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Mar 25 11 6:42 PM
Mar 25 11 9:55 PM
"Yes sir" Eva said as she quickly went to grab a glass but dropped it. "Calm down you're fine, nothing is going to happen to you." She whispered to herself grabbing another. As she looked around at the bottles of alcohol, she took a guess on what the man had wanted. She had no experience with bar tending and couldn't read well so it was a guessing game. "Here you go Hun" She smiled wide and handed him the drink. Of coarse it was the wrong one.
"So ugh... hows everything around town boys.." She was interested in starting a conversation. "I'm still kinda new here and haven't had much time to explore. Can ya tell me anything interesting?" Eva looked around hoping she would see Lars but was still interested in having a conversation so she looked back at the man she handed the drink
Mar 26 11 2:57 PM
Mar 30 11 8:23 PM
Orsby House – hot pools
September 12th, 1878
Halfway down the stairs, the humidity
of the heated water clogged her throat and caused her skin to cover
in a thin film of sweat. She could feel the powder on her face
getting heavy and caked with the moisture. Her clothes clung damply
to her body, and the fine hairs around her face stuck to it.
She gave a soft sigh and leaned against
her large partner, fanning herself with her free hand, the other hand
holding onto the whiskey bottle. “My, my, my, it surely is warm
down here!” she says with a laugh that's just a little too high
pitched. It was almost uncomfortable, the heat trying to be
stifling, pressing an invisible weight against the body, making
inhalations shallow and more rapid. It took a concentrated effort to
breath deep and slow and keep her respiration at a more normal rate.
Two other men were down there, one
sitting in the water wearing a pair of long-johns, another standing
naked beside the pool with a growing floor of water growing
underneath him as it dripped off his flesh and hair. As Twyla and
Brandt stepped onto the wooden floor, the soggy, rotting boards
bowing under his weight, the man scratched his crotch and grinned at
her. She quickly looked away and turned her attention to Brant,
cooing little nothings at him as they walked to the furthest area
away from the other two, where they could have some privacy.
Wooden rails lined the walls, places to
hang clothes and keep them dry. Twyla rested the bottle of whiskey
on one of the rails and turned her attention to Brandt, who looked
wholly uncomfortable in the heat. His fleshy cheeks and jowl were
bright red and he was visibly panting. His face was covered with
seat, which was running down and dripping onto his jacket and shirt.
“Oh, Brandt, Brandt, let me help ya
get more relaxed,” she unfastened the buttons on his jacket,
looking directly into his eyes, no coyness, but pure flirtation with
her look and lowered eyelids. Her hands moved over him, touching him
more than needed, as she walked behind him, pulling the heavy
material off his shoulders. She folded it neatly, draping it over
the rail to keep it clean. She went to work on his shirt next,
started to untuck it, but he grabbed her, his chubby sausage fingers
tightening around her thin wrists, turning the flesh white.
“Yer hurtin' me,” she said, not
trying to pull away from him.
The look in his eyes was hard, edging
on angry. She looked down at his hands, seeing a golden band wrapped
around one finger, flesh bulging out around the metal ring. She
thought she understood. The idea of betrayal, fighting against
desires and the ideas of wrong and right. She smiled at him, sweet,
reassuring, and she went back to cooing.
“It's alright, yer jus' havin' a lil
fun. No harm, no foul. Ya deserve ta hav'a good time, a man like
yerself. Ain't nothin' wrong with enjoyin' yerself e'ry once in blue
moon.” His grip was loosening on her, and she was able to pull
free, able to lift the shirt out of the band of his pants and work at
the tiny bone buttons. Another man she would have been kissing,
would have been flirting with in her eagerness, but not with Brandt.
She wanted him undressed, wanted him in a more vulnerable position,
but she was not eager to see his bloated body naked, not eager to
have him touch her. The very idea caused a roil of revulsion in her
She removed his shirt, his undershirt,
folding each carefully, laying it over the railing. Brandt was
clearly uncomfortable with his large bare chest and bulging stomach
exposed. She played with the little hairs, curled in the humid heat,
rustling her fingers slowly through the tips without touching his
flesh. Her hands dropped and she fondled under the heavy fold of
flesh that spilled over his waist band, brushing against the arousal
on accident as she undid more buttons and a belt buckle. He stopped
her, pushing her wrists away so he could continue undressing himself.
