I am enjoying this story, very much. Great job.
A week passed.
Some strangers left town, others came in. The longer the gentlemen's club stayed open, the odder the clientele became. Some of them talked funny, some of them didn't talk at all. Some dressed in silks and satins, others normal. Still others dressed in furs and leather. But every night the lamp stayed on in Rosalyn's room and shadows moved in there until near dawn.
"Nick," Greedy said as he poured Killian another cup of coffee, "You're looking pretty haggard. Reckon you might need to get some shut eye?"
Killian took the cup from his friend and shook his head. "Something just ain't right, Greedy."
The storekeeper looked at his friend silently, then turned away without comment. When moments passed without a word between them, Greedy walked to the door of his store and closed it, blocking Killian's view of the Lost Lake.
"Listen here, Nick," Greedy said, "Them men -- whatever else they might be up to -- ain't doing nothing that ain't legal in this territory. Why, you haven't so much as had to lock one up for drunk and disorderly. They're heads and shoulders above the old crowd of miners and drifters we used to have. And who knows, maybe some of them will stay and this will turn into a viable town. Now, no more staying here with my door open all night. No more, you hear?""
"All right. I guess that's fair." Killian stood, rubbed his stiff knees, and said, "But take my word. You don't want them men staying in this town." Then he opened the door and walked out.
Sleep? How could he do that when the whole situation was eating at him? He walked down the street to the jailhouse and went inside. He could still see the Lost Lake from here, but he couldn't look inside the door, nor could he see her window. He shut the door behind him and sat with his feet propped on his desk.
But maybe Greedy was right. Maybe lack of sleep and too many years of too much trouble were making him see things that weren't there. Maybe if he just closed his eyes...
She was there. All pink and golden-haired, with eyes that burned into a man's memory, and lips he would sell his soul to kiss. She stood right across the desk from him. Her hair moved like a breeze was blowing it, long strands moving in wisps behind her. Her skin was pure and white from head to toe.
Killian stood and with a hand swept everything that cluttered the top of his desk off onto the floor. Rosalyn gave him an amused smile and laid down.
He didn't remember shucking out of his own clothes, but he had. Her arms reached up to him and her fell into them without a thought. Any caution he had once had concerning the girl had been swept away just like the desk clutter.
She pressed her body up against his and their lips came together.
Then Killian shoved himself off of her so hard that he stumbled and landed on his backside on the hard floor.
She sat up and looked at him, first in confusion, then a sadness dulled her eyes. "Why won't you love me?" she asked.
"You-- your lips-- your skin..." Killian stammered, unable to reconcile the ecstasy he had felt moments ago for the revulsion he felt now. "You're... cold!"
"I told you he would kill me again." Her expression was heart-broken sad.
Of a sudden the jailhouse door crashed in. Rosalyn screamed and her eyes widened as in through the remains of the door, a thick black tentacle slithered. It was covered in rows rings, each ring about as big as the palm of a man's hand; and each one of those rings was circled with rows teeth as sharp and wicked as a wolf's.
The tentacle wrapped around Rosalyn and yanked her through the doorway with such force that it pulled the remains of the oaken door off of its hinges and out onto the street.
Killian was sat stunned into silence. When a second tentacle as large and black as the first wriggled into the jailhouse, Killian screamed...
... and woke himself up.
((Woo. 
))
There are no words for what this community, and the friends I have made here mean to me. Please know that I care for all of you, yes, even you. If you Twitter, I'm MrThan. If you're Unleashed, I'm dumps. I'll try and get registered on the Titan Forums as well. Peace, and thanks for the best nine years anyone could ever ask for.
Two days after the disturbing dream the killings happened.
First, Rusty, Lucky, and Ned came to town with the biggest gold nugget anyone had ever seen. When asked if it had come out of Satan's Chimney, they had replied, no. They claimed that one of the strangers had made it for them out of a large chunk of quartz they had found that had only a fleck or two of gold in it. When asked how in the world a man could take a rock and turn it into solid gold, Ned replied, "He said he was a chemist."
Then Rusty corrected his friend and said, "That's alchemist, Ned."
To which Lucky said, "You're always so damn much smarter than we are, aren't you, Rusty?"
And the three friends began an argument that soon turned into a brawl, and after Ned had come out on the losing end of that, he pulled a gun and shot the other two. Now Ned was locked up in Killian's jail and the population of Liar's Lake was decreased by two.
