The Old World

He bent down and dug his fingers into the dry dirt of the arroyo. It hadn’t seen rain in a month or more he surmised. His horse needed water. So, did he. He stood and surveyed the flat arid land around him. Except for the way he’d came. Couldn’t go that direction and if anyone was following him, they knew where he was. In the west, once his eyes adjusted to the bright white of the scorched desert ground, something took shape. A church tower. A town. A long way out still. He couldn’t push the horse much harder without water, so at least another day through the desert heat. There was nothing for it. Do or die. If it was a ghost town and there was nothing there to drink, he’d die anyway.

The horse whinnied in the direction of the town. Could probably smell it. It was a good sign. Unless it wasn’t. Death smells as strong as life, stronger if it’s been long enough. He patted the horse’s neck.

“Yeah,” the man said. “We’ll check it out. I’ll walk beside you a ways. Unburden you as much as I can.”

The horse whinnied again, huffed, and shook its black mane. The man nodded and started walking. A scorpion scuttled across his boot.

“Everything looks like a corpse out here,” he said and hoped he wasn’t prophesying.

Night came. He meant to keep going-ride the horse in the cooler air but he was so damn tired and the town wasn’t likely to go anywhere. He found a rock to prop his head against and tried to sleep. At night, the desert is all quiet, until it isn’t. The sound of wolves, lobos they called them down here, kept waking him. He didn’t mind. His sleep was fraught with nightmare images of walking corpses that moved like the scorpion from earlier. The horse didn’t seem to notice. Or it was dead. The man checked. Still alive. Just exhausted. Or the lobos were in the man’s imagination which didn’t comfort him in the least.

He awoke to the sun in his face. It was late morning. The horse was already up and grazing on dry sage brush at the end of its tether. He saddled it and got on. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll get you some real food in town.”

They reached the town near dusk. It wasn’t a ghost town. It was bustling, and that surprised him just as much. Out here in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to anchor it, no industry of any kind that he could see. Yet, it had everything he or his horse could need and more besides. The place reminded him of St. Louis on a smaller scale. He headed toward a livery to board his horse then went looking for a drink and some food for himself. Nobody seemed to take notice of him. Or at least no undue notice. They just went about whatever they were doing. Like they were accustomed to seeing new faces.

Street lamps ranged from one end of the town to the other. Another strange sight for such a place. Sometimes, when one of the townsfolks’ eyes caught the light, they appeared to glow, like those of an animal made for doing business at night, but as soon as they turned away from the light, the glow was gone. He felt the chill but forgot it immediately upon smelling something cooking.

“Steak,” he said to himself. He followed the scent to a saloon near the middle of town. It was full upon entering but no one eating. They were standing around in small groups, like they’d been posed there. There was a lot of conversation, not all of it English,. They didn’t seem to be talking about anything in particular. It sounded like they were reciting something they’d read prior. The man just shrugged. ‘To each their own,” he thought and walked to the bar.

“You have steak,” the man asked.

The bartender, a tall thin faced, ghost pale, man nodded.

“Whisky,” the man asked next.

Another nod.

“I gotta wait here or can you bring ‘em to my table,” the man asked.

The bartender inclined his head to an open table.

The man nodded and sat down. He tried not to look around. He was new here and it was he who should seem out of place but he couldn’t help himself. There was something passing odd here. Or at least with the folks. Every so often, he’d catch one of them eyeing him. He didn’t like it. There was something predatory to it. He knew about that. How many had he stared down with a similar look before drawing down on them. “Not as many as are in this bar,” he thought.

A different man, who could’ve been the bartender’s brother, brought out the steak and the whisky. The steak was gray, like the animal had died of some disease. When he cut into it, it was maggoty. He did his best not to vomit and casually pushed it away, examined the whisky for maggots, and finding none, took a long pull. When he sat the bottle back down, he noticed the room was quiet and near everyone was looking at him- wondering how he’d react. If they were disappointed, they did a good job of hiding it and turned back to their conversations. Quickly, the man who’d brought the steak, came and took it away, all without saying a word. He brought out another steak, that looked excellent, but the man had lost his appetite. “You got any corn chips or pretzels,” he asked. The waiter nodded and came back with a bowl of chips, staler than the sage brush his horse had the day before, but he ate them nonetheless. He needed food. After he got his fill of chips, he asked the bartender if there was a place to rent a room for the night. The man pointed a long, bony finger, with a fingernail you might see on a buzzard toward the door and made a sweeping motion to the right. The man nodded. “Got it,” he said and left the saloon with the half drank bottle of whisky.