She took the pants from him, adding them to his pile of clothing.
He was done undressing, keeping his full length underpants on to get
into the warm water. Standing in it, it came to his chest, but he
went under the surface and rubbed it over his head, his face.
Twyla smiled as she watched him, then
turned away to open the bottle of whiskey. She took a deep swig,
then kept her back to him, removing the little glass bottle from her
stockings and uncorking it. She considered for a moment, then
upended the entire thing into the amber liquid and swirled it around
by spinning the bottle around, some of the laced whiskey splashing
onto her hand. Letting the mixed drink settle, she removed her shoes
and shawl and tossed it haphazardly over the railing, adjusted her
cleavage once more, then went to sit on the damp wooden boards,
swinging her stockinged feet around and dipping them into the water.
Now that she was getting used to the warmth, it wasn't so bad, it was
Brandt was busy rubbing water over his
fleshy body, but she got his attention and waved him over, laughing
joyfully as she held out the bottle of whiskey, coaxed him into
taking a deep pull from it. He offered it to her, wanting her to
drink. She faked it, putting her thumb over the opening as she
tilted the bottle up, giggling as she offered it back to him. He
took a sip, and she put her fingers to the bottom of the bottle,
making him drink more than he intended. He tried to get her to drink
again, but she sat the bottle aside.
“Don't that feel bettah?” she asked
while leaning forward, showing her cleavage, her long curl dipping
into the steaming water.
“Yeah,” Brandt agreed as he relaxed
so that only his head was above the water level.
She stretched her feet out, rubbing his
shoulders with her toes, giving him a nice look up her thighs.
“Ya feelin' bettah about spendin'
some time with me?”
He nodded his agreement, his tongue a
fat pink worm quickly running over his lips. One wet hand came up
and rubbed the outside of her right thigh. Twyla raised her head,
looked around the room. The naked man was gone, the man in the
long-johns had his head back, and he was either sleeping or enjoying
the view of the ceiling. Perfect.
“Have some more,” she said, holding
out the whiskey. Brandt was all too eager to comply. The bottle was
over half empty now, and his eyes were starting to look glazed over.
He tried to hand her the bottle, but she shook her head. “Nu-uh,
ya drink it aw-all up, I'm feelin' a little woozy already.” Brandt
seemed to accept Twyla's excuse and kept the bottle as she motioned
for him to move over closer. When he got to the edge, she made a
circle in the air for him to turn, and he did, ever the obedient dog,
while taking another sip. She dropped her feet in the water, resting
her thighs against his sides. She rubbed her hands along his
shoulders, massaging his warm doughy flesh.
“Yer so tense, Brandt,” she lied,
saying what she thought he wanted to hear. “Ain't no shame in
relaxin' in tha comp'ny ufa pretty lady,” she said in a teasing
tone. In truth, he was relaxed, and she could tell from the way his
head was bobbing around that he was having a hard time keeping
focused as the drug took effect. He tried to say something, but his
words were a mumbled mess of slurs. “Brandt?” she whispered,
leaning in close to the side of his face. “Brandt?” The bottle
of whiskey dropped into the water and left his hand, floating out of
reach. Twyla leaned his head back into her lap, looking into his
drooping, glazed eyes and smiled down at him, planted a soft kiss on
his forehead. “Poor, sweet, dear Brandt.”
