This story was written for the discord server Nightshift Writers’ bi-monthly prompt challenge, posed by /u/bookstorequeer. As always, prompts are open to deviation in order to be flexible for writers. Here’s the prompt:
Since this’ll come due mid-Oct, let’s go with a bit spooky:
You’re visiting people you’ve seen numerous times before but something’s different. Something’s wrong with their house (or their town).
I was originally thinking about ghosts and a haunted house but I’ll leave the “what’s different” up to you fine creative types. If you’d like a genre: Mannerpunk
The sun was dipping below the horizon when the two friends rode into town. Saddlesore and each in a layer of trail dust at least several fleas thick, one would be hard pressed to find a more miserable looking pair in all of Gravestone.
Having survived a journey that tested their friendship in the way few have, Jacob Israel Bannon was ready to be rid of his close companion, Asa Wood, and remain friends over a great many leagues instead. The prospect of being such a distance apart was in no small way a satisfaction in the mind of the country judge. He was set on it, in fact, by the time they reached the post office, and he had only to decide on what great urgent matter he would receive a telegram for upon his arrival.
The younger man must have had some inkling of the judge’s state of mind– how could he not?–, and at least had the decency to let the last day or so of their journey in relative quiet. Knowing Asa as Izzy did, his friend’s self control impressed him, and he would have expressed it, if resentment didn’t bubble up at the sight of him. They were just about to the Crystal Palace when the younger man spoke.
“I am in sore need of a bath. Not some second or third water tub, mind you. Clean water. Hot water.”
Izzy grunted in agreement. “I’d pay a pretty penny for it to be scalding.”
His friend barked a laugh. “Let me make it up to you, Izzy. A fresh soak and a poke. With your favorite, I mean.”
“There is no need.” The reply was stiff, despite Izzy’s effort to soften it.
His companion sidled closer as they dismounted at the hitching post. “You needn’t lie. Hell, Francie here lies better than you.” He patted his horse and she snorted in agreement.
The sigh from the other side of the horse was begrudging as the leather reins slapped a little too hard over the post.
Asa was not deterred. “Lilian is her name, isn’t?”
Irritation mounted in Izzy and he made for the swinging doors of the only watering hole in town. He ground his teeth as boots tap-tapped in haste to catch up behind him and it suddenly galled that the saloon serving his favorite pot pie was also the very same that housed his favorite dove upstairs. A man shouldn’t be able to be served all the best luxuries in one place, he decided; it was too easy to appease someone with known favorites. But he was hungry. And he could go for a good soak.
And a good poke.
Izzy forgot his woes amidst a pot pie steaming with gravy over rabbit, potatoes, flint corn and peas. With every bite some anger at his friend ebbed away, the hot meal healing his soul. It was even better than the time he paid extra for the kitchen to bake fresh rattlesnake in, but one cannot put a price on exacted revenge. Izzy was a retaliatory man when he wanted to be, even if he was a judge. The rattler that took down his favorite horse rattled it’s last thanks to Izzy’s dagger. Being close enough to town at the time, he carried that serpent straight to the Crystal Palace for his pound of flesh, served piping hot.
They ate in relative silence, though there was plenty of noise for ambience. A dove or two came by to tempt them, and a group of bar patrons sent drinks their way for past services rendered. While the country judge did not make a habit of accepting gifts, he made an exception on account of the trial his friend had put him through for the past week. In spite of himself Izzy gave a smile of genuine appreciation to each sender , though that could have been the spirits talking.
By the time he finished his first drink he could look at Asa without clenching his fist under the table. By the second, and a number of mouthfuls of pot pie later, he could look at the younger man without gritting his teeth.
By the third he broke his silence and said, “you are fortunate, Asa, that you are so ugly. I am persuaded to pity you instead of resent you.”
Another man may have taken an affront to such a statement. Mid bite, Asa barked a laugh. His amusement could not be contained even as he swallowed down a forkful of food and then a long draught of beer, chuckling. His lips pursed with delight in the struggle to compose himself.
Izzy took another drink, holding back a smile of his own. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t ever try to arrange a marriage for me again.”
“Never again. Carmena will be ever so grateful to you for bein’ merciful once she hears our tale.” His friend raised a hand to his heart, trying to look solemn, but dissolved into guffaws. “The girl’s father neglected to mention her condition.”
“Convenient.”
“He wrote only that she would make a tender young wife for a man such as yourself.”
The judge leveled a gaze at his friend, eyebrows raised in warning. “Asa.”
“I swear it.”
“That mean old sonofabitch was ready to put us six feet under, it’s the least you can do.”
“On my honor.”
At the moment that meant very little to Izzy, but he held out his glass and tapped it with Asa’s. “Let that be the end of the business.”