The next day, Old Luke Patterson and his son, Danny used some boards they had left from the old building supply to build a couple of coffins, and Ma Hunkle -- possessor of one of the few Bibles in town -- said a few words over them.
After the funeral, talk turned to the nugget. Caul Tildon, Lester Cox, Tucco Sanchez, and Manly Wellman had all seen it and spoke in awe of it's shining glory. "What happened to it?" someone had said. That became a point of heated debate, and since Ned was the last one of the three miners alive, he was the person Killian went to ask.
Ned wouldn't talk at first. He figured that as soon as Killian could get the circuit judge to come out, he was a dead man anyway. But Killian reasoned with him that two people had already died on account of that rock, and it might be best to locate it before someone else died. So, Ned wound up telling him who all had been witness to the brawl and the shooting that came of it: J.D. Drew, Joe Watson, and Joe Eagleclaw.
Killian went out searching for the three men. On a hunch, he rode two days to get to Satan's Chimney. He figured they would go looking for the bonanza that the miners had found. His hunch was right. When Killian found them, both Joes had taken a pickaxe to the skull and J.D. (the "J" of which ironically stood for "Joseph") had turned a pistol on himself.
The giant gold nugget wasn't there. He buried the men in holes that had already been dug, either by them or by Ned and company, then started the two day ride back to town.
When he camped that night, Rain kept acting skittish and whinnying like there was something wrong. The horse wasn't usually given to nervous behavior. Killian had ridden him in the face of Comanchero ambushes and Rain had even saved his life once when they were caught in a flashfire in Colorado.
"Easy there, boy," he said and patted Rain's neck. "You smell something on the wind, fella?"
Killian picked up a handful of dust and threw it up, watching to see which way it drifted. The wind was blowing from the south -- from the direction of town.
(( 
))
There are no words for what this community, and the friends I have made here mean to me. Please know that I care for all of you, yes, even you. If you Twitter, I'm MrThan. If you're Unleashed, I'm dumps. I'll try and get registered on the Titan Forums as well. Peace, and thanks for the best nine years anyone could ever ask for.
((For the record, this story has already given me nightmares once so far. Keep up the good work? *hides under the covers* ))
I like. I like.
When he got back to town, there was a lot of commotion going on. The townspeople were loading horses and wagons with whatever things of value or utility they had. They milled about busily, checking each other to make sure they had this or that, or if that wagon wheel needed repair before they set out. It was like everybody in town was moving out.
From up on Rain, Killian looked down at Greedy as the old man finished packing a wagon with dry goods, store fixtures, and furniture. He asked, "Where are you going?"
Greedy looked up and smiled, "Same place as them," he pointed to the end of town where other wagons and horses were raising a cloud of dust. "They bought us all out -- fair price too! -- so we're all leaving."
Killian took off his black Stetson and scratched his head. "Seems kinda sudden, don't it?"
"You don't look a gift horse in the mouth."
"Still..."
"Goodbye Nick. You was a good friend, and I'll miss you."
"Greedy... I..." Killian stuttered and stammered, but couldn't come up with words. Something was not right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Greedy shook his head and climbed up on the buckboard.
"Wait!" Killian said, he found at least a part of what troubled him. "Greedy, what happened to that book?"
The old man smiled and said, "I sold it to that Bitner fella." Then he picked up the reins and ordered his horses to "giddayup!" and took off.
Killian followed slowly, watching as his friends and neighbors left town, leaving him there alone with the strangers. He followed them out to the low ridge that marked the dry lake's ancient edge what the locals had always called the shoreline. Something still wasn't right; he wanted to shout out after them, tell them to come back, but there would be no stopping them now.
As the little caravan approached the ridge, a rumbling rose up from all around. Rain skittered and reared, and nearly dumped Killian out of the saddle. The rumbling grew louder, so loud it shook Killians bones. Then the lake bed cracked open and something came out.
A long, sinuous blackness erupted from the earth. It was the size and length a steam locomotive with a train of cars behind, and it moved with as much speed and force. From far behind, Killian could only watch as the creature overtook the little caravan and encircled it with its snaking body.
