((Susiebot, DB, you guys are awesome! You're going to give me the big head. *head swells to room size then asplodes!* Boom! *Heroid brains all over walls and ceiling...*
Um... I mean, thanks for the compliments and noticing the references. 
))
((Heh. I been just eating this up. You're kidding, right? The Yellow King...Cassilda's Song...Whateley Kin? I'm singing of lost Carcosa right now. ^_^" Keep up the good, and inspiring work. ))
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.
((This continues to entrall me. So so so so good. That being said, your next challenge for a story is something funny, happy, and doesn't give me nightmares at night. :-P ))
[/e agrees 100% with Reiki!]
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
The patrons of the gentlemens club were stretched in a line along the edge of the flat plain that was the lake. They looked up the ridge of the shoreline at a solitary figure that was there. The figure was large, tall and wide, but dark and featureless as a starless night; its exact shape was indiscernible, but somehow it evoked power. Behind the figure, dust swirled high into the air. When the figure moved, the sandstorm followed, back and forth behind it.
Bitner stood in the center of his line, and on either side of him, Killian recognized the gunslingers he had shot over the past days
weeks
however long it had been. To the far left of the line Mr. Boulan stood, his mouth moving and his eyes closed if Killian had to guess, he would say the man was chanting some spell.
Killian lay on the burning hot ground, the pain a welcome sensation that made him in some way feel connected with real life and not the nightmare existence he had endured lately. He looked through the binoculars, then pulled them away from his eyes, trying his best to judge the distance between himself and Bitner. He wasnt within range yet. He would have to get closer.
He belly crawled across the cracked surface of the lake bed and was almost in position when a commotion arose that caused him to hold. He looked through the binoculars and saw a sight that made the blood freeze in his veins.
Mr. Boulans body was convulsing and twisting. His shape was contorting until he was no longer shaped like a man, but rather like a large slug; then he grew. In seconds he went from man-sized to almost the size of a steam engine. He began to excrete a yellow, steaming slime.
Killian dropped the binoculars and bit down on his own arm to keep from screaming.
The beast that had been called Boulan reared up to strike. The shadow thing twisted toward him and the dust storm rolled violently. It swirled into a cyclone and swept down the hill toward the left side of Bitners line and tore across the patrons, sucking them in and upward, but most especially, it seemed to target the monster. The twister grabbed the Boulan creature and despite its struggles, whipped it in a circle, then drew it in. The beast shot upward into the tempest.
Then the whirlwind receded and died. The beast and the men it had sucked up were gone.
Killian put the binocular back to his eyes and looked. Bitner was shouting but Killian could not quite hear what he was saying. The dark figure was still; the sand beneath it churned as if gathering strength for another attack, then sand and darkness surged and became one; the figures outline was lost in the black sand wall that had formed along the shoreline.
Then there was the flap of leathery wings and suddenly the remains of Bitners line rushed the ridge. The dead gunslingers guns blazed as they shot into the wall of sand and darkness.
Killian stood to a crouch and ran forward a few feet before dropping to the burning hot ground.
He didnt know who or what the dark shape was, but if it was Bitners enemy, then it was Killians ally. The man who was once sheriff of a mining boomtown raised the marksmans rifle, took aim, and fired. One of the gunslingers Col. Mortimer went down. Killian drew back the bolt and the spent cartridge popped out, then he shoved the bolt back into place and shot down Jack Colby. McGaffey was next. The last gunfighter the one in the fringed shirt and too-small hat he shot twice, just to make sure that this time, he didnt come back.
Killian raised the binoculars and tried to make out what was happening in the skirmish. Some of the patrons of the gentlemens club took on the shapes of beasts and devils and dove headlong into the inky sand. The mysterious figure was nearly impossible to make out through the nebulous dust. As it moved through the churning horror of gunfire and claws, amongst the seething of skin and scales, Killian thought the dark shape could be either man or beast, or something neither something he had no name for. It moved among them and the clientele of the gentlemen's club began to die, falling backwards from the swirling dust devil with gurgling screams, as if their very souls were being ripped from them.
Killian could not bring himself to look away as the ranks of his adversary were whittled away by whatever force this dark dust storm harnessed.
Then the torrent of sand slowed, diminished, until the figure stood hazily outlined against the fading daylight, its form breaking up, blowing away like smoke in the desert wind. Those of its enemies still alive pummeled, slashed, and tore at it, ripping away pieces that dissipated in the breeze.
Why? Killian wondered. It had been winning easily. Killian swept the battlefield with the binoculars. There. Bitner had crept away from the fight. He held the large tome called the King in Yellow open and was reading from it some spell or incantation.
Killian drew back the bolt of the Mauser.
One shot. Bitner went down.
Killian put the binoculars back up to his eyes.
The figure coalesced; the dust from the earth shot upward and filled the holes its opponents had made. It heaved and shrugged and tossed its assailants aside like cards in a bad hand. Then it raised his arms one last time and a tenebrous cloud formed around it and swelled until it eclipsed all of its enemies. The shadow-cloud writhed like a living creature for a few moments, and then it dissipated. When it was gone, there was nothing left but a pile of shriveled husks and the strange dusky figure standing over them.
The stranger walked to Bitners body and picked up the book. Then it came toward Killian.
Who
what are you? Killian asked.
The stranger walked past him, toward the town, without so much as looking at him. As it passed him, its form shifted and became definite. No more a vague shape made of dust and shadow; it now had the form of a large man, with shoulders as wide as a doorway; he wore a long tan coat and a wide-brimmed hat. Killian was looking at the strangers back and so could not see its face, whether it was a man or some other thing.
I am a seeker. The voice was deep and rough like a cave-in in a mineshaft and it sent a chill up the sheriffs spine.
A seeker for what?
That which I have lost.
