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A man returns to a corrupt gothic town to seek revenge. |
| Word Count = 2087. Prompt: Visual of the town with the hanging body. I arrived in Porterville on a dubious rainy night. It had been raining for days and the street was muddy and slick. Not a soul ventured out into the downpour and I couldn't blame them. The rain ran a steady stream off my well-worn Stetson and though I was grateful for my rain slicker, I still felt the damp chill as some of the torrential downpour had managed to get down the collar. As I rounded the twist in the road, I could see a body hanging from thick ropes off a metal pole. The pole hung from a long wooden arm which was braced against the stout second story of the jailhouse. I knew it was the jailhouse, though it was not marked as such. None of the buildings of tutor and stone were defined in any way as they were packed tightly together like someone needed to conserve space. My eyes clung to the corpse. Long dead. My own body surged with a flash of dark energy. Hostile and vile, ripping through me with a vengeance. I staggered at the intensity of it. Lunging for the nearest wall, I tried to pull myself together. The slight overhang was no match for the torrential rain. It beat against me like fists. My body felt hammered and abused. Hated and feared. My belly rolled and I bent to expel its contents in the cold mud at my feet. I braced my hands on my knees to keep myself upright as I panted. Raising one hand, I wiped at my mouth, then spit any of the remaining sick out into the street. Pulling in deep breaths, I tried to shake off those feelings that had arisen from a hollow place deep inside me. I felt weak and empty, like I barely existed. A fogginess in my brain covered something I thought should know, but it seemed far too elusive to capture. Bent like this, I raised my gaze to the wishing well. Some fifty yards ahead. No wishes were being cast today. I had a feeling none were ever fulfilled in this dingy town. It seemed like the end of the line. A destitute ramble of buildings that clung to life, but had no chance of resuscitation. One lone tree, bare of leaves, jutted out over the stout central building beside the well. My movements caused a murder of crows to cease their incessant caws and calls and fly up, abandoning the tree to its heavy downpour. The sky blackened further by their flash of wings. Then silence flooded me. When I was able, I stood up and shifted my gaze to where the sky seemed to glow. It was the only place the sun shone through; breaking the black darkness that hung like a shroud around the town. The light streamed down as if casting a halo on the church that stood there. Its bell tower presiding over the town like a beacon... or a judge. Full of judgment, distrust. Pious and mighty. After a few more steadying breaths, I pulled myself into a taller stance, stretching out my back. Slowly I moved forward, careful to avoid the worst of the puddles. Another twist in the road and I saw what looked to be a pub. The only place with some glow of lights. When I opened the door, the guffaws of laughter broke off like shattered glass. The splinters severed the jovial connection. All eyes swiveled to me. No one could see my face hidden within the folds of my upturned rain slicker's collar and my Stetson pulled down over my eyes. I could feel an unwelcome chill within the space. I didn't belong. Straightening to my full height, I swiped off my hat and shook off the worst of the rain. My eyes traveled over the five men camped around one table. One man gasped. Another choked on his drink and spewed it out across the table. Two others let their mouths hang open as they stared at me. "Bloody. Fucking. Hell," one big man grunted out. His lips twisted into a snarl. As I looked at them, a sense of knowing came over me. I had been here before. I had seen these men before. A grisly feeling of Déjà vu played at the edges of my mind eliciting a kind of warning, Then, a deep all-consuming rage bubbled up as the fog cleared from my brain. These men had sentenced me to death without a trial or a jury of my peers. They'd strung me up and let me hang.... continued to let me hang from the metal pole high above the muddy street. That body.... was me.... I maintained eye contact as I let that knowledge sink in. I wriggled my fingers and tilted my head to crack the tense muscles that held my neck. This body felt... real. Solid. I had felt the emotions surge through me like a freight train. Only real, could I experience that. "You're supposed to be dead," the big man who had found his voice groused out. "Apparently not." "I told you idiots to take his body down before sundown on the third day," the bartender grumbled. I could see him wiping off the bar. Eyes not on me, but on his task. "Shut it," the big man said without looking at the bartender. I took another quick look over at the bartender to see him shrug indifferently as he worked. "No skin off my nose. I told you all to let the poor man go..." "I said Shut it," the big man growled again. "Yeah, Idiot. Shut it. Do what you do best and scram," a skinny red haired guy squeaked out, his voice betraying him with a wobble at the end. The big man slammed his hand down on the table. "Clem, so help me." The man's voice was raw, like sandpaper. Clem leaped from his chair. His hand flew to his gun belt. Locked there. Clem's fear was palatable. I stared at him, letting my eyes narrow and let the corner of my lip tip up when I saw his pants dampen down one leg. "Seems Clemmie's a little scared,' I drawled as I