She moved as gently as she could,
laying his head on the wooden boards so he would stay afloat, she
hoped. What a shame for him to fall into the water and drown with
all that unclaimed cash sitting in the vault. She cast a glance at
the other man who was still sleeping before she got up, her wet
stockings making sloshing noises as she went over to the carefully
arranged clothing over the wooden railing. Her hands explored all
the pockets, digging into them and rummaging around. She found a few
items that made it into her blouse, nestled between her breasts. A
gold pocket watch on a long chain, a few printed bills [ four of
them, worth one dollar each ], two large silver coins, and a small
box with a pink bow tied around it. She hesitated on it, but it too
became hers. A large buckle was attached to his belt, heavy with
tarnished silver and gold decorative accents, the name of a ranch
etched above an image of a bucking horse. She hefted the weight in
her hands, then secreted it away with the rest of her finds. She
remembered the gold wedding band around his finger, but decided
against it as it would take too long to work it off his bloated
finger. She she took away wasn't so bad, it would make her a few
dollars wherever she landed after Delamar, and Brandt would sleep off
his hazy into the next day so she had time to find another lucky
patron before the night was over.
She left Brandt sleeping in the pool,
left the murky heat of the downstairs and went back up to the main
lobby, wiping her face with her shawl. Her dress was clinging to
her, her legs and skirt wet, and her top was leaden with her hidden
stash, but as she turned into the gambling lobby, her eyes scanned
over the patrons as her fingers twirled her curl. The man at the bar
kept a close eye on her, but she gave a dainty smile and strolled
between the tables, leaving wet footprints on the carpet.
Apr 14 11 9:10 AM
Harvester of Lost Souls
Slayer of Men
Punisher of Gods
May 2 11 7:09 AM
May 2 11 7:13 AM
May 25 11 12:08 PM
Jun 22 11 2:08 PM
Jul 6 11 6:17 PM
Aug 29 11 9:19 PM
Oct 9 11 6:27 AM
Main Street, September 12th,
1878 8:56 pm
Hawk built up a sweat as he carried
bucket after bucket up the steps, dousing the dying flames. The glass grenade
was impressive. He had read about such devices in a scientific periodical but
had no idea that they were commonly available. Once the engine arrived, he
backed away from the action, removed his hat and doused his head in the horse
trough. Straightening, he wiped his face on his sleeves and looked around.
Lightning played in the dark skies
above the foothills around Delamar, deepening the shadows in the town with
infrequent flashes of blue. With the fire nearly out and the volunteer brigade
in charge, most the townsfolk began to disperse and return to their homes. Across
the street from the smoldering ruins of the office, Old Injun Bill sat upon the
Gallows frame, weeping; he had lost 4 sons earlier today in the mine. The
thunder echoed distantly in the mountains, almost drowned out by the patter of
rain hitting the tin roofs of the buildings and the growing winds that failed
to mask the lingering, unmistakable smell of a lethal fire. It stirred a memory
He and his Pa had ridden hard to get to
the Warren ‘stead. They had been out inspecting their trap lines when they came
across the trail. His father read the signs; a Comanche war party, a big one
and more than that, accompanied by white men. The Comanche neither wore hard
soled boots nor shoed their horses. They lost the trail at the river but the
Warren place had to be their goal. The northeast side of the river bank was
dotted with homesteads and Clem Warren’s was the closest. It was just after
nightfall and the orange glow in the bank ward sky left little doubt as to what
they would find, but the smell of charred wood and flesh on the wind confirmed
it. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the sky was lit with flashes of
The rain had just started to fall when
they came upon the old squaw with the rifle. She was burned badly and half
blinded but somehow managed to drag herself to the river bank. They both
recognized her; she was the Lakota woman that the Warren’s kept as nanny to
their children. She raised the rifle to fire on them, her hands trembling with
the weight of the gun. Pa spoke to her in her language, which Hawk only knew a smattering
of, before she lowered the weapon and began to weep. As Pa and the old woman
conversed, Hawk knelt beside her to give her water from his skin. Her wounds
were fatal; she would be dead before long. She coughed and began to convulse.
With her burned hands, she gripped Hawk by his shoulders, fixing him with her
gaze and whispered “Wayate nitawa oyate! Wayate nitawa tiwahe… kici Wicate omani
aka ota hahepi ki!”
Then she was dead. Hawk gently laid her
back on the bank and closed her remaining eye. His Pa took her rifle and slid
it behind his saddle. There was a look of grim worry on his face that Hawk had
never seen before. He moved to his horse, asking “What did she say, Pa? My Sioux
ain’t so good.”