Wet and slimy, it exuded a yellow trail of steaming goo that smelled like a rendering plant. The greasy fluid sent up a noxious vapor as it puddled around the terrified townsfolk; the stench was overwhelming.
Killian could only listen in dumb terror as, hidden from his sight behind the thick loop of the beast, his friends began to scream. Time seemed to stop as the creature rolled its massive body over the townspeople and their wagons and horses, crushing them into a smear on the barren lake bed. Then beast turned and reared what passed for its head, looking at Killian with dark, too-small eyes.
He wanted to flee, but the fear had him so that he couldn't move. Rain, however, did what any smart animal would -- he ran.
Killian turned to look back and saw the creature coil around to follow. He had no idea what the thing was, and didn't try to figure it out. He spurred Rain on and hoped to stay ahead of the beast. Somehow, it seemed, his lead was getting longer -- which meant he might make it if the horse could keep up this breakneck speed.
That's when the lightning hit. A streak came out of the clear desert sky and struck the ground right in front of them. Rain planted his hooves on the rocky ground and stopped. Killian didn't. He flew over Rain's head and hit the ground hard on his face. The reins were still in his hand and so the painted horse stumbled after his rider, rolled, and came to rest on top of him.
Killian tried to breathe but everything felt broken. Rain didn't move, and Killian knew Rain was dead, and as a result, so Killian would be soon. He closed his eyes and waited for the giant creature to come finish him.
(( ))
[well darn. I liked that horse]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
"Wake up."
He opened his eyes and saw her there, beside him. With a slender finger she traced around his brow, down his jaw line, to his mouth. Her finger stroked his lips, and then she kissed him. He kissed her back.
After the kiss she laid her head on his bare chest just like they had been lovers long enough to be comfortable just lying together. He could feel satin on his skin, and when he looked around, he saw that he was in Rosalyn's room at the gentlemen's club.
"Rosalyn?"
"Yes?"
"Am I dead? Is this heaven?"
Rosalyn laughed. "Oh, Nick Killian, you are so funny. No, this isn't heaven."
Killian tried to remember how he got here, but all he could remember was that the monster worm had killed his friends and neighbors and then had turned and chased him and that...
...nothing. He couldn't remember a thing except turning around to see the beast chasing him.
When he sat up in bed, Rosalyn grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him back down, saying, "Please, just a little more time with me?"
His head felt like it was filled with sand and his stomach churned. "The people," he said, "my friends, they're all..."
Rosalyn sat up and looked into this eyes. "We're still here," she said. "I'm still here."
Killian brushed her hand off of his shoulder and swung his feet to the floor. "Your boss... he had something to do with it."
Rosalyn frowned but did not reply.
Killian stalked across the room to the dressing screen and looked behind it, then strode to the wardrobe and opened it, and when that didn't seem to satisfy him he went back to the bed and stood over Rosalyn. "Where are my clothes?"
"Emil will bring you new ones."
"Bitner?
Rosalyn nodded and said, Now, please, come back to bed. She threw back the covers and invited him under them.
Killian looked at her laying there, her skin pale pink, smooth and perfect as if she had just been born. She looked at him with eyes that showed no signs of her opium use, and if he tried real hard, he could imagine that she was looking at him with the eyes of true love.
No, he said.
Nick
Something aint right. I need to get dressed and get out of here
figure out whats going on
There was a knock at the door. Killian scooted over behind the silk dressing screen and peeked over the top of it as Rosalyn got up and, without so much as wrapping a sheet around her, walked over and opened the door. There stood a man so fat and tall that Killian could not see all of him through the door frame. The man sweated profusely; and he stunk with a stench that was not of sweat, but smelled
noxious as if he had bathed in rotted meat.
Oh my, Rosalyn said, Is it noon already? I didnt realize it was so late.
Nooo, Misssss Rossssalynnn.
The mans voice sent chills up Killians spine and he quickly thought about and dismissed leaping out of the window to get away.
The man continued: I ammm earrrrrly. Emiiiiil hasss requessssted that the shhhhhheriffff come dowwwn for a little enterrrrtainnnnment.
The man handed Rosalyn a bundle which looked to be clothing with a black flat-brimmed hat on top. Then he said, I wiiillll be baaaack innnn twooo houuuurs for my appoiiintmeeent.
Rosalyn smiled sweetly at the large, round man and said, Thank you, Mr. Boulan, Ill be ready.
