’s question. But it had to be him. The apparition looked exactly like the man in the old photograph.
“Let me see that book.”
“Why? If you aren’t Doddy, then what do you care what this book contains?”
The gunslinger growled. “Curiosity, perhaps.”
James laughed. He tried to stop it from coming out but it was so startlingly absurd to him that a ghost could be curious about anything, let alone a book. He quickly cut his laugh off when he saw the expression change on the gunslinger’s face.
“You laughing at me, boy?”
“No. No, no. I’m just…something tickled me is all.” James swallowed a lump that could choke a horse. “But it is you, isn’t it? Francis Dodson?”
The gunslinger’s eyebrows furrowed. “Francis Dodson is dead.” The statement carried finality in its tone.
“The living Francis Dodson is dead. Sure. But the spirit still lives. Doesn’t it?”
“What are you driving at, James?” When the gunslinger said his name, it lingered for several seconds in a breathy, horrific sound.
“You’re Doddy. Or used to be.” James finally lowered his arms. He felt the exhaustion in his shoulders. He opened the book and removed the old photograph. “You’re right here. In this photograph. Plain and simple.”
James turned the photo toward the gunslinger and held it out so that the flames would expose the image. The gunslinger leaned forward, black eyes squinting to get a better look.
“Give me that.”
“No. If you aren’t Doddy then you have no use for this picture.”
“Give it to me now!” The voice thundered. James felt his chest vibrate from the loud roar. He suddenly had an urge to relieve himself, but he got it under control. The gunslinger got a little closer.
“I don’t fault you for wanting to avenge your family. Martha. Sally. She was beautiful.”
“What do you know about family, boy? You ever been in love? You ever hold a tiny creature that came from a small part of you? You know nothin’.” The gunslinger spat the words out with vitriol.
“Sally was so talented. The drawings…they are so life-like. I can’t believe a little girl could create something so beautiful.”
“Don’t…talk…about Sally.”
“She was special to you, wasn’t she?”
The gunslinger groaned and inched closer. “Give me that book.”
James took a step back and then thought he better stand his ground. He didn’t want the gunslinger to know he was scared. So James recovered and took a step forward again.
He flipped through the tattered book so that the gunslinger might get glimpses of the incredible art work. The pages fluttered, puffing small clumps of dirt and dust as they turned.
The gunslinger le
aned forward again to spy the lost pages. He groaned and then whimpered. At least, James thought he heard a whimper. It was soft but audible. James watched the gunslinger’s face and he saw the eyebrows upturned like a child who cried over a skinned knee.
“Sally.” The word croaked from the trembling mouth of the gunslinger.
“She was perfect. Pretty. Talented. Special. Wasn’t she?”
The gunslinger shook with what appeared to be deep sorrow. His hands outstretched slowly to beg for the book. His head lowered so the brim of the flat hat covered his face. James definitely picked up on sobs now.
“But she was different. And that’s why you moved her out here. Away from all the insults and name-calling.”
“She wasn’t…different.” The gunslinger sobbed and choked. “She was BETTER than everyone else.” The words screamed through James’ soul. His chest vibrated again.
“Yes. Better than everyone. And you only did what you had to do to protect her and care for her. Until they took her from you.”
The gunslinger stood up straight. His face toughened and he growled. Low at first and then growing in volume.
“You tried to avenge her but it didn’t work out. And now you have to move on. Be with her now.”
“NO! Noooooooooooooooooooooo!” The booming sound knocked James off his feet. As he rolled over he saw Sheriff Morgan also in the dirt. Both men scrambled back to their feet as quickly as they could, but cautiously enough to keep the gunslinger from drawing upon them.
“Sally wants you to be near her. All you have to do is go. Leave this old town and go to your family.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
The gunslinger took another step closer. His hands rested upon the gun handles now. “Because I made a promise to hunt everyone down. Everyone that played a hand in my family’s deaths.”
“Promises can be broken. Especially old promises.” James thought to himself that he was living proof of that. He had promised Carson that they would do things together and look how many times he had broken all those promises.
“Not this promise.”
James watched the gunslinger’s hands carefully. He sensed that the gunslinger was teetering on the brink of self-control. He didn’t know how much time they had left to figure out this haunting.
“I made a deal with the devil.”
Chapter 44
The faint glow of a camp fire flickered to the northeast. At least, Sarah thought it looked like a possibility. She hoped that was the destination because she was weary and the trip seemed to take longer than expected. She knew it would take them longer to arrive because they were traveling at night and going slow on purpose to avoid mishaps with Carson.
Carson was still sleeping. Sarah figured the repetitive motion of the horse had lulled the boy to sleep. Plus, he was still weak from blood loss and recovering from two gun wounds. She shook her head as she thought of Carson’s resiliency. Ah, to be young and energetic, she thought. Sarah wasn’t particularly old but she didn’t have the reserves she possessed years ago.
She kicked her feet to spur the horse to pick up the pace. She worried that the horse would make too much noise though. She didn’t want to alert the folks if they weren’t James and Sheriff Morgan. And if it were them, she still wanted to sneak up just in case the scene was chaotic.
As they neared the site, Sarah smelled the wood burning first. Then she identified the flickering light of a camp fire. She hoped this was it. The location was roughly where they were headed but everything was so difficult to see in the darkness. Sarah slowed the horse again to deafen any potential noise.
