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RETURN TO BRIMSTONE I: Spellbound
Aug. 21st, 2024 02:08 pm"RETURN TO BRIMSTONE I: Spellbound"
10/9-10/12/1881
I.
"Return To Brimstone!" the pale old woman whispered from under her shawl. An order that would shoot cold fear along the spine of any man who was raused in that isolated town called Brimstone, that lies by Deadman's River... to draw him irresistably back to that obscure region, wherever the word might reach him.
It was only a whisper from the withered lips of a shuffling crone, who vanished among the crowd outside the Wagon Wheel Saloon before Johnny could question her but it was enough. He felt no need to question by what mysterious covert way the word had come to her. No need to inquire what obscure forces worked to impart that message to a Brimstone townsman. He knew he would answer.
How could anyone from Brimstone, Texas fail to answer that command?
Within an hour, dust was being raised further behind Johnny with every stride of his great black stallion Terror. To every man born in Brimstone, there always remained a subtle bond that would drew him back if his hometown was imperiled by the menace that had lurked in its shadows for more than a century.
Johnny Packard reached the Texas border at dusk of the following day. At the town limits was a Western Union station where he paused to fire off three desperate telegrams to the widely scattered places where he might hope to reach help from one man he trusted. He stopped at a stable outside the town of Bailey to rest and water his horse. As a lanky boy fastened rubbed down the stallion, Johnny turned to the owner of the stable, fat old Jackson Rafferty with his battered chamberpot hat and dingy overalls.
Johnny had yanked off his open black vest and red flannel shirt and was swabbing his grimy torso with handfuls of water from the trough. He was small but wiry, no more than five feet five and maybe a hundred and fifty pounds at most. Johnny Packard had shaggy red hair over a lean, clean-shaven face. In the setting sun, his green eyes seemed to spark with a catlike lambent gleam. "Is it true they is rumors of trouble in Brimstone?"
Rafferty stepped back as if he felt threatened. "I don't rightly know. There's been unsettling talk. But you Brimstone folks aren't what might be called talkative. No one outside knows what really goes on in that town..."
"True enough," Johnny replied as if ending the conversation. He had a handful of silver dollars on him, which which he purchased some oats for Terror's canvas feed bag, dried beef and beans and tea leaves for himself, as well as a box of 45 cartridges that old Rafferty happened to have on hand. Then it was time to move on. As darkness neared, Terror grew restless and agitated as usual. They both needed little rest after years under their curse.
The dusk deepened as Johnny rode west along the pike.
The moon rose red as fire over the scattered Live Oak trees which reached up twenty feet. A lone pecan tree caught Johnny's eye, he hadn't seen one for years. An owl hooted his omens away off in the woods, and somewhere a hound howled in mournful reply. In the darkness, Johnny crossed Sterling Creek, a streak of shining black fringed by walls of solid shadows. His horse's hooves splashed through the shallow water and clinked on the wet stones, startlingly loud in the stillness. Beyond that creek began the territory claimed by Brimstone.
It took stern resolve for him to leave his black Stetson hanging on its cord down by his shoulder blades. Tucked in the beaded hatband was the mysterious coin of red metal he had been given by the elderly shaman Machingtok. He felt the nagging urge to put his hat on. If that token was near his forehead after dark, he would yield his humanity and unleash the Brimstone Kid once again. Tonight was not right to set that demonic presence free.
The woods thickened, the road narrowed, winding through unfenced pinelands, broken by live-oaks and cypresses. There was no sound except the soft clop of hoofs in the thin dust, the creak of the saddle. Then someone laughed throatily in the shadows.
The Kid drew up and peered into the trees. The moon was high in the hazy night sky and by its glow, he made out a dim figure under the low branches. Johnny's right hand automatically dropped to the butt of one of the matched Peacemakers he wore, and the action brought another low, musical laugh, mocking. Johnny glimpsed a strangely compelling oval face with a pair of almost colorless eyes and white teeth displayed in an insolent smile.
"Who in tarnation are you?" he demanded.
"Why do you ride so late, Johnny Packard?" Taunting laughter bubbled in the voice. The accent was foreign and unfamiliar, but it was appealed to his ear. In the elaborate pile of white hair a single red blossom glimmered in the darkness.
"What's an unescorted lady doing way out here?" the Kid demanded. "You're a long way from town. And you're a stranger to me."
"I moved to Brimstone since you went away," she answered. "My cabin is on the Deadman's River. But now I've lost my way. And my poor brother has hurt his leg and cannot walk."
"Where might this brother be?" the Kid asked, uneasily. He was remembering now all the memories he had tried to hard to bury away. The weird albino-like clan with their pink eyes and long thin spidery limbs.
"Back in the woods, there, far back!" She indicated the black depths with a swaying motion of her supple body rather than a gesture of her hand, smiling audaciously as she did so.