“Well, that was strange,” he whispered to himself.

“What was,” a light young female voice with the slightest hint of an accent asked, causing the man to jump slightly.

“Uh, nothing, just tired,” the man replied. “Where did you come from?”

“Most of the town is from back east,” she said and grinned. She knew what he meant. “You looking for a room?”

“Yes,” he said. “For the night.”

“Got a packed schedule huh,” she asked.

“Just don’t like to stay in one place too long,” he replied.

“Running from something,” she asked.

“Looking for opportunity,” he said. “Don’t see much here for someone like me.”

“You never know,” she said. “Here’s the hotel. You want any company tonight?”

He gave her a hard look. It was a look that in the past, had made men ask for forgiveness or mercy, none of which he had in surplus. She didn’t even flinch. Her tongue, redder than he thought possible, flicked across her lips. “No,” he finally said. “It’s been a long ride and I’m nearly dead on my feet as it is.”

“We’ll see,” she replied and walked off still grinning.

The man shook his head, like coming out of a deep sleep and walked into the hotel lobby. It was magnificently adorned. Like some European castle. Another thing here that didn’t make sense. When he got to the desk, he was relieved to see someone who almost looked normal. “You have any rooms,” the man asked.

“We have six,” the clerk replied. “One on each floor. At the end of a hallway. Which would be your preference?”

“Second floor is fine,” the man said.

The clerk retrieved the key and handed it over. “Would you like any room service or perhaps a wake up call in the morning,” the clerk said.

“No,” the man said. “Thanks.” For some reason, the man didn’t think any good would come of giving anyone permission to come in his room.

The clerk nodded after him. “Very well, sir,” he said. “Enjoy your stay.” When he looked back, the clerk was gone.

“The hell is this place,” he thought. Then he remembered something and turned back to the counter. The clerk was right back where he’d just been. “What day is it,” he asked. “Kind of lost track out in the desert.”

“Of course, sir,” the clerk said. “Today is Good Friday, the day god himself died on a piece of wood. We do hope you can spend the weekend with us. We have a great feast planned to celebrate.”

“Right,” the man replied. “Well, goodnight.” For a moment, he thought the clerk hissed at him in answer but attributed it to being tired and out of his element. He was asleep almost immediately upon hitting the pillow. Like the previous night, his dreams were populated with dark creatures and walking corpses. Sometime in the night he jerked awake and thought he saw outside his window, the girl from earlier. When he got to the window and opened it, there was nothing. No balcony or awning, just a straight drop to the ground and he was on the second floor. He laughed at himself but as he was shutting the window, thought he saw a pair of eyes shining at him from across the street. Too high to be any animal he knew of but when he took a closer look, there was nothing. He didn’t sleep much the rest of the night.

The morning came too soon. He saw the whisky bottle by his bed was empty and though he didn’t remember drinking all of it, blamed it for his strange night and dreams. Still, he did something he hadn’t done since he was a child. He got on his knees and prayed. Then, he crossed himself, even though he didn’t know how, and got up to check on his horse.

In the light of day, the town was changed. There was hardly anyone on the streets. Just visitors like him. He spoke to one and learned he was headed out to Arizona with his family to open a silver claim but had been given a free weekend stay in the town and would be here for their Easter celebration.

“Anything seem strange to you,” the man asked the family man. “About this town, I mean.”

“They have some strange accents, but I just took them for Quakers or something,” the family man replied. “You know how those folks like to have their own little communities away from us sinners.”

“Except they have saloons and brothels and gambling here,” the man said.

“Well, maybe not Quakers, exactly,” he replied. “But some like that who like to keep to themselves.”

“Maybe,” the man said. “I’ll be heading out soon. Might be, I’ll see you in Arizona.” He shook the man’s hand.

There were no townsfolk on the streets but there were a lot of eyeballs on him. Peering out through the darkened glass that all the storefronts seemed to have. The livery didn’t have any glass in front. You had to walk deep into it to find anyone living, man or animal. When he found his horse, he knew immediately something was wrong with him. There was dried blood on his mouth, and he was lying on his side, taking heaving breaths.

“What the hell did you do to my horse,” he screamed at the stable boy. “He’s dying.” He grabbed the boy’s shirt collar. The boy grinned at him. It reminded him of the girl from the night before. He shook him to wipe the grin off his face, then threw him down in a pile of horse shit. Faster than anyone he ever knew, he drew his gun and aimed it at the boy, who was no longer in the pile of manure. “The hell,” he thought to himself. He whirled around but there was no sign of the boy. Then he walked over to his dying horse and shot him. “Sorry, boy,” he said. “You were the best I ever had.”

