A Strange Place, a story by Stanley Wilkin at Spillwords.com

A Strange Place

written by: Stanley Wilkin

“Come out!” Jake demanded.
His rifle was aimed at the impenetrable darkness before him, the entrance to an even darker tunnel. Arriving back after looking for Desert Cottontails amongst the rocks around them, he’d heard a low, squelching noise. One he and the others had heard before.
He peered in.
“Come out.” He shouted again. “Or else ah’ll start shooting.”
The cave became completely quiet. Beyond the cave entrance, a wind gathered up the sand.

Tom called from the entrance, blinking in the contrast between the sun’s fierce light and the blackness before him.
“What’s all the fuss about?”
“No mind. No mind.” Jake replied, turning around. “I heard a slobbering back here. “
Tom drew his pistol, levelling it up towards the recess.
“What is it, Jake?”
“Probably nothing. But maybe a bear. One of them cave bears. A shuffling like them bears do.”
“Shall we go in and have a look?”
Jake walked backward away from the tunnel entrance, keeping his eyes on the small opening.
“I can smell a bear from a mile away an’ this don’t smell like any bear to be honest.
“A mountain lion, maybe?”
Tom suggested, moving forward.
“Maybe we should go in. If it’s a lion, we can take care of it.”
“Nope,” Jake advised. “Too dangerous in the dark. Get us ‘fore we can do anything.”
“Best we go elsewhere, Jake. We can’t stay here.”
Jake joined him in the cave entrance the sudden light striking him. His eyes shut hard.
The noise of movement came from the tunnel and both men levelled their pistols again. They stared at the tunnel. Waiting. Searching.
“I heard it plain, Jake. Something big. Maybe very big.”
Jake grasped the older man’s wrist.
“Yep, you did. I did too. I heard it again.” They began walking down towards where Lame Hester was busy cooking. “We’ll sleep outside tonight. Gotta wait around ‘till the boys get back.”

Lame Hester was bent over the stove, her back to the cave. Outside were several bulbous cacti, thin stringy grass and huge rocks. From there the ground sloped, ending in a shallow ditch, which Hester and the stove shared in comfortable compatibility. She’d made the stove from small rocks, building it up to four feet. In the centre she’d placed a broad, thin sliver of rock and cooked on that. She turned her face as they reached her.
“You two back? Where’s the rest.”
Jake and Tom chuckled.
“Not put yer brain in yet, Hester. Too early in the day.”
“Wha’s that?”
“Left ya brain out, Lame Hester.” Jake patted her grey hairs. “We’ve been here all day.”
“You not notice?” Tom patted her hair too.
“Well, I didn’t see you.” She turned back to her cooking. “I smelled ya though. I smelled ya right enough.”
She turned over the venison.
“I smell that thing in the cave too. I smell it night and day.”

Billy Boy hated leaving the hideout. But he needed money, Pinkertons or no Pinkertons. Eighty miles around there were pickings to be had, new towns growing towards cities. The railways had reached the mid-west and brought with them people and money. Lots of money.
Jake at the time was feeling ill. Well, that’s what he said. He and Titch thought it was the booze. It was always the booze. He and Tom were always swigging. Living in the desert had just made them worse. Billy Boy liked a drink too. But a glass or two were enough for him. And someone had to think of money. Getting on their horses to stake out a town or railway line. Or even waylay a lone rider headed for Santa Fe. Even rustling a few cattle from one of the big herds that were kept on what remained of the prairies.
Still, there was something at the hideout. Something not right. He’d heard it. Titch had heard it. But Billy Boy wasn’t bothered by any of it. His pistols would take care of everything, monsters, ghosts and Pinkertons.
“How much did we get, Billy Boy?”
“Just 500.”
“Dollars?”
“Well, not grains of sand.”
Lefty laughed.
“If that was the case, we’d all be rich.” Lefty noted with a sly wink. “I’d be rich with just what’s in my breeches.
He pulled out his breeches pocket and yellow grains tumbled out in a thick cloud.
“Still don’ seem much. Not much at all.”
Billy Boy sat back on a rock heated by the sun. Mosquitos buzzed around frantically, tripping over his flesh.
“It was only a small town. Wasn’t gonna be much in such a small place. Cows and cowboys. Barely enough people there fer a poker game. We got what was there.”
Lefty chortled startling a lizard from out of its sunbathing.
Billy Boy looked up. He shielded his eyes looking to where the horizon melded in with the sky.
“Titch is back. That looks like him.”
Lefty turned, squinting.
“Sure looks like him. Yep, that’s him.”
Titch’s bulky form bent over his horse seemed to fill their vision. Coming at a trot the steam rising visibly from his horses’ haunches. He was taking his time making sure that no sand dust flew up and into the air, visible to anyone behind them. Billy Boy tipped his canteen up and water dripped into his mouth.
When he reached Billy Boy and Lefty he slipped out of his saddle and slapped off the film of sand and grime over his leathers.
“Hi.” Titch called out. “There’s a posse about an hour behind.” He spat out saliva, creating a temporary puddle. “About ten. Maybe a dozen. No more than that. They must have been close to the town to ‘ave started after us so quick.”
Billy Boy looked out towards the direction Titch had come from. He saw a rising cloud discolour the sky.
“They’re about twenty miles back. That’s about it.”
Billy Boy grinned.
“Let’s ride. They won’t find us in the mountain.”

They reached the hideout the following morning, looking behind them constantly for the posse. They were always still there. They couldn’t shake them.
“Got one of them scouts with them.” Billy Boy growled.
“Sure looks like it.” Lefty agreed.
“Ain’t an ordinary posse.” Billy Boy muttered.
“Don’ worry none, Billy Boy, when we get to the mountain they won’t be able to keep up. Scout or no scout.”
Billy Boy nodded.
“No one could. Nothing could. They should stop where they are. Hard going now. Hard going.”