“She said the Comanche have joined with
red haired devils in blue coats and are moving up the river, burning and
killing in the name of a flag.”
“Shanahans?” Hawk asked as he mounted
his horse. In the distance, another fire sprouted up.
“I expect.” Pa spat on the ground.
“What about that last bit, what she
said to me?”
“She said, ‘See to your people. See to
your family, for Death travels on many feet tonight.’ He said after mounting
his horse. Hawk and his father shared a worried glance as the rain began to
fall; their homestead would be next. Without another word, Pa turned the collar
of his coat up and tugged on the brim of his hat before riding up the bank and
on to the trail. As he followed, Hawk thought about his mother and sisters
alone in the cabin…
The Mayor barking orders at the fire
men brought him back to the present. The fire was out now but the gun safe was
still inaccessible for the moment. Greene, the fire chief directed his men to
douse the area. Hawk spied Vaughn making his way through the dispersing crowd
of townsfolk, looking pale and haggard. It had been a bad day so far. The mine
accident, the Daubers, McConnell’s men, the fire… but Hawk couldn’t ignore the
gnawing feeling in his gut that it was about to get worse. With the memory of
the loss of his mother and sisters brought up by the situation, all he could
now think about was Miss Josie. He would do everything in his power to keep her
safe. He could not let anything happen to her.
“I gotta go back to the Bucket,
Sheriff.” Hawk said as the law man came up to him.
“What the hell for? Need to change
clothes again?” Vaughn asked with sarcasm.
“I wanna check on Miss Josie, one more
time.” He replied, ignoring the barb.
“We just came from there.”
“I gotta get my horse from the C.U.
“You’re wasting time. The Daubers…”
“You ain’t paying me by the hour,
Vaughn.” Hawk cut him off “I said I would see this through and I will but I
wanna check on Miss Josie.”
“Well, for crissakes, why?” The Sheriff
Hawk looked back towards the gallows
frame. The Old Apache was gone.
“Because Death travels on many feet
tonight…” He said grimly.
Oct 19 11 6:10 PM
Feb 27 12 1:36 PM
Tent City Sept
12th 8:49 pm
Bill Westings had been enjoying a bowl full of noodles,
cooked for him by the Chinese whore he had just got done fucking, one of the
perks of working the night shift in Tent
City. Most of the other Regulators despised working
grave yard, but Bill loved it. He was a
natural night owl anyway. Before being
hired by McConnell, Westings was a night rider for several years, watching the
herds at night. Sitting in a tent,
eating your fill of noodles and fucking some slant eyed whore was much better
than riding drag behind a bunch of fifthly, shitting cows any day of the
week. He sucked up a noodle, watching
the long dark hair woman straighten up the blankets and sheets on the floor of
the large tent. She wore a colorful silk
robe that clung to her thin body, her nipples poking at the sheer fabric. Bill felt a stirring in his pants. He had more than enough money, maybe a second
go around was in store for tonight he thought, as the robe slide off her
shoulder and her head turned and gave him a sly smile.
Suddenly Bill heard screaming, and jumped up, sending
noodles in the air and onto the floor.
Walking out of the tent into the dark and rain filled night, Bill was
greeted by chaos. Several Chinese men
seemed to be attacking each other. Men
screamed. Bill saw several biting one
another. Blood squirted into the mud and
onto the out side of the canvas tents.
Several tents were on fire, apparently from lanterns that had fallen
The young woman whom Bill had slept with came out and
screamed. “Jiang Shi!” she screamed
grabbing Bill’s arm, pulling at him. He
pulled away from her. “Jiang Shi!” she
Bill yelled out for people to stop, but no one heard or
cared. Panic had gripped the workers. He pulled out his gun out of its holster, Tent City
was outside Delamar
City, thus the no weapon
carry law did not affect Regulators in charge of guarding the Chinese
workers. He shot a round into the air,
hoping to get their attention.