When she said that, Killian looked down at the dressing table and at the needle and the little jar of light-brown powder that sat on top of it.
Mr. Boulan excused himself and Rosalyn shut the door. I told you Emil would provide you with some clothes, she said.
Who was he? Killian asked.
If you are going to ask that every time a gentleman comes to visit me, she replied, then our relationship is not going to be a happy one.
Rosalyn
I dont understand any of this
You dont have to, Sheriff, she said as she handed him the clothes, but you do have to get dressed and see what Emil has for you.
Killian sighed. The window was looking better and better. But where would he run to? There was no one left in town but him and the strangers. He was pretty sure that when he got dressed and went downstairs, he was going to die.
Rosalyn, he said as he dropped the bundle of clothes to the floor, I might have to go down and face my fate, but I dont have to be in a hurry to do so. To his surprise he smiled as he said it.
Rosalyn took his hand and led him back to the bed and all the promises that satin sheets held.
Killian had left Rosalyn to prepare herself for her visit from Mr. Boulan. It disturbed him greatly to think that such a creature would soil the sheets that he had so recently warmed. It disturbed him even more that he would be with a woman who would share a bed with such a man.
He pushed those thoughts out of his head and focused on the scene at the bottom of the stairs.
The downstairs of the gentlemens club was bustling, just as it had been on the night when he had first met Rosalyn. Some of the strangers he had seen before; others were new; still others turned their faces away, or wore low-brimmed hats, or long bangs, so that he could not see their faces.
Bitner was there, dressed in a light blue suit, smiling his alligator smile, and sipping a glass of whiskey. Ah, there he is! Bitner shouted when Killian came down into view. I must say that I admire the showmanship of a belated entrance. It builds tension nicely.
Killian paused. Belated
showmanship? What the hell are you talking about Bitner?
Why you, my dear sheriff, Bitner said with a glee in his voice, are to perform for our entertainment on this fine afternoon.
Entertain
?
The little man looked Killian up and down that in a way that made his skin crawl, then said, You look resplendent in black, Nick. Now, come along; a dramatic entrance is one thing, procrastination is quite another.
Wait, now, I didnt agree to
The smile vanished from the Bitners face as he said, Do as I say.
Ill be damned if I jump when you
Killian didnt finish the sentence. Bitner spun on his heels and started toward the saloons swinging doors; Killian followed.
The feeling was almost dreamlike, as if he was watching himself follow the man out into the street, like being caught up in an unreal scene that had to be played out, and then he would wake up except he knew he was awake.
As he passed the bar, Killian was handed by the burly bartender a gun belt with two chrome-plated Colts in the holsters. Killian nodded a thank you because he was pretty damned sure he was going to need the pistols.
Outside the midday sun glared down and waves of heat rippled on the dusty street. Strangers lined both sides, standing in the shadows of doorways and awnings, some under parasols, and still others fanned themselves with fancy oriental fans. Quite a few, however, stood fully under the harsh light and looked completely comfortable, as if heat was what they had been born to.
Bitner addressed the crowd: Gentlemen, I welcome you to the days midday entertainment. You have a few moments to arrange any wagers you wish to make. In the meantime, let me introduce to you our combatants.
Killian worked quickly as Bitner spoke to put on the gun belt and tie the holsters to his thighs. It was not the setup he would have chosen. The holsters were deep and with barely a notch to accommodate the gun handles, not what he would have chosen for himself at all.
My friends, Bitner continued, I believe you know our stalwart sheriff, Nick Killian. He paused and swept a hand in Killians direction, then continued. And if you look up in front of the church, Im sure most of you will recognize our challenger
Killian looked up the street. Though the shadow of the midday sun and a hat pulled low on the brow obscured the mans face, the fringed buckskin shirt and the narrow-brimmed cowboy hat reminded him of someone he knew long ago. But that couldnt be, because that man was long dead.
The newcomer strode down the street toward the saloon. He wasnt large of stature, but neither did he seem small. Compact was the word, like fist balled up tight compact and powerful. His gait was purposeful, and his bearing confident.
Killian knew for sure who it was even before the stranger lifted the brim of his hat so that Killian could see his eyes.
You!?
Yep.
But
youre dead. Up in Johnson County, Wyoming
Jack Wilson shot you just before you gunned him down
Yeah, well, the newcomer said, I came back.