That aint no answer.
Without breaking stride, the stranger said, Do not get in my way.
Wait! Killian said, drawing his Colt, unsure now if the stranger was an ally or not. Im the sheriff here
Are you? The stranger said it without pausing or turning to face him.
Killian really didnt wish to challenge it after seeing what it was capable of. He lowered his gun but didnt holster it and followed the stranger back into town.
Listen, stranger, Killian said as they walked. I just want to thank you for what you did back there. You have no idea what those men
I have a very good idea, Sheriff.
As they approached the town, for the first time the stranger turned to face Killian. His face could have been chiseled out of flesh-colored stone, well-muscled, with craggy features. The one thing that stood out more than any other feature was his eyes they were white and pupiless. But Killian knew he wasnt blind.
Where is she? the stranger asked.
There, Killian replied pointing to the Lost Lake Gentlemens Club.
The stranger nodded and said, Come with me.
Killian did. He followed the stranger into the club and led him up the stairs to Rosalyns room. When they opened the door, she was still lying in bed, asleep, restful, as if for the first time in her life, she was at peace.
The stranger walked to the bed, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Rosalyns eyes fluttered open and she smiled at the stranger. There was a look of affection in her eyes.
Bethany Rose, the stranger said softly, though his deep voice rumbled as he spoke.
He stroked her hair and her face, and traced her lips with his fingers. She smiled up at him, and then contentedly closed her eyes.
I knew youd come, my beloved. she said in an English accent that Killian had never heard from her before.
I am here, he said, with the same accent.
Then the stranger picked up the pillow where Killian had earlier laid his head and put it over Rosalyns face. He pressed down. Rosalyn began to kick, but then calmed and became still again. The stranger kept the pillow pressed down.
Stop! Killian shouted, Youre killing her!
Without looking up, the stranger said, She died a long time ago.
No! Shes alive!
Shes reanimated. There is a difference.
No! Stop! Killian drew his pistol, Stop or Ill shoot you.
Do what you feel you must, the stranger said without moving.
Killian fired. There was a spark and a sharp report like the bullet hit a rock and ricocheted. The stranger was unharmed.
Killian holstered his gun and leapt onto the strangers back, but the stranger didnt as much as flinch. Killian tried for a time to pull the stranger off he even bit hard into his neck but he might as well have been trying to move a boulder.
Killian gave up and fell off of the stranger, even as the stranger stood up and dropped the pillow to the floor.
Rosalyn lay on the bed, her face slightly blue, and her eyes lifeless, like they were when she was under the opium.
God
God
Killian could not believe their savior had become her killer.
The stranger rubbed his neck where Killian bit him and said, Im sorry, Sheriff. It was for the best. You will come to understand that.
The stranger went downstairs. For a time, Killian sat on the bed beside Rosalyn, then kissed her and covered her with her satin bedspread.
When he got downstairs, the stranger was sitting at the bar sipping Bitners good whiskey. Sitting on the bar in front of the man were the two books. The smaller of the two was flipped open.
Death, why do you deny me your succor? the stranger read aloud in a voice that sounded like sawdust and black powder, Why must I linger unfulfilled? When my soul does desire to move on to the shadows; and my heart to rest, unbeating and stilled.
Killian stood feeling the emptiness of the poem spread into him.
You see? the stranger said, It was what she wanted to be free.
I loved her.
As did I, a long time ago.
Then why
? Killian began, but he did understand. He understood everything.
Her time was not come yet. To make her linger would only forestall that.
Killian nodded.
Your time will come again also, and we shall test one another.
Killian nodded again.
The stranger closed the book and stood. He picked up the smaller book, leaving the larger one on the bar, and walked towards the door.
I trust you know what must be done, Sheriff.
Killian nodded. He knew what must be done. He recalled the day he had fled from the beast. The day Rain had died. The day his friends had died. The day he had died.
He truly is the finest reanimator on two continents
Killian drew his gun, placed the barrel in his mouth, and fired.
((...))
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.
That's going to leave a mark.
[Yeah, I wasn't sure, but I thought that's what had to happen. You know that means you have to write another one, right?]
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
(( Awesome stuff, Heroid. I wish I could write half as good as you. I eagerly await the next chapter. ))
[ QUOTE ]
[Yeah, I wasn't sure, but I thought that's what had to happen. You know that means you have to write another one, right?]
[/ QUOTE ]
((Another one is already percolating in my little bitty head.
And thanks to everyone who read this one. I hope my uplifting little morality play lit up your otherwise gloomy lives, brought a smile to your face, and sweetened your dreams at night. 
))
((Applauds.))
Great stuff, Roy.
I'd suspected it was a tie-in to your earlier story based on the King in Yellow text, but it was really good to see my suspicions confirmed in such a skillful way.
Also, the twist ending was nicely hinted at and wonderfully executed.
The Elysienne; Magical controller
Silent Sickle; Natural scrapper
And many more.
Aenigma Rebis: "Actually, Ely's more like Jean Grey. Only... smart."
Awwww 
I miss the Sherriff
((And since I linked the prequel to the sequel, I should link the sequel to the prequel...
And I Will Make Thee Sepulchres of Roses ))
... holy crap.
Okay, I can't stand horror stories. Movies especially, but literature too, usually. The closest thing to horror I can stand is the Supernatural TV series, mostly because it doesn't take itself too seriously and has a healthy dose of comedy mixed in.
But this was outstanding.
I wish I hadn't read it, and yet I'm glad I did. It's an exercise in revulsion and fascination in equal measures.
"Timid men prefer the calm of despotism to the tempestuous sea of liberty."
"Nothing is unchangeable but the inherent and unalienable rights of man."
- Thomas Jefferson
((
Whateley kin! Get'im! When this storm breaks...))
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.