Suddenly a man began running towards him, one of the
workers, his face burnt, his nose missing, lips gone revealing teeth. Bill lowered his revolver and fired, twice,
hitting the man in the chest. It slowed
the man down for a second, but he kept coming.
Bill yelled as the man literally jumped on him, sending him crashing
onto his back in the mud. The young
woman screamed and ran off into the nights as Bill put his arm just below the
man’s chin to keep him from biting him.
The man’s mouth snapped like a wild dog, looking to put his teeth
anywhere into Bill’s flesh. Bill got his
leg under the man and kicked him off, sending the smaller Chinese man feet away
into the mud. The man’s eyed him with strange
purple eyes, and hissed as it stood up out of the mud. Bill shot two more times before the man was
on him again. Both fell into the mud
once more, but this time the man snuck his teeth deep into Bill’s shoulder,
ripping flesh and muscle free from Bill’s body. The pain was tremendous, and Bill screamed
out, his mind panicking. He flailed
about; trying to get the man off of him, but it was too late. The man dug his teeth into his chest, and
Bill could feel fingers pushing into his stomach, nails ripping at his
stomach. Another man came up, and he too
began pulling at the skin of Bill’s stomach, kneeling down to rip, and tear,
and bite at the skin. His shirt was
shredded and Bill watched in shock and horror as hands dug deeper into his
stomach ripping at flesh and tearing his innards out. All the while they chewed him, biting off
pieces of flesh as Bill slipped into unconsciousness.
Outside the Shanties Sept. 12th 8:51 pm
Donald had watched in
horror as the impossible happened. McGee
was dead, changed so quickly from a person into something that could only be
described as a demon. Donald had never
been religious, but his mind spun with thoughts of the supernatural, of how
McGee had been turned into something unholy.
Then Donald’s analytical side kicked in.
This wasn’t supernatural; this was something that medical science could
explain, he was sure of it (at least his sanity depended on it). As Jason and Dan began to walk away, Donald
quickly grabbed the sheet that had covered the rat’s cage. His feet sinking into the mud of the street,
he ran towards what was left of the head.
“What the fuck are you doing Doc?” Dan yelled.
Donald threw the blanket onto the head, wrapping it up, careful not to
get any of the black substance that had was
oozing out of the wounds of Tex’s
broken and shattered head. As he did so,
he noticed how the ‘tentacles’ were actually twisted muscle, with the black
substance intertwined with the fibrous tissue.
“Leave that thing there! Jesus
Jason looked on confused.
“Dr. Hessman, what are you doing?”
“It will be fine, as long as there is no contact with the
black substance. I need to study it if
we hope to stop what’s happening,” Donald told the two men as they were
mounting their horses. He quickly ran up
to do the same, cutting the cage off his horse that housed the infected
rat. Holding onto the ends of the sheet
with gloved hands, Donald was careful on to let the head touch himself or his
horse. A black stain grew at the bottom
of the backshift bag..
As all three started to back to the saloon, Dan looked unhappy. “Don’t get that shit near me Doc, you
understand. I’m not going to fucking end
up like Tex,
got that. I’ll fucking burn that thing
before I touch it, or it touches me.”
Suddenly shots could be heard from the direction of where Tent City
was. All three men looked at each
other, worry clearly worn on each of their faces.
“I suggest we hurry,” Jason said staring at the headless
body left in the mud.
Main Street, September 12th, 1878 8:57 pm
Shaking his head, Vaughn watched as Hawk walked away in the
rain. The boy had it bad, but who could
blame him. Vaughn remembered feeling the same way about his wife years
ago. Pushing the sadness of the thought
of his deceased wife away, he made is way to the ruins of the jail. Walking through the broken door, and past the
collapsed pieces of wood and the safe, Vaughn inspected the smoldering remains,
embers glowing in the wood. The rain
sizzled as it hit the heated metal of the jail bars and safe. In the cell were two bodies, blacked meat
hanging off the skeletal remains. He
used a gloved hand to open the jail cell, feeling the heat even through the
leather. One of the bodies lay on its
back, the other on its side. A bullet
sized hole could clearly be seen in the forehead of the skull of the body that
lay on the back. Kneeling over he moved
the smoking skull of the on its side to see a hole the same size between the
two eye sockets. The men had been
executed before the fire started.