Killian pulled both of his guns -- one on the gunfighter and one on Bitner. Bitner! You tell me whats going on!
Put your guns away.
Like hell I will, Killian said even as he realized they were already holstered.
You will draw them, Sheriff, but you will draw them at the proper time. Bitner smirked then went, Tch. Tch. You made such a nice entrance, only to botch up the presentation.
Killian wanted very badly to curse the man, to spit in his face. Instead, he said, Im sorry.
Bitner smiled as if at a child who had confessed stealing a pie, and said, Its quite all right. Im sure you will impress us very much in mere moments. He turned to the crowd and said with a smile, Now, gentlemen, place your final wagers and well get underway.
Killian found himself walking down the street in the direction opposite the church, toward where the street disappeared into the open desert. He told himself to run, but his feet just kept marching straight down the middle of the street, and when he reached a certain spot, just short of the abandoned claims office, his feet knew where to stop.
From here he knew what to do. No dreamlike compulsion. No sense of lost will. Here instincts from a life he had tried to forget took over. He watched his opponent with the eyes of a hawk. Every flare of the nostril; every blink; every heave of the chest; every strand of fringe on the shirt Killian saw it all. And he waited.
The fringe at the elbow shook just a little, but enough for Killian to see and to know.
Both mens hands moved quicker than any eye could follow. The stranger drew his single Smith & Wesson and fired; Killian heard the bullet whiz past his left ear before he squeezed the trigger of the gun in his right hand. His opponents shoulder jerked backward as a spray of red shot out the back of it. Before the other man could recover and aim, Killian raised both his guns the one in his left hand aimed toward the chest; the one in his right, at the head and fired.
The gunfighter fell backwards and threw up a cloud of dust when he landed. He lay perfectly still as a crimson stain spread beneath him, then quickly soaked into the thirsty ground.
A thunder of applause broke out from the crowd of strangers, as Bitners voice rose above it, saying, And once again, we have proof that it is not the quickest draw, but the steadier hand and the cooler head that wins the day. Well done, gentlemen!
Killian looked at the body lying in the street and wondered if he could hear Bitner's declarations of approval and satisfaction.
After the gunfight, the dreamlike feeling returned. Bitner took Killian into the gentleman's club and set him up with his own bottle of Kentucky bourbon and Killian sat at a table alone to drink it. Now and again, one of the strangers would come up and clap him on the back and swear that it was the best gunfight he had seen yet and that Killian must have nerves of steel.
Killian filled his glass and looked at it without drinking. All of this had started when Greedy had shown him that book, and whatever power was being exerted over him, that book must have something to do with it. He just had to figure out what and how before Bitner put him up against a gun that was surer than his.
Suddenly a sickening smell almost overwhelmed him and when he looked up, he saw Mr. Boulan standing on the landing at the top of the stairs with Rosalyn close behind him.
"We're ready," Boulan announced.
A clamouring arose from around the room as the patrons of the gentlemen's club got up out of their seats and gathered below the landing. Those of slight stature jostled to get in front of some of the larger men. Killian found himself on his feet standing among the fringe in the rear.
Rosalyn wore a sheer white gown, tied in the front, and her hair was tied back with a length of white lace. Her eyes were glassy with dark circles under them. Even so, Killian still found her beautiful, and if he had not suddenly lost the strength of will to act on his own, he would have vaulted the stairs, grabbed her, and made off with her in a blaze of gunfire. As it was he could only watch.
From a back room, Bitner and his bartender emerged carrying a large washtub. The inside of it was stained a red deeper than any rust Killian had ever seen and he shuddered as the two men sat the tub down directly under where Rosalyn stood. Boulan offered her his hand, and she took it as he helped her climb up to stand on the railing. Then the bartender ascended the stairs carrying a length of rope, which Boulan took and tied around Rosalyn's ankles.
Killian's breath was coming in short, quick gasps. His heart felt as if it was going to beat out of his chest. He tried to shout at her to wake her up, but even his mouth was beyond his command now.
Boulan reached out and gave Rosalyn a gentle push that sent her over the rail where she hung upside down. Then he produced a long, wickedly curved knife and lunged halfway over the railing. The knife found its mark in Rosalyn's heart, then Boulan pulled himself back to stand on the landing, the knife following upward.