kept a lid on my building rage. Clem made a sharp turn and ran for the back exit. He didn't get far. I watched his progress. My eyes narrowing. As soon as he was almost through the door's frame, a force propelled him back. He landed in a crumpled heap at the base of the bar. His jaw slack, his head lolled at an odd angle. "Apparently you can run, but you can't hide," I said with a mirthless rumble. I wriggled my fingers again. They tingled with the same dark energy that had jolted me when I had seen the body... my body. It hadn't been there until Clem had made to flee. I fisted my hands, holding the energy there. I could feel it build. "You little fucker," the big man growled at me, seeing Clem. "Check him," he told the dark-haired brute across from him. "I wouldn't if I were you," I said casually as I watched the man rise and move towards Clem. He stopped, glancing back at me. He looked back at Clem. "Don't listen to this fucker. He ain't nothing." The big man's eyes were back on me, daring me to act again. I shrugged, glanced over to where the bartender had been standing, and noted he had gone. Vanished from sight. He wasn't part of this. "He looks dead, Porter." "I said check him, not take a gander, Rafferty," Porter growled again. Rafferty closed the distance. As soon as he reached out to touch Clem, his hand swiveled and bent backward at an impossible angle. He let out a roar of pain as he grabbed his right wrist. I jerked my hand forward and made a quick motion. Rafferty's hands jerked apart, then ripped at his face. Gouging out his own eyes. He fell to the ground, still holding his eyeballs. His mouth caught on a final scream as he fell into silence. The two remaining men with Porter looked on in horror. "Rupert. James. Grab him. This is getting out of hand," Porter roared. But they both stood frozen shaking their heads dumbly. "What am I paying you assholes for? Do as I say," Porter roared. Neither man moved. They both watched me with a terror I could feel. It was like mice skittering over the floor boards knowing they were done for. Like the cat, I toyed with them. Rafferty’s eyes rolled out of his hands across the floor. One stopped at the edge of Rupert’s boot. “Jesus,” Rupert said, then bent over to throw up. James pressed his hand to his mouth to keep his own scream from erupting. When he glanced over at his buddy, he saw blood pouring out of the man's mouth. He appeared to be throwing up the whole of his insides. James clamped his eyes shut and trembled. "Jesus, Porter. He's killing us all," James said in agony. "I didn't sign on for this. You said it would be all shits and giggles. No one would ever miss him. He's a drifter, you said, but now... look at all of us. Dying in agony and he hasn't even laid a finger on us." I smiled wanly as I twisted my hand and watched as James fell to the floor, holding his stomach and moaning with such anguish. He coiled himself into the fetal position. His cries rising to screeching levels. Then, when he seemed barely able to take much more, I twisted once more, and he exploded. His entrails flying about the room landing on every surface but me. "This is some nightmarish hell," the big man ground out as he pushed his bulk up from the chair. He wiped James' innards from his face as he rasped, '"You'll suffer in a hell of your own making." I smiled then. The doors behind me crashed open and in rushed the authorities. “There he is Sherrif. He’s done all this,” the bartender said, pointing in my direction. But as the Sheriff and his deputies rushed forward, they moved through me as if I did not exist. I realized then that he had not really been pointing at me at all. He had been pointing at Porter. “What the Bloody, fucking hell.” “You Samuel Xavier Porter, I under arrest for the murder of 4 men.” “I didn’t do it,” Porter screamed, looking at me. I let out a laugh which only he could hear. “I swear, it wasn’t me. It was that bloody bastard we hanged out there.” “Oh, yeah, that would make 5 cases of first-degree murder. The barkeep here, tells us he was just a man passing through. You’ll be tried and convicted, I’ve no doubt.” “It’s him I tell you. That man there.” He pointed at me. The Sheriff glanced in the direction Porter pointed, but could not see me. I grinned. “Welcome to your own living nightmarish hell,” I told him as I watched them crimp the handcuffs on him and carry his struggling body out into the rain and throw him into the jailer’s wagon. “Thank you,” the barkeep said as the wagon and the authorities left. He did not turn to look at me, but gazed down the street to my body. Several villagers had emerged now that the rain had tapered off. I watched them lower my body. They all bowed their heads as the priest gave the last rites. The barkeep ambled in that direction, and I followed. As I got closer, I heard their voices. “Thank you, kind stranger. We are so sorry you had to suffer such brutality at the hands of Porter and his men. But you have saved this town in ways you will never know. We will forever be in your debt.” “I say we name the town after him… as a tribute.” After a pause, the other townspeople nodded. “What was his name?” “Mac Kinley.” “Then MacKinley, we will be.” Their words were a balm. I felt the dark heavy rage fade and dissipate as each member of the town placed a single white rose of peace over my body. I felt cleansed of any wrongdoing. Turning towards the church, I felt compelled to head that way. My heart felt lighter. I was ready to meet my maker. Justice had been served. Word Count = 2,087. Notes ▼ |
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