Sarah thought there were some people standing around but she couldn’t be sure. Might just be shadows playing tricks on her eyes. They were about fifty yards away now. Sarah stopped the horse and slid off, careful to lean Carson forward gently. His head rested on the horse’s neck. She kept her hand on Carson’s back for a few minutes in order to maintain the sensation of her warmth and touch. Just in case he stirred from her movement, she figured he might drift off again knowing that her body was still within reach.
Sarah let go of Carson and draped a wool blanket over his small frame. She quietly tied the horse’s reins to a shrub bush that was sparse. She hoped it was alive enough to anchor the horse if it got spooked.
She brushed her hair back behind her ears to keep her vision clear. As she crouched over, Sarah began to wind her way through thickets and sporadic groves. She was careful to step slowly so that she minimized any sound. Her eyes never strayed from the flickering light. A pit formed in her stomach as dread began to work its way through her system. Sarah couldn’t explain why the feelings arose. She just felt that something was different in this vicinity. Something felt…off.
Her legs began to tremble. The sensation seemed to come up through the earth though. It didn’t originate in her body which only heightened her sense of dread.
Sarah arrived close enough to make out the shadows. They weren’t shadows at all. It was James with the Sheriff a few feet behind him. And on the other side of the fire stood the gunslinger. A breath caught in her throat as she gasped. It had worked. James had been able to summon the spirit to the farm. Even though she understood their plan, she was still surprised that it had worked. She had some doubts since the apparition only appeared annually in the town’s main thoroughfare.
She strained to make out the conversation but she was too far away. She estimated that she was still a good twenty yards or so from the fire. Another tremble in the earth wiggled its way up her legs. Sarah wondered what caused the disturbance, figuring it must have something to do with the gunslinger and the charged atmosphere. It was a sensation she had never felt before.
The gunslinger made a sound that reminded Sarah of a roar. The noise shook the area and trees and plants swayed to the shock waves. A chill shot down Sarah’s spine and reversed course to her brain. She felt a little disoriented. Sarah thought of Carson. He was still behind with the horse. Her motherly instincts kicked in. Sarah wanted to get back to Carson to keep him from waking. She knew if he awoke, then he would demand to be by James’ side. Now wasn’t the time. With the gunslinger here.
Sarah spun on her heels and made her way through the dense foliage. Another earthly tremble shivered across the plain. The wail of a saddened voice echoed across the expanse. She had no idea what the words were. But she knew whatever was taking place behind, or was about to take place, was no place for Carson.
She hoped she could keep Carson out of range of the sights and sounds of the farm for as long as possible. Part of her was glad that they had arrived after the gunslinger. Otherwise, poor Carson would be in the middle of it all with James right now. And the thought of both boys in harm’s way made her sick to her stomach. No mother should have to bury a child. But two children? She shuttered at the prospect of a deadly evening. Sarah started whispering prayers as she made her way back to the horse.
As Sarah reached the shrub, the horse was still tethered to it. But nobody sat on the horse. Sarah’s eyes grew wide as she panicked and searched for Carson. She ran to the horse and looked underneath. She circled the animal and then the shrub. Nothing. Where could he be? How could Carson have disappeared? He was fast asleep, right here, she screamed to herself. Sarah turned in circles, looking for anything that might provide cover for a sleeping or hiding child. She began calling his name. Softly at first, almost a whisper. But each time her voice got louder as more fear settled in. Where could he be?
No sooner did she have the thought, then Sarah realized. Carson went to James. She knew deep in her gut that the rascally boy had woken up and noticed the fire, and probably made his way back there. She couldn’t believe that she was so foolish to leave him all alone. In the darkness. An injured little boy. A determined, injured little boy.
Sarah glowered in the direction of the camp fire. She knew where Carson was. And she had to go get him.
Chapter 45
The gunslinger
straightened. James watched as the saddened, slumped figure transformed into an imposing threat. He had confessed to his deal with the devil in order to avenge his family’s deaths. So the spirit of Doddy was trapped in a state of unrest. Never joining the souls of his family in the afterlife. James felt sorry for him. But his sympathy wouldn’t get in the way of saving the townspeople from the demon.
James tried one more time to bargain for peace. “Look, I’ll give you Sally’s book and the old photograph if you promise to go away and never come back to town.”
“How about you give me the book and the photograph and I fill your rotten gut with slugs?”
“That doesn’t sound like a fair trade at all.”
“And when you take your last breath, I will consume your soul while your dying eyes watch. Then I will go back and rid the rest of the town of its guilty lives.”
“Sounds like you want a fight.” James tried to remain brave, but swallowed a lump just the same.
“Won’t be much of a fight.”
The gunslinger sprung for his six shooters. In a flash, he pulled the guns from their leather sheaths and raised the barrels at James. It happened so fast but James managed to drop to the dirt before any bullets hit him. Two shots fired. One from each barrel.
When James hit the ground he heard a thump behind him. He turned and watched Sheriff Morgan flop down in a spray of blood. The Sheriff got hit with at least one of the shots meant for his own body. Before getting up, James realized that he had lost the tattered book with the photograph in it. He must have dropped it when he fell down. There was no time to look for it now.
James spun on one knee and drew the pistol from the back of his belt. He swung it around and fired right away. The bullet caught the gunslinger off guard and smacked dead center into his chest. The only problem was the bullet passed through without doing any damage. James recalled the Sheriff’s shot passing through the gunslinger’s belly. If the torso was not vulnerable then maybe the head would be.