Johnny knew of course there was no injured brother, and she realized he knew it. But the knowledge amused her. The woman's long pointed chin, sharp nose and narrow oblique eyes should not have been attractive but somehow they had an unsettling effect on the young wanderer.
Johnny found himself dismounting and tying his horse to a branch. The black stallion shifted its weight from one leg to another, snorting angrily. For once, the Brimstone Kid disregarded Terror's instincts. He scowled at the pale woman, deeply suspicious yet fascinated.
"How do you know my handle? Who are you, lady?"
With a sly laugh, she seized my hand and drew him deeper into the shadows. Fascinated by the lights gleaming in her eyes, he was hardly aware of her action.
"Who does not know Johnny Packard?" she laughed. "All the people of this area speak often of you, the Brimstone Kid himself. Come! My poor brother longs to look upon you!" And she laughed with malicious triumph.
It was this brazen effrontery that brought him to his senses. She overplayed the act. Her mockery broke the almost hypnotic spell into which Johnny had fallen. He flung her hand aside and spat, "You think you can play me for a lovesick fool, do you?"
Instantly the smiling siren was changed to a blood-mad jungle cat. Her eyes flamed murderously, her red lips writhed in a snarl as she leaped back, crying out shrilly. A rush of bare feet answered her call. The first faint light of dawn struck through the branches, revealing three gaunt assailants. Johnny saw the gleaming whites of their eyes, their bare glistening teeth, the sheen of naked steel in their hands.
His first bullet crashed through the head of the tallest man, striking him dead in mid-stride. The next pale man had already lunged in close enough to grapple. The Kid smashed his gun into that grimacing face. As the man fell, half stunned, he saw the final attacker stabbing forward with a wide-bladed hunting knife. Johnny parried the stab by grabbing the man's wrist and forced that hand back so the point ripped across the attacker's belly-muscles. He screamed like a panther. Johnny crashed his gun barrel in that man's mouth and felt those lips split under the impact. He reeled backward, waving his knife wildly in confusion. Before he could regain his balance, Johnny was after him and, instead of firing, struck the man hard across the top of his head with the Colt barrel. The man groaned and slipped to the ground as life left him.
Johnny wheeled about, seeking the surviving other. He was just rising, blood streaming down his face and neck. As the Kid started for him, the strange man sounded a panicky yell and plunged away into the underbrush. The crashing of his blind flight came back, muffled with distance. The girl was gone. Johnny was left shuddering at what he had clashed with already. The Llanghoirs.
( the rest of the story )
10/9-10/12/1881
I.
"Return To Brimstone!" the pale old woman whispered from under her shawl. An order that would shoot cold fear along the spine of any man who was raused in that isolated town called Brimstone, that lies by Deadman's River... to draw him irresistably back to that obscure region, wherever the word might reach him.
It was only a whisper from the withered lips of a shuffling crone, who vanished among the crowd outside the Wagon Wheel Saloon before Johnny could question her but it was enough. He felt no need to question by what mysterious covert way the word had come to her. No need to inquire what obscure forces worked to impart that message to a Brimstone townsman. He knew he would answer.
How could anyone from Brimstone, Texas fail to answer that command?
Within an hour, dust was being raised further behind Johnny with every stride of his great black stallion Terror. To every man born in Brimstone, there always remained a subtle bond that would drew him back if his hometown was imperiled by the menace that had lurked in its shadows for more than a century.
Johnny Packard reached the Texas border at dusk of the following day. At the town limits was a Western Union station where he paused to fire off three desperate telegrams to the widely scattered places where he might hope to reach help from one man he trusted. He stopped at a stable outside the town of Bailey to rest and water his horse. As a lanky boy fastened rubbed down the stallion, Johnny turned to the owner of the stable, fat old Jackson Rafferty with his battered chamberpot hat and dingy overalls.
Johnny had yanked off his open black vest and red flannel shirt and was swabbing his grimy torso with handfuls of water from the trough. He was small but wiry, no more than five feet five and maybe a hundred and fifty pounds at most. Johnny Packard had shaggy red hair over a lean, clean-shaven face. In the setting sun, his green eyes seemed to spark with a catlike lambent gleam. "Is it true they is rumors of trouble in Brimstone?"
Rafferty stepped back as if he felt threatened. "I don't rightly know. There's been unsettling talk. But you Brimstone folks aren't what might be called talkative. No one outside knows what really goes on in that town..."
"True enough," Johnny replied as if ending the conversation. He had a handful of silver dollars on him, which which he purchased some oats for Terror's canvas feed bag, dried beef and beans and tea leaves for himself, as well as a box of 45 cartridges that old Rafferty happened to have on hand. Then it was time to move on. As darkness neared, Terror grew restless and agitated as usual. They both needed little rest after years under their curse.
The dusk deepened as Johnny rode west along the pike.