They finished their meal in a more comfortable version of silence and Asa excused himself to make the arrangements he’d promised. Perhaps an extended period of time apart wouldn’t have to be so terribly extended, Izzy decided. Though he still very much longed for a stint away from his friend. The constant adventure seeking of the younger man made Izzy wonder how Asa ever reached adulthood, despite being present for the majority of it himself.
It was then that Asa returned, the Madame of the house in tow.
Mrs Frances Freemont was the vision of a mature beauty, as ever, even as she wrung her hands worriedly behind Asa.
“Oh Judge Bannon, what timing you have!” she cried.
Genuine strain creased her face. Izzy couldn’t think of a time he’d witnessed the woman anything other than positively jovial, particularly when counting his money.
“Something wrong, Mrs Freemont?”
“Why, Judge, you haven’t heard? The second floor is haunted, it is!” A frazzled face of distress replaced the madame’s usually calm demeanor, her voice climbing with every word.
Izzy shook his head. “Madame Freemont, I’ve heard you tell me that very same claim with delight just two months back. A gal named Cora, wasn’t it, in room number four, died of too much of a good thing? God rest her soul.”
Undeterred by the judiciously stern look Asa caught from Izzy, the younger man did nothing to quiet his snorts of laughter. The lady of the house was too deep into her own histrionics, launching into a convincing weeping, to notice.
“Oh, Judge Bannon, the right man will pay a pretty penny to stay in Cora’s room. She makes me more money in death than she ever did in life, moaning and wailing and carrying on as she does up there.” Madame Freemont attempted to compose herself with a deep breath but failed. “It’s that damnable Barrelsmoke Mullins, in room six! He’s driving all Lilian’s customer’s away! They’re all sayin’ the ghost of that no-good sheriff-killer cursed Lily, and her room!”
The two men exchanged glances. Posses from ten counties had tried and failed to catch Barrelsmoke Mullins. Stands to reason he’d hang around in death to stir up more trouble, but at a house of ill repute?
Izzy stood, swallowing down the rest of his drink. “Now hold on there, Frances. Why would Eli Mullins haunt a whore’s room?”
It is common knowledge that a woman with any modicum of decent gossip will revel in the chance to share it with someone who may find it of use, and so Madame Freemont soon returned to good humor as she regaled the judge and his friend with the story of the most exciting night the town of Gravestone had been party to since the death of one Cora Klein.
She sank wearily into Asa’s empty seat. “I’m at my wit’s end. I even paid that medicine man from across the river to try to smoke Mullins out. He said the ghost won’t leave until his last wishes are met.”
Asa, who has always had more curiosity in the area of the supernatural and unknown, leaned forward. “Well? What were they?”
The Madame shot him a dirty look, though she had nothing but fawning for Izzy, while Asa winked all the same.
Izzy cringed; no matter what his friend promised to only moments before, he could already see the gears turning behind Asa’s eyes, and knew it had something to do with setting Izzy up with the Madame. He cursed himself for calling the woman by her first name. Old habits and all that, having known her in their youth and sharing a hayride from time to time. It felt like a memory that belonged to someone else, just thinking about it. A lifetime ago.
Frances Freemont had done well for herself, taking over the saloon after her husband caught lead while out on a posse. A posse Izzy himself helped organize. Frequenting her establishment was his small way of making sure she was well settled, he reasoned. Plus the Crystal Palace was the only decent henhouse in a fifty mile radius.
“What were the wishes, Madame Fremont?” Izzy asked.
“Well now, let’s see if I remember. He had two. One was that all his powder and effects be buried with him to preserve the exclusivity of his name. The second was that Lillian be made his legal wife, on account of spending more money on her that is reasonable for a man to spend on a woman without marryin’ her.”
The Madame leaned forward, the love of intrigue sparkling in her eyes. “The sheriff found a ring box on Barrelsmoke the night he was shot. Had a letter to his father about how he was gonna make an honest woman outta her. I ‘spect he was fixin to ask her ‘round the time Jesse Curtis blew him to kingdom come.”
Izzy pushed onto his elbows in spite of himself. His friend spoke true when he’d teased about Izzy’s favorite dove; the judge had a soft spot for the sharp witted, favorably shaped, masterfully designed woman. Not that he had any stake on her or even wished to. He did wonder though if the brothel 50 miles east had any one worth visiting. Loyalty to Frances Freemont’s establishment had limits, particularly if Lilian chose to retire.
Izzy set down his glass, trying to be casual. “What did Ms Sackett say to that?”
“Well it don’t matter what you call her, a whore is a whore. She’s my top earner, you know.” Mrs. Freemont waved her hand dismissively and he couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of polished diamonds catching the light. At least Barrelsmoke had good taste, even if his intended would never know it.