Blood began pouring into the washtub.
The bartender was busy again, milling through the crowd with a tray of tiny, crystal shotglasses.
Killian found himself holding one of the glasses. Bitner stood close by his side, watching the gentlemen lined up at the tub, filling their glasses with Rosalyn's blood.
"Won't you join us for a drink, Sheriff?"
[Yeah. and Eww. Keep going]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
(( I would usually say that horror is one of my least favorite genres. ))
(( I'm loving this. ))
My characters at Virtueverse
Faces of the City
((Oh. My. . . .))
When everyone had filled their glass, Bitner climbed the stairs so that he could address his clientele. "Friends and associates," he began, "today is indeed a momentous day. For months we have traveled this country seeking a location in which we may freely pursue our interests without the threat of interference or persecution. Now, we have found that place."
He paused and a spot of applause erupted.
Killian held the glass of blood in a trembling hand. It was still warm and the scent of it was worse than Boulan's stench. He could not bear to look up to see Rosalyn's defiled corpse hanging there, so he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
After the applause died, Bitner continued; he held up a rather large book as he spoke. "I have yet another piece of wonderful news. Many years has it been since I gained possession of this book -- the rarest of all editions of the King in Yellow the Sisters Binding. My own father printed it, and he knew it was special. My father was a print master of some repute among devotees of the dark arts
"
Many, many years earlier
Where did you find this?
Aldin Bitner man crouched over the stack of pages like a lion over a deer. He looked up at the stranger who had brought in the manuscript: the man had an air of aristocracy about him, yet he did not seem to be of that pampered ilk. Neither did the man have the sickly pallid look of one who spent his time pouring over ancient scrolls.
Never mind where I found it, the stranger replied. Just tell me if you can do it.
Aldin Bitner looked over the pages. Well
it will not be easy to maintain the form of each page exactly, down to the letter no, no you said down to every dot and dash. And these roses that are drawn on three corners of each page
Oh, very difficult to do on my old press. That will cost you
I am not much for quibbling. Name your price, but if you tell me you can do this and you fail, mark my word that you shall regret the undertaking of it.
Y-yes. I c-can do it. A-and I can mix the a-ashes into the ink. Y-yes.
The stranger smiled. Good. Take your time, but notify me at this address with the total charges for your work when it is done. He handed Bitner a card with an apartment number. I will send a man by to pick it up. You are to ask him no questions and there will be no mirrors in the shop when he comes. Is that understood?
"There are no mirrors now, sir."
The stranger looked around to confirm that fact. "Good. See to it that it does not change before my associate comes."
Aldin Bitner nodded, and after the stranger curtly turned and walked out of the print shop, he said again, just as the door closed, It wouldnt kill you to tell me where you found this
Through the milky glass in the door, Bitner saw the man pause, and was afraid for a moment that the man had heard him, but then the stranger was suddenly gone.
Bitner took the manuscript and worked as quickly as possible. The words he read as he set his type were familiar, and the further he got into the work, the more he came to understand their power. Some there were who said that reading these words would cause madness. Nonsense. Fools always confused enlightenment with insanity.
In his dealings with printing arcane and ancient books, Bitner had made a few contacts. Among them was a necromancer of considerable talent, but less than modest reputation. The necromancer preferred his relative obscurity because it kept him away from the notice of the Council of Wizards and Sorcerers of England and the Celtic Lands. When he had finished the printing, Aldin Bitner took the book to him.
The necromancer examined the book, and confirmed that the book was a mooring a way of chaining souls to this realm of existence in order to keep them from passing over to the other side. And due to the nature of the book itself and the fact that there was not merely one soul, but the souls of three sisters anchored to it; it had the potential to become an object of great power; for the sisters indeed represented archetypes found in the book archetypes necessary for all of the magics in the tome to be released and mastered.
Aldin Bitner could not believe his luck. He filled his shop with mirrors, and when the stranger's associate showed up to retrieve the book, the associate found himself trapped in their reflections. Aldin Bitner shattered the mirrors, and absconded with the tome.
Little did he know, however, that the stranger had another object to which the sisters souls were moored -- a comb.
When the stranger arrived to check on the book and his associate, he found the print shop deserted and the manuscript gone, except for a few pages that had inadvertently become separated from the rest. There were only a handful of poems on those pages, but it was enough.