The moon rose red as fire over the scattered Live Oak trees which reached up twenty feet. A lone pecan tree caught Johnny's eye, he hadn't seen one for years. An owl hooted his omens away off in the woods, and somewhere a hound howled in mournful reply. In the darkness, Johnny crossed Sterling Creek, a streak of shining black fringed by walls of solid shadows. His horse's hooves splashed through the shallow water and clinked on the wet stones, startlingly loud in the stillness. Beyond that creek began the territory claimed by Brimstone.
It took stern resolve for him to leave his black Stetson hanging on its cord down by his shoulder blades. Tucked in the beaded hatband was the mysterious coin of red metal he had been given by the elderly shaman Machingtok. He felt the nagging urge to put his hat on. If that token was near his forehead after dark, he would yield his humanity and unleash the Brimstone Kid once again. Tonight was not right to set that demonic presence free.
The woods thickened, the road narrowed, winding through unfenced pinelands, broken by live-oaks and cypresses. There was no sound except the soft clop of hoofs in the thin dust, the creak of the saddle. Then someone laughed throatily in the shadows.
The Kid drew up and peered into the trees. The moon was high in the hazy night sky and by its glow, he made out a dim figure under the low branches. Johnny's right hand automatically dropped to the butt of one of the matched Peacemakers he wore, and the action brought another low, musical laugh, mocking. Johnny glimpsed a strangely compelling oval face with a pair of almost colorless eyes and white teeth displayed in an insolent smile.
"Who in tarnation are you?" he demanded.
"Why do you ride so late, Johnny Packard?" Taunting laughter bubbled in the voice. The accent was foreign and unfamiliar, but it was appealed to his ear. In the elaborate pile of white hair a single red blossom glimmered in the darkness.
"What's an unescorted lady doing way out here?" the Kid demanded. "You're a long way from town. And you're a stranger to me."
"I moved to Brimstone since you went away," she answered. "My cabin is on the Deadman's River. But now I've lost my way. And my poor brother has hurt his leg and cannot walk."
"Where might this brother be?" the Kid asked, uneasily. He was remembering now all the memories he had tried to hard to bury away. The weird albino-like clan with their pink eyes and long thin spidery limbs.
"Back in the woods, there, far back!" She indicated the black depths with a swaying motion of her supple body rather than a gesture of her hand, smiling audaciously as she did so.
Johnny knew of course there was no injured brother, and she realized he knew it. But the knowledge amused her. The woman's long pointed chin, sharp nose and narrow oblique eyes should not have been attractive but somehow they had an unsettling effect on the young wanderer.
Johnny found himself dismounting and tying his horse to a branch. The black stallion shifted its weight from one leg to another, snorting angrily. For once, the Brimstone Kid disregarded Terror's instincts. He scowled at the pale woman, deeply suspicious yet fascinated.
"How do you know my handle? Who are you, lady?"
With a sly laugh, she seized my hand and drew him deeper into the shadows. Fascinated by the lights gleaming in her eyes, he was hardly aware of her action.
"Who does not know Johnny Packard?" she laughed. "All the people of this area speak often of you, the Brimstone Kid himself. Come! My poor brother longs to look upon you!" And she laughed with malicious triumph.
It was this brazen effrontery that brought him to his senses. She overplayed the act. Her mockery broke the almost hypnotic spell into which Johnny had fallen. He flung her hand aside and spat, "You think you can play me for a lovesick fool, do you?"
Instantly the smiling siren was changed to a blood-mad jungle cat. Her eyes flamed murderously, her red lips writhed in a snarl as she leaped back, crying out shrilly. A rush of bare feet answered her call. The first faint light of dawn struck through the branches, revealing three gaunt assailants. Johnny saw the gleaming whites of their eyes, their bare glistening teeth, the sheen of naked steel in their hands.
His first bullet crashed through the head of the tallest man, striking him dead in mid-stride. The next pale man had already lunged in close enough to grapple. The Kid smashed his gun into that grimacing face. As the man fell, half stunned, he saw the final attacker stabbing forward with a wide-bladed hunting knife. Johnny parried the stab by grabbing the man's wrist and forced that hand back so the point ripped across the attacker's belly-muscles. He screamed like a panther. Johnny crashed his gun barrel in that man's mouth and felt those lips split under the impact. He reeled backward, waving his knife wildly in confusion. Before he could regain his balance, Johnny was after him and, instead of firing, struck the man hard across the top of his head with the Colt barrel. The man groaned and slipped to the ground as life left him.
Johnny wheeled about, seeking the surviving other. He was just rising, blood streaming down his face and neck. As the Kid started for him, the strange man sounded a panicky yell and plunged away into the underbrush. The crashing of his blind flight came back, muffled with distance. The girl was gone. Johnny was left shuddering at what he had clashed with already. The Llanghoirs.
( the rest of the story )