The mayor stumbled in, cursing as his plump hand touched the
still smoking wood.
“Well,” Vaughn said, still kneeled down but addressing
Schelletlin. “I’m going to need three
arrest warrants for murder held against Duncan Dauber, Virgil Dauber, and
Johnny Dauber, and I need them as quick as Judge Elderkin can write them.”
Schelletlin looked around.
“How do you know these men were murdered? The fire could have been an accident. These men could have been killed by the
Vaughn pulled the skull of on of the skeletons off of the
body, and held it up to the mayor. “Does
that hole look like something a fire could do?”
He threw the skull back down on the ground. “I want those warrants and I want them
tonight. Don’t go playing some political
game simply because you think the Daubers are necessary to the mine. People are dead, the Daubers were the last to see these men alive when they broke Virgil out of jail. They were the ones that killed these men and set the jail on fire. Justice must be served.”
The mayor just nodded unhappily as Vaughn walked past him, bumping
into his shoulder. "Sheriff Vaughn, you better be sure," the mayor said. "You better be sure and you better arrest them. You kill them, you make this a lynching party, and I'll make sure YOU hang."
Vaughn paused. "I'm trying to prevent a blood bath." With that he walked back
out into the street, one of the deputies under his steed came up to him, Deputy
Ransey. He was a short, stocky man,
with a full mane of blond hair, which was hidden under his hat. “I came as soon as I could Sheriff. I was
patrolling the north end of Main
Street when I heard the bell.”
“I need you to run and get the rest of deputies in town, find
anyone that wants to help and deputize them.
We’ll be riding out to the Dauber Ranch.
Be quick about it, once Mr. McConnell gets wind that his men were
murdered he’ll dispatch the Regulators.”
“Have them met up here, it won’t take long for that safe to
cool, and we’ll hand out the weapons as soon as we can.”
Suddenly a voice next to them spoke with an Irish
accent. “Sheriff Vaughn. You need to come to my shop. Tom Keene is there, he’s dead.”
Outside the C-U Corral Sept. 12,
1878 9:05 pm
Virgil led his father’s horse down the empty mud street as
the rain pelted down at him. His arm
still hurt from being shot a few days ago, but Dr. Hessman had fixed it up
pretty good, and Virgil was happy to finally be out of that jail cell. A home cooked meal by his step ma would hit
the spot, and his stomach growled in agreement. Duncan’s
head rested on his chest as the horse walked, his drunken snoring clearly heard
over the pouring rain. Virgil shook his
head, his father had gone on binges before, but never enough to pass out
sitting up in a saddle. Phil’s death had
really affected his father. Virgil
couldn’t help but feel pity for his father and his own grief of his brother’s
death hit him hard. Virgil wiped the
rain from his face.
As past the Orsby House, the sound of men drinking and
carrying on seemed to almost taunt Virgil’s sadness. He didn’t notice the man standing watching
him, still in the pouring rain. He kept
the horses at a constant trot, carefully not to go to fast as to either make
his father fall, but also, wanting to leave town as quickly as possible before
the Sheriff decided come for him and his father. A few minutes later they were passing the
Suddenly, horses broke out of the corral just as Virgil
passed it, running into the street and out of town as fast as they could
the hell? Virgil though watching the horses disappear into the
darkness. His father snorted a bit,
mumbling something before getting back to his snoring. Looking at the corral, he spied the
silhouette of someone in the darkness.
The eyes seemed to glow, giving chills down Virgil’s spine.
Before Virgil could think, the silhouette darted from the
entrance of the corral, rushing towards them.
The horses reared backwards, throwing both Virgil and Duncan off the
horses. As he crashed into the mud, the
cold shocked Duncan
back to consciousnes. He laid there for
a seconds, the air knocked out of his body as the horses reared back, neighing
widely. Even in his drunken state, Duncan had been around
horses enough that he instinctively rolled out of the way.