If anyone heard the shot, they didn’t bother to investigate. He looked for another horse, but the livery was empty except for the mules pulling the family man’s wagon. “Damn it,” he said to himself. “I can’t stay here. There is something wrong here.”

When he went back outside, the whole town had closed up. Even the family headed to Arizona was nowhere around. “Why did they kill my horse,” he thought. “To keep you here, you dumb bastard,” he thought in reply. “Do they know who I am?”

A shadow passed over him and he looked up to see the source. It was the church tower he’d seen from the desert. He followed it to the apex. At the top of the tower was a cross. An upside down cross. “Jesus Christ,” he blurted and was answered by wailing like the lobo’s he’d heard that night in the desert. It was getting late now. He didn’t want to stay another night in this town. He rushed off to find the family from earlier to try and convince them to leave and take him along.

They were eating dinner at their hotel. A different one than he’d stayed in. The father stood up to greet him and asked if he’d like to join them but the man refused. He grabbed the family man by the shoulders and told him, “you’ve got to leave, your whole family, it’s not safe.”

“What are you talking about,” the family man said. “You’re scaring my family. You should leave.”

“Just be gone from this place by Sunday night,” he said. “And sleep with your wagon. They killed my horse. They’ll kill your mules, next.”

Outside the hotel, the streetlamps were being lit. “Shit,” he said. The townsfolk started emptying out into the street and looking East. He saw the livery boy who acted like they’d never met. The man followed their gazes. He could make out a faint dust cloud just outside town. Riders. Several of them. A posse. The one that was after him. He ran out to meet them with his hands in the air. The leader of the posse pulled up and halted the group. There were a dozen of them, their guns drawn on him.

“I give up,” the man said. “Take me back to Texas. Tonight. Whatever you do, don’t come in this town.”

“We’re a long way from Texas, Slitter,” the leader said. “We’ve been trailing you for days and we need a bed and a meal.” Then he called out to the townsfolk who were glass-eyed like wolves circling a buffalo carcass. “This town have a jail. Any law at all?”

There was no reply.

“Alright,” he continued. “My name is Brock Price, Texas Ranger. This is Jacob Slitter. Wanted in El Paso for killing a judge. In the morning, we’re going to extradite him back to El Paso and if you can’t offer aid, stay out of our way.”

The townsfolk parted silently as the posse rode through, Slitter in front with Price next to him. Slitter was shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Price,” he said. “There is something wrong here. These people are not people. At least keep a guard over your horses tonight. And don’t let them into your rooms or go into theirs.”

“Shut up, Slitter,” Price said. “I don’t know what you’re playing at but I’m not in the mood.”

Slitter did as he was asked. The Arizona bound family watched him from their hotel. The father had a strange look on his face. He nodded at Slitter. They left the next day at noon.

A representative from the town visited Price that evening inviting him and his posse, even Slitter, to the celebration they would have the next night for Easter. Price accepted. Slitter sat handcuffed, saying nothing.

The next evening, the townsfolk laid out the feast in the center of town. It was late. Nearly midnight. If Price thought that was a strange time for Easter dinner, he didn’t mention it. Slitter was uncuffed but guarded. He told his guard to check on the horses and the man did. He took Slitter with him. The horses had been slaughtered. Torn to pieces. The guard started to yell but Slitter knocked him out, took his guns and ammo, and fled.

He knew he couldn’t convince Price to leave and knew Price wouldn’t let him leave. Slitter felt the change in the air immediately. He knew it just passed midnight. The girl met him at the edge of town. Her teeth were bared and too big for her mouth but she didn’t come after him. He looked around and saw the town’s border marker. She couldn’t cross it. She gave a dainty little wave. “We have friends in the desert, murderer,” she said. “Maybe, they’ll bring you back here. Or what’s left of you.” Then disappeared into the darkness.

It wasn’t long before he started hearing the howl of Lobo’s and the screams of men. He ran, heading as close to West as he could guess in the moonless night. He fell to the ground exhausted and hurting. He sat against a tree stump and caught his breath. Not far out he saw a pair of glowing eyes, man height, coming toward him. As they got closer, they got lower to the ground until he could tell that, whatever it was, was walking on all fours. He was in Navajo country. He knew this monster. And there was only one of them. In the dark, he smiled and cocked the 45’s in his hands. The eyes widened in sudden realization and Slitter let out a howl of his own.