The horses deftly navigated the upward tracks, moving around the rocks, their manes stiffened with sand. It was a dangerous trek but not an impossible one. The sun was climbing up into the sky, drenching the outlaws with heat.
After an hour they reached the hideout.

Only Lame Hester seemed to be there, bent over the stove, as she often was.
“Lame Hester.”
She did not seem to hear him. She did not seem to be moving.
Sliding out of his saddle he walked over to her.
“Lame Hester!”
He bawled into her ear.
“What’s the matter with you, you old fool. Answer me.”
She was expressionless.
“You old fool, answer me!” He bawled poking her with one stubby finger.
She fell over. Very slowly. She floated downward like a sheet of paper.
Hitting the ground she broke into a hundred pieces. Skin only with nothing inside. Her skin began drifting away in the hot breeze.

Billy Boy stepped back in horror.
“Damn.” Lefty blurted. “Damn and damn.”
Titch turned around and vomited over the cacti. His vomit hung like banners off their spikes.
“Damn all right.” Titch said when he’d recovered. “And Damn, damn, damn again.”
Only her clothes were left.
“What happened? What happened to her, Billy Boy?” Lefty looked over at his old friend. “Nothing left of Lame Hester. Nothing left!”
“Stop shouting, Lefty.” Billy Boy drew his gun. He moved it around in a half circle. “Where are the others? Can you see them?”
Titch pointed towards the cave.
“There’s Tom. Up there.”
Billy Boy followed his finger seeing Tom staring at them from just inside the cave.
“Tom.” Billy Boy shouted. “It’s us.”
Tom’s figure just stayed there, without apparently moving.
“Tom.” Lefty called.
Tom drifted back into the cave.

“The hideout must be around here.” The marshal leaned over his saddle staring at the rising accumulation of rocks and cliffs. “Perfect place to hide anyway. Wonder how they came upon it?”
He spat out the tobacco he’d been chewing. It made a tiny scar on the ground.
Joe, the head of the Pinkertons, rode up beside the older man.
“We look for a cave. That’s where they all end up. I’ve dealt with a few. Same thing. Always the same thing.”
“There’s plenty around here. All over the place.” The marshal said. “I know a couple.”
“Sam, we’re your guests. Show us the way while there’s plenty of daylight left.”

When they arrived at the hideout an hour later the place was quiet. They pulled out their guns pointing them towards the cave entrance.
“There’s a stove here.” Sam touched it. “Been used. Not that long ago.”
Joe looked up.
“Hey, there’s someone up in the cave.”
They scuttled away hiding amongst the rocks. They stayed there watching. Expecting to be shot at. Nothing happened.
After five minutes, Joe looked up. The figure was still standing in the opening.
“That’s Billy Boy. Know him from the posters.”
The marshal stood up and stared at the strange, immobile figure.
“It is.” He observed. “He looks odd. Up there and not moving.”
“Aint got a gun? Has he?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“He looks dead, don’t he?” A Pinkerton snapped in awe at the figure standing motionless just inside the cave. “I mean, he does. He really does. I mean, is he moving?”
“Cause he is. The marshal replied.
“Don’ look like it.” The young Pinkerton insisted. “Is he moving, or is it the shadows?”
“Damn it boy, you’re making us all fearing for no reason.”
“He does.”
“Don’t talk silly.” The marshal snapped. “He’s moving.”
They noticed he was moving from side to side like grass in a wind.
“See?”
The marshal stepped forward, his gun raised.
“Come down, Billy Boy.” We don’t want to go up.”
Billy Boy moved backwards into the cave.
“Damn him,” the marshal grumbled. “Just wan’ us to work for a living. Damn him.”
“Come on,” he said starting off up the scree. “Let’s go drag them down. Keep ya guns cocked.”
He strode up like a man half his age.
“We’re coming for you Billy Boy.” He yelled.
It took them awhile for their eyes to adjust to the gloom, but their noses and stomachs took longer to adjust to the smell. It come from the tunnels. Flesh rotting. Sewage. Rivers of sewage. Death.
“Where did Billy Boy go?”
They looked around, moving one way and then another.
“Maybe, he ran down the tunnel.”
“Which one? There are three.”
“I don’t know.” The Pinkerton growled. “Hey. There’s another one. See?”
A figure flitted out and then back in the tunnel.
“I recognise him. It’s Lefty.”
“He looks dead too.”
Lefty seemed to lift his arm, moving further back into the dark.
“Lefty, come on out.” The marshal shouted levelling his gun at the darkness. “Come out, Lefty. Come on out and bring the money.”
Near the entrance, the youngest and shortest Pinkerton felt something touch his back. He half turned but the beak burrowed into his spine. His eyes opened wide. The tentacle to which the beak was attached began to shorten and lengthen sucking out his insides. The young Pinkerton’s eyes stayed wide open as the light died out. The man before him was captured in the same fashion. Sucked dry, innards and bones pulled into the feeding tube attached to his lower back.
Before he entered the tunnel, the marshal looked around noting that all the Pinkerton’s were there. Most seemed to be. They had spectral unmoving features. As he entered the last Pinkerton was stabbed by a beak, lifted off his feet and quickly sucked dry.
The marshal screamed.

Fifty years after a troop of soldiers from the nearby barracks arrived at the hidey. hole searching for two deserters. During that time, there was little use for soldiers. Many deserted out of boredom. A few fled to Mexico living a happy life of spiced food, tequila and beautiful wives.
The cave was full of carcasses. Bears skinned. Mountain lions piled high, just layers of skin. In the gloom, near several tunnels, ghosts appeared. Old outlaws. Each wearing thick, big moustaches.
Then a soldier screamed.