The stranger took the comb -- with strands of one or more of the sisters' hair still entangled in the teeth -- along with the manuscript to a place not of this realm. There golden strands and the comb were used to craft a small book of the poems, which was linked by association to the larger book. From beyond the stars, a creature of amorphous nature was captured and bound to the smaller book. This creature would serve as guardian of the books and the sisters, to keep anyone from ever using the sisters' souls in ways that would forever damn them.
Over the years, the smaller book would always draw the larger book to it, and then they would both mysteriously vanish again until some intrepid practioner of the arcane would discover the larger tome, then the cycle would begin again.
Things changed, however, when many years later, the stars aligned, and the sisters were born, incarnate, in the body of one woman...
"... and so our intrepid band of mystics, conjurers, and demigods has wound up here in Liar's Lake, where the cursed 'guardian book' sought to woo my sweet Rosalyn and my precious King in Yellow away."
Here, Bitner paused, allowing his audience to bask in the moment with him.
Killian wanted to vomit, but he didn't think he would be able to unless Bitner gave him permission. He waited with dread for the moment that Bitner would stop talking and would give the command to drink.
Bitner continued, "And now I present to you our ultimate triumph!" Bitner suddenly held up a small, leatherbound book, thin enough so that it could easily disappear between other volumes on a bookshelf. "I have both of the books!"
A murmuring arose from the crowded room as the men in the club briefly discussed the ramifications of this new situation, then someone shouted, "Hail, Bitner!" which was followed by successive choruses of "Hail Bitner!" from all of those assembled.
All save one.
Killian stood shaking, fighting to regain his will, but he could not. He couldn't turn and walk away. He couldn't throw the shot glass full of blood in his hand away.
When the cheers died down, Bitner smiled and said, "But I have spoken too long, our beverage is getting cold." Then he hoisted his glass, and said, "To the Greater Darkness!"
"To the Greater Darkness!" came back the chorus.
Then they all turned up the glass and downed the blood. It was sharp and bitter on Killian's tongue.
After the toast, Bitner announced, "Give me an hour and she'll be ready to go again."
Then his bartender hoisted the body back up to the landing and carried it around the corner upstairs. Bitner followed.
The patrons of the gentlemen's club went back to their discussions and the drinking or their whiskey and wine, and left Killian standing alone among them as if he was beneath their notice. Killian overheard one of them say, "He truly is the finest reanimator on two continents." To which another replied, "So you think the Manchurian is as skilled?" And then another stated, "Perhaps more skilled, but hardly as prolific."
Killian finally found the willpower to faint. His body however remained standing.
((Ia! Ia!))
There are no words for what this community, and the friends I have made here mean to me. Please know that I care for all of you, yes, even you. If you Twitter, I'm MrThan. If you're Unleashed, I'm dumps. I'll try and get registered on the Titan Forums as well. Peace, and thanks for the best nine years anyone could ever ask for.
((Whoa. I was waiting for the tie-in, and bam! Better then expected. Awesome. Creepy. *peeks from under the covers* Let me know when it's over.))
He awoke once again beneath the satin sheets with Rosalyn at his side. She smiled gently at him with eyes that showed the after-effects of opium use.
"How many?" he asked.
"How many what?" She rolled over onto her back and laid her arm across her brow, the smile faded.
"How many times has he killed you and brought you back?"
"I don't know. It's not important. After the first time, it doesn't matter."
"What has he done to me? Why can't I fight him?"
Rosalyn bit her lower lip for a moment, and then said, "A binding. He has you under a binding spell. It's like... your body has to ask him permission before it can do what you want it to."
Killian laid and looked at her. She was beautiful, fragile, needy. She appealed to him in every way a woman can appeal to a man like him.
"He won't kill you again. I promise."
She raised up on her elbow, then turned and kissed him. He held her there, pressed his lips to hers, felt her tongue flicker across his, and when the kiss was done, she looked at him sadly and said, "Yes, he will."
Then she kissed him again.
Killian stood and looked at the chandelier where Rosalyn -- in an opium-induced, semi-conscious state -- was tied, spread-eagle facing the floor. She was smiling at him. He closed his eyes.