Asa nodded with enthusiastic murmurs of agreement with the hostess ‘til a well-aimed kick beneath the table subdued him.
The lady of the house did not notice. “The fact of the matter is, Judge, I don’t care what she does as long as that room gets exorcised or somesuch!”
Asa shot Izzy an impish grin. “Well, now I must insist you accept my offer of a poke on my behalf.”
Izzy winced. “How is it that you’ve managed to make a demonstration of gratitude a very unappealing proposition?”
His friend’s joy reeked of schadenfreude.
Turning to their host, Izzy once again changed his mind about that trip to his family’s cabin. There was plenty of game in those woods to support fur trappers for many seasons, or so he heard. He had a mind to find out just how many.
“We’ll see Lilian now, if you don’t mind, Madame Freemont. Ah, just to ask her some questions, you see.” He added as his friend snickered.
The Madame eyed the two men. She looked on the verge of saying “two’s extra” but instead nodded. “‘Spose if you can manage to share a poke with that ghost carryin on, you earned it.”
The door to room number six was open when the two men arrived. Despite Izzy’s annoyance at his friend for teasing him about his fondness for the resident of room number six, seeing her was pleasant all the same. From the doorway the familiar scent of lavender and roses wafted.
Lilian Sackett was at her dresser, arranging all manner of silken underthings. A cream colored robe tied at her waist fluttered open as she turned to the knock at doorframe. Whether it was by accident or design, she was a wholly welcome sight for the two road-weary travelers.
“Hello, Lillian.”
“Judge Bannon, what a lovely surprise.” Her smile made Izzy’s heart leap, even though he knew she smiled at everyone that way. She finished up her folding and took notice of his companion. “Feeling adventurous, Judge? I didn’t take you for a… well, nevermind. Two’s extra.”
“Figures.”
Izzy’s heel sank into the point of Asa’s boot. “Madame Freemont said you were having some trouble with an uninvited guest?”
It didn’t take long for the presence of a judge to stoke activity from the unseen visitor, which is to say: Barrelsmoke made his displeasure known. Unmentionables recently rolled and put away were out again, flying to and fro by an unseen hand. Izzy’s neck hairs prickled up in a chill as a low growl rushed in with the breeze from the balcony window. Petticoats blurred past, then stays, then ribbons, then chemises, and then some items of particularly small finery that he could not identify.
“This the work of your late admirer, Lilian?” A pair of velvet knickers landed on the butt of Izzy’s revolver. His apprehension dissolved. Amusement bubbled up, which made keeping his expression neutral a nigh-impossible task. His friend made no such effort as the other man plucked up the article with interest.
The dove was unfazed. Her thin robe slipped away as she seemed to glide towards them. “Some men like a challenge. Do you, Judge Bannon? How about your friend?”
Reaching satisfaction while the ghost of an outlaw he’d authorized posses to hang gusted through the room was, in fact, not a challenge Izzy thought he could rise to. He shook his head. The inclusion of Asa into that proposition was downright unappealing.
Even if the prospect of spending time with Lilian called to him like a dinner bell for Carmena Wood’s cooking, Asa’s presence lessened the immediacy of that desire. Though he had to admit there were other perspectives to consider.
He’d signed several death warrants with Barrelsmoke’s likeness on them over the years.
Posses had ridden in the judge’s name to bring the outlaw to justice.
Engaging in amorous congress while in the presence of one so crooked, showing the dead man’s squeeze the fullest extent of the law’s potency… It could be a rousing proposition. Izzy would get the last laugh. A small victory as he sent the outlaw to suffer the eternal fires.
Despite his many visits to room number 6 at the Crystal Palace over the years, Izzy never lost the feeling that *he* was the one being undressed with merely a look, instead of the other way around. Though it was not hard to imagine unpeeling her remaining items of clothing, saving the corset for last, loosening the laces until the snaps at the boning fell away. Then she would stand like a Venus, hair tumbling down over one shoulder, a hint of pink poking through those tresses of near-black glory, rising with her breath… Perhaps Izzy was up for a challenge after all.
Asa coughed and occupied himself with returning the velvet knickers to the dresser. “Say, Lil, are these for your fellas or for you?” He held them against his hips as if evaluating their size. “What would you take for ‘em?”
Izzy decided he would make the fifty mile trip east to Coopertown on his own. “You mind if I sit, Lilian?”
The only chair in the room held Eli Mullins’s personal effects. Izzy lifted the gunbelt, unholstering the twin sixguns to inspect them as he sat. They were fine pieces of work, with ornate vines etched down the barrels. He could only imagine what a pretty penny they cost– Izzy’s own leadpusher was an old Colt that misfired as much as a flintlock, for all its usefulness.
