A Fistful of Horror - Tales Of Terror From The Old West (18 page)

As the sun rose over the horizon, Thomas Wilson’s job was done. There was nothing left of the tumbleweeds but blackened ash; there was little more left of his boys or the house, for that matter, but the job was done. Exhausted, he dropped to his knees, feeling empty inside. He sat there for hours, watching the house and its memories die before his eyes.

Only when the last embers had faded away did he bother pushing himself up from the ground. As he did so, a sharp pain in the palm of his right hand made him wince.

He looked at it with bleary eyes.

It was only a scratch.

DANCES WITH SNAKES

Jon McAchren

Night falls in Hell. A young woman enters a cabin sitting in the long shadows of the trees. She dances in a circle around four bodies in various stages of decay. As the sun drops closer to the horizon, she disrobes and begins to chant as she twirls round and round.

“Cast it on the ground. Cast it on the ground.”

The lovely young woman kneels down between two of the bodies and reaches a hand into the open abdomens of both. In each hand, she raises several wriggling, hissing infantile snakes.

“And he said cast it on the ground. And he cast it on the ground and it became a serpent; and Moses fled from it.”

She brings both hands, alive with baby snakes, to her mouth and kisses them.

“And the serpent said to the woman, ye shall surely not die. Ye shall surely not die.”

The young woman places the snakes back into the hollowed out, rotting stomachs of the bodies beside her. She dances around to another of the corpses and smiles down at numerous eggs lying in the rotting chest cavity.

“And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world; he was cast out into the earth and his angels were cast out with him.”

***

Jasper Holton stared straight ahead into the dropping sun. He was mesmerized by the golden orb laying on the horizon. The light was dimmed only by the waves of dirt and sand being blown from the desert floor in the evening gusts. Jasper could just make out the silhouette of his guide, Tektomah Two Willows, forty yards ahead. They were nearing the end of their third day riding west, from Las Cruces, to an area, near Tombstone, in the Arizona territory. Jasper’s ass was sore, his face was burned by the sun and wind and he was hungry. He gulped water from his canteen and ran his tongue across cracked lips. He whistled as best he could to attract Two Willows’ attention.

“Hold up, Two Willows!”

Ahead, Two Willows raised his left hand in acknowledgement and pulled up on the reins of his auburn-coloured mare. Jasper Holton gently dug his spurs into the side of his horse and prompted him to catch up to the Indian.

“Marshall Holton?”

“Two Willows,” Holton pulled his horse aside the guide. “My backside is plum turned to stone. Any chance we are close to stopping?”

“Twenty minutes more. Shanty town. Food, water,” Two Willows smiled at his boss. “And a row of ladies’ rooms.”

Jasper Holton smiled at the Indian. His mind came alive at the thought of food and water. Other parts of his body stirred at the thought of ladies in their rooms. His sore body would benefit greatly from a meal, a bath and the attentions of a woman.

“Let’s ride, man! Let’s ride!”

Tektomah Two Willows smiled crookedly at Holton, hitched the reins of his mare and led the way. Ten yards behind, United States Marshall Jasper Holton sat a little straighter in his saddle. He spurred his mustang to keep up with the man in front.

***

In Hell, Arizona, Sheriff William Duffy walked into the town’s only saloon. The early evening crowd was small and quiet. Three bearded men glanced at the Sheriff quickly and looked away. Duffy noted, as a habit, that each of them had a revolver holstered to their legs. It was always good for the sheriff to know who was behind him. His footsteps, on the warped, hardwood floor, echoed throughout the large room.

“Evening, Albert.”

“Evening, Sheriff,” the bespectacled barkeep dropped his towel on the bar and reached for a bottle of rye whiskey. “The usual?”

“Not yet, Albert. This is a work visit.”

“Oh? Oh!”

The little man hid the bottle behind the bar and pushed his round glasses up his nose. The sheriff noticed that he turned his head the slightest bit to get a look up the stairs to his left. Sheriff Duffy followed his eyes and caught a glimpse of a bare foot going around the corner.

“You looking for someone, again, Sheriff?”

“Yes, Albert,” Duffy noticed a film of perspiration growing on the old man’s forehead. “Again, one of our town’s gentlemen has not come home. Milt Gray’s wife came into my office this morning to say that old Milt headed into town last night to play cards here.”

“Milt Gray?”

“Yes, Albert, that’s right. Milt Gray came here to play cards. And then, like the others, did not come home.”

The conversation was interrupted when a customer stumbled to the bar alongside the Sheriff. He grabbed the bar top to steady himself.

“Evening, James.”

The man turned to look at Duffy. His one eye was bloodshot. A dirty patch covered the spot where the other eye had been mutilated by a bullet years ago. His grey beard did nothing to hide the missing teeth or the tobacco stains running down both sides of his chin. His clothes were dusty and haggard. His eye slowly focused.

“Sheriff Duffy! Good to see you again.” A dirty hand jumped from the bar to Duffy’s shoulder. “You buying good men drinks tonight?”

“Sure, James,” Duffy looked at Albert and barely nodded. “One more for you, James. And, then, you make your way home, okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, Sheriff, sure thing.” The man picked up the shot of rye and downed it quickly. “Home. Home is where the heart is, right, Sheriff?”

Duffy smiled in sympathy as the worst of the town’s drunkards pushed himself from the bar and barely made it to a chair at the closest table. He slumped into it and laid his head on the table.

Albert was busying himself, wiping the bar with his dirty towel and dropping James’ shot glass into a tub of soapy water. He had moved away from the Sheriff.

“Milt Gray?”

“Huh?”

“Milton Gray, Albert!” Sheriff Duffy leaned his large frame over the bar. “Did you see him last night?”