They had spent the day in her bed, uninterrupted, and in that same dreamlike state that he had felt during the gunfight. Live in this moment, Rosalyn had told him, and they did. It would have been easy for him to believe that the events of the past several days weeks? -- had been nothing but a nightmare, that the warm and yielding woman in his arms was merely a woman, and that when they were done, they could get dressed and he could take her to introduce her to Greedy and the Tildons
But no. She was hanging on the large, circular, wrought-iron chandelier in a former saloon, smiling at him, awaiting yet another death that he was powerless to stop.
He tried to remember how many times he had watched her die, but his memory was as cloudy as his perceptions. Only during the gunfights did his senses seem to function sharply. Jack Colby. Ed McGaffey. Col. Mortimer. All men he had known were long dead. All men he had recently gunned down in the street in Liars Lake for the entertainment of Bitner and his bunch.
He opened his eyes. She was still smiling. Bitner stood nearby, looking Killian in the eye and also smiling.
Mr. Whateley, are you ready? Bitner said without looking away from Killian.
From somewhere in the room, a voice that sounded like a dry, hot, desert wind said, I am.
Bitner nodded and Killian heard a rustling like someone taking off a heavy coat. That was followed by a sound like someone was beating a rug. Killian closed his eyes again. Whatever was making those sounds, he did not want to see.
But Bitner said, Sheriff, youre going to miss it!
And Killians eyelids flew open and he could no longer so much as blink.
Something large and roughly man-shaped, but somehow both more and less than human, flapped leathery wings as it flew a circle around the ceiling then landed atop the chandelier. It climbed to the underside of the fixture, and wrapped its scaly arms around Rosalyn. Then it folded its wings so that both their bodies were completely covered, hidden from sight. Except for Rosalyns face. She still smiled at Killian and continued smiling at him, even when the creature called Whateley began to
Killian screamed, but his mouth didnt open and he made no sound.
The harsh afternoon sun streamed through the window right into Killians eyes, waking him up from a dreamless sleep. Rosalyn lay at his side so still and so peacefully that he had to hold his breath to hear her breathe.
It was late in the day and no one had come for either of them yet.
Killian left Rosalyn sleeping and slipped out of bed. He got dressed though he felt naked now without his gun belt and crept out of the room and down the stairs. No one was there, not even the bartender.
He looked around for any sign of Bitner or his cronies, but it seemed the place really was empty. Killian went behind the bar and retrieved the gun belt that he had been using in the gunfights. For the first time in a long time, he was able to pick it up and put it on of his own free will. Then also for the first time in a long time he stepped out onto the street without Bitner accompanying him.
The harsh desert air blew in his face and it felt refreshing.
Liars Lake looked like a ghost of a town, as if all life in it was gone and the bare bones remained to bleach in the glaring sunlight. Killian tried to remember it the way it had once been, but too much had happened. The people he had once known would not even form phantoms in his memory.
He thought about going upstairs, waking Rosalyn, and taking her away. They could make packs out of supplies in the gentlemens club and the general store and probably make the trek across the desert. But he knew if they fled, Bitner would come after them.
Better to see what the situation really was before he made a desperate play for escape.
As he made his way through town, Killian stuck close to the buildings. He paused at windows and doorways, listening, peeking in to see if anyone was inside. The town seemed to be as empty as he had perceived it to be.
He was near to going back to get Rosalyn when he saw the dust cloud, rising like a thunderhead, out on the empty lake bed. His heart sank. Whatever was going on out there, it involved the clientele from the Lost Lake Gentlemens Club.
He looked back down the street. The sheriffs office door stood open as he had left it the last time he had stepped out of it. Inside would be the Winchester and the Mauser bolt rifle with its scope. If Bitners influence over him had proximity limits, then the range of the Mauser might end that influence once and for all.
Killian stepped into his old office, got the key to the gun lockup out of his desk drawer, then took both of the rifles out. He filled a box with plenty of rounds for both guns, grabbed his pair of old U.S. Army binoculars, then went out and started walking, down the street, out of town, toward the storm that was forming out on Liars Lake.
[ QUOTE ]
Jack Colby. Ed McGaffey. Col. Mortimer.
[/ QUOTE ]
Oh, come on...no one can kill Lee Van Cleef three times!
I'm absolutely addicted to this story. You rule, Heroid.
*crawls up on top of Heroids head and makes camp*
Go on. Go on.
*peers over at the computer screen to try to see what he's typing.*