The horses ran as Duncan
heard Virgil screaming. Standing up, Duncan was greeted with
the sight of a man on top of his son his mouth clamped onto his son’s throat as
Virgil tried to beat the man off of him.
pulled himself out of the mud.
“Get off of him!”
The man pulled back suddenly, and Duncan could see a chunk of bloody meat that
had been ripped from his son’s own throat.
Anger pushed drunkenness that clouded Duncan’s mind as he stood up, pulling the
revolver he had planned to challenge Wade with from its holster. He shot, hitting the man in the chest. The man fell backwards with the impact of the
bullet, but simply rolled back up and jumped on Virgil again. This time the middle son was able to get a
hand in the way. The man’s teeth dug
into the meaty part and blood welled up between the man’s teeth.
fired again, and again, each hitting its mark, but having little affect. The two shots were able to knock the man off
his son again, but the man continued to get up.
“Fucking die!” Duncan yelled, empting
his weapon, shooting two more times in the chest, then one to the face.
The man seemed to hiss and jump up, ignoring the wounded
Virgil, ignoring the fact that his cheek bone just below the left eye had
completely disintegrated from the bullet strike. He ran towards Duncan on all fours, like an animal, his eyes
glowing purple, his face stained with black and Virgil’s blood. Just as the man got close to him, Duncan’s boot smashed
into his face, forcing him face first into the mud. Duncan
flipped the gun around and began to smash the handle against the back of the
man’s skull again and again. The man
continued to struggle, but every time he attempted to get up from the mud, Duncan would smash him
“Die! Will you! Die,
die, die!” With every word, Duncan brought his boot
down on the back of the man’s skull, driving him deeper and deeper into the
mud. Finally, the man’s head became
was crushing his skull with his boot, but the man was still struggling. Duncan
didn’t care, the anger over the last few days, anger of his son’s death, built
up was released upon the man’s head. Duncan continued to bring his boot down upon the man's head. Finally, the skull broke upon in the mud, and the man stopped
ran over to his son, he was sitting up in the mud, holding his bleeding
“Dad…I’m hurt real bad,” Virgil gurgled, spitting out
pulled his son’s hand away, he could see the wound. It seemed superficial, he had seen
worse. It was painful, but he doubted it
was bad enough to kill his son. Duncan
paid not attention to the black specks around the wound, believing that mud had
caked his son’s wound.
“Come one Virgil, we’ll get to the Orsby House, and I’ll
have someone fetch Doc Hessman for you.”
He helped his son to his feet, but his son was weak from the
attack and almost stumbled back into the mud.
His father caught him and had him lean his weight against him. Duncan
was old, but he wasn’t weak. His much
larger son leaned his weight against his father, feeling sick and light headed
as the duo began walking towards the Orsby House.
Orsby House Sept. 12, 1878 9:18 pm
Kurt quickly dismounted his horse, tying it up onto the
hitching post outside the Orsby house.
Looking around, he say a man in the middle of the road, looked
drunk. His eyes seemed to glow purple. Kurt didn’t like the looks of him, but he had
other things to do. Walking onto the
Orsby House entrance area, his boots clicked on the hard wood as he made it to
the double doors and flung them open.
“Listen up, people,” Kurt announced as loud as he
could. The entire bar, man and woman
alike, gazed up at Kurt. “All Regulators
need to get dressed and ready up for action.
Anyone who wants to make two silver coins, or just has a dislike for the
Dauber Family is welcome to join up with us. We ride to take the Dauber family
Just as Kurt finished, someone at the bar, an older man,
looked up wide eyed and paniced.
“Frank? Jesus, Frank? What happened?”
Kurt turned to see the man who had been standing in the
rain, looking at him, his face had little black veins pulsing about it, his
eyes purple, and inhuman, The man
opened his mouth and suddenly rushed Kurt, hitting him with all his weight and
sending Kurt to the flying backwards, into a table where four other cowboys had
been playing and onto the floor. The man
lowered his face to Kurt and suddenly pain erupted as teeth dug deep into his
nose, the man biting and tearing at Kurt’s face.
© 2017 Yuku. All rights reserved.