“Oh! Oh! Yes, sir. Milt was in here. He played poker with some of the other fellas.”

***

Darkness; still, fetid air. The smell of rotting flesh hung heavy in the darkness.

Milton Gray recognized the odour. He had, before he had moved west, worked in a butcher’s shop in Chicago. He was quite familiar with the smell of rancid meat and flesh.

Milton’s head hurt. His stomach hurt worse. He had, apparently, fallen somewhere on his way home. Marsha, his wife, was going to be so angry at him. Again, he had gone to play cards and drank way too much. She would meet him at the door with her bible in her hand. Again, he would hear of the evils of liquor and gambling. Again, she would curse him and beg him to stop.

“Sonofabitch!”

Milton Gray was racked with a sudden, intense pain in his stomach. He felt the urge to vomit.

“What? What the fu…”

Milton tried to roll over. As he did, he realized that he could not move. His hands and his feet, were bound. He could do nothing more than wiggle his fingers. His struggles against the bonds, in fear and anger, caused the stomach pain to increase.

“Sonofab…”

Milton felt his bowels release a moment before he began to vomit. He turned his head to the side as best he could. The air around him was immediately worse with the aroma of vomit and shit.

***

One floor above Albert and Sheriff Duffy, Juanita Gomez lay in her bed. Her room was small. It held a smaller bed, a wash basin and a wicker clothes trunk. The room, like the four others on the second floor, was used by the ladies of the saloon. They were paid by the owner to socialize with the men in the bar and then, after the whiskey and wine took effect, bring the drunks upstairs for an hour of sexual pleasure. One dollar, paid in advance to Juanita, got the townsmen an hour of whatever sexual pleasures they could imagine.

Juanita was, by far, the best catch of the ladies. She was a young, Mexican girl with flawless, bronze skin and a mouth full of straight, white teeth. Her breasts were large and firm. When she danced for the customers, downstairs, she often raised her skirt to tease the men with glimpses of her perfect thighs. She always wore an anklet that, as she danced, gave off a sound that mimicked perfectly the warning of a rattlesnake. Snakes, after all, were Juanita’s fancy.

As she lay on her bed, remembering Milton Gray’s bumbling, sexual ineptness, she heard the hissing and rattles from beneath her. Juanita reached under the bed and pulled open the lid on a wooden box. Inside, three pit vipers raised their heads and rattled their tails in a happy greeting.

One by one, Juanita lifted the snakes to her bed. They slithered, sideways to and fro, hissing joyfully. Eventually, the young prostitute opened her blouse and lifted her skirt. The three snakes immediately sensed the heat from the various parts of her body.

"Yes, my beauties, yes,” Juanita closed her eyes and smiled. “Love me.”

***

Inside Grandma’s Last Chance Meals, United States Marshall Jasper Holton and Tektomah Two Willows sat quietly sipping tea.

“Two Willows, we should have a beer. It’s been a long ride.”

“Thank you, Marshall Holton.” Tektomah sipped his tea. “You drink beer. Me, tea. Spirits turn angry with beer and whiskey.”

Grandma came to the table carrying two metal plates filled with generous servings of beef stew and bread. She placed one in front of Jasper and reached, carefully, across the table to sit one in front of Tektomah. The old lady showed no joy in having an Indian in her café. He smiled up at her and she quickly turned her attention toward the lawman.

“Sir, we don’t get many men with badges here in Last Chance.” She motioned toward two other tables with women sitting together talking and stealing glances at the two men. “If we did, I wouldn’t need that Remington I got hangin’ in the kitchen.”

“A Remington?” Holton smiled at the wrinkled woman with her hair in a greying bun. “What in the world would you do with that piece of steel?”

Squeals of laughter came from the closest table. A stern look from the proprietor quieted them instantly. The women at the table blushed.

“That, kind sir,” Grandma beamed. “Is likely the exact thing that drunken varmint came in here last month with his pistol in hand lookin’ to take our money thought!”

Holton smiled and Two Willows stopped spooning stew into his mouth.

“The foolish man is lying down, under the dirt, out back. We put a cross up for him and marked it with the word fool.”

Holton simply smiled. No questions, no thoughts of the man’s identity.

“God bless the fool, ma’am.” Holton winked and barely smiled at Two Willows. “Might a man enjoying this grub get a beer to go with it?”

Grandma looked at a young woman across the room and pointed to the kitchen.

“The Marshall and his friend would like a beer, Miss Ellie. Get them each a glass and keep them filled.”

She turned back to Marshall Holton and patted him on the shoulder, missing the fearful look on Two Willows’ face.

“Sir, you and the Indian enjoy all the beer you can handle.” She turned away and looked back. “Just be nice to a few of my girls before you leave.”

As they watched the matronly cook retreat toward the kitchen, she was passed by a much younger woman with ample breasts billowing over her top button hurrying in their direction with a mug of beer in each hand.

“But, Marshall Holton, the spirits…”

***

Milton Gray stirred awake. The darkness and stench still encompassed him. He found himself still bound, nearly motionless. The man spat into the air in an attempt to clear his mouth and throat. . Off to his right, he caught the slightest movement.

“Help me!” The sound was harsh, almost unrecognizable as his voice. “Help me, damn it!”

The movement ceased. There was no sound; only a shadow in the darkness.

“And the woman said unto the serpent, we may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden.”

“What? What?”

“And the Lord God said unto the woman, what is this that thou hast done? And the woman said the serpent has beguiled me.”

“Jesus, man” Milton barked. “What the pure hell are you preaching about? Help me loose!”

The shadow moved slowly in Milton’s direction. He pulled against the straps holding his hands and arms in place. The figure, a small, bespectacled man, laid a hand on Milton’s stomach.