“I’ll get down to brass tacks, if you wouldn’t mind. It is in my power to grant you the retroactive legal status of wife to Eli Mullins, Ms Sackett.”
She snorted. “Well if it’s that or he’ll haunt my room ‘til all my regulars dry up…” She smiled sweetly at Izzy. “Never did like that old sidewinder, to tell you the truth. Always preferred me a man of learnin’.”
Izzy felt the color rising in his cheeks, her coy smile deepening on him, and busied himself with adjusting his vest. That action was interrupted however by a new racket across the room.
At the bureau, Asa struggled to keep the drawers closed as they threatened to burst open of their own accord. They rattled and shook with fury until finally the bottom one shot out, catching Asa at the back of one knee. He yelped and buckled against the dresser, airing his lungs with colorful exclamations of dismay.
He managed to keep himself upright as Lilian finally noticed and said, “Mullins, get out of my dresser!” With a final, defiant rattle the bureau fell still. Lilian rolled her eyes.
Izzy continued. “In any case I’m obligated to inform you that I have it on good authority that Eli Mullins stood to inherit a sizeable oil outfit upon his father’s death. Should you choose to grant Barrelsmoke’s last wish, that inheritance could become yours. If Old Man Mullins ever kicks the bucket, that is.”
“Judge Bannon, I swear to you, Barrelsmoke was the love of my life!” As sweet as her denouncement of the outlaw only a moment before, the dove sounded as sincere as if she were in church. Izzy couldn’t decide if Lilian’s acting abilities were cause for alarm or an attractive quality.
“I suspected as much,” the judge said drily.
Anyone would be a fool to refuse such an offer, especially after learning how large of an oil empire the Mullins laid claim to back in the old states. If gossip from telegram station masters held any water, Barrelsmoke had good reason to pass his inheritance to a spouse instead of a younger relative.
“That’s good enough for me. I’ll have my clerk draw up the papers and send them over. I trust if Mullins can throw unmentionables, he’ll figure out a way to sign a marriage certificate, too.” He rose, and tipped his hat to the dove. “Until next time.”
“And congratulations, Mrs Mullins.” Asa added, grinning as he followed Izzy out.
Gravedigging is an unpleasant business, as any unfortunate soul will swear to. It was under that circumstance that the two friends found themselves knee deep in the red clay of Gravestone’s outer boneyard, sweating out the favors from the grateful patrons of Crystal Palace. It was not the first time Israel Bannon or Asa Wood had found themselves digging deep, but each secretly thought themselves too old for such activities, and agreed aloud they hoped it would be their last.
Their respite was soon within reach, and sounded with a shallow thud as Asa’s shovel hit pine.
“Eureka!” After the long trip that led them to the Crystal Palace and thus out to Barrelsmoke’s grave, Izzy finally felt the end was in sight.
“Should we open up the box, just to be sure?” Asa asked, voice filled with dread for what the answer would be.
“Stands to reason we do it right the first time.”
Asa nodded, and shoved the flat of his tool into the side of the coffin. The two stood back as a wave of corpserot filled the air. After composing themselves the judge leaned back over the side of the hole and peered in. Barrelsmoke’s ugly, decaying mug stared back at him. At his neck three scars like neat rows of distorted skin identified the man, a tattoo for each time he’d slipped the noose.
“That’s him, alright.” Izzy fished in his saddlebag and brought out two powder kegs and powder horns. They landed with an unsettling thwack around the putrefying head.
“And his guns too?”
Izzy spat and handed one of the revolvers to his friend. “This iron would be a shame to bury. He wants to preserve his legacy of gunsmoke, not his guns, the way I see it. One for me, one for you. Call it a convenience fee.”
The last thing to add was the newly-dried certificate, a twin of the one Mrs Mullins now had in her possession. The judge dropped it onto the corpse’s chest.
“Seems like a waste to let all that powder get damp… and rot… Izzy, I’ve got a mind to—”
“No. I ain’t interested in blowing a bone orchard to kingdom come.” The judge cut a glare to his friend, careful to enunciate each word for emphasis. “It ain’t right.”
Asa grimaced in disappointment, but nodded. The two were silent for a moment.
“You think this’ll really do it, Iz?”
“Short of wiring up the Crystal Palace with dynamite?” Izzy shrugged and started re-covering the grave. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“And if it doesn’t?” His friend joined him, pitching dirt with all the speed of a man who would prefer not to be in a cemetery near an open grave.
Izzy paused, leaning on his shovel. “Then I suppose we’ve got a fifty mile ride ahead of us. You still owe me.”