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Happy Halloween! Today we conclude the short story from my compendium "The Illusion Exotic". If you missed Part 1, you can catch up here. THE CAVE, Part 9 A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate. "The Cave", & "The Illusion Exotic, "Copyright 2016 Brian L. Braden  Image by Michaela Wenzler from Pixabay (One week later) Covered in a dusting of snow, the gallows stood ready for three days. But the village elders couldn’t decide whether to send for a territorial judge or let Townsend try the case as the justice of the peace. “No witnesses, nothing to tie Carl to the cave or the bodies, no confession, and no wounds,” Knight told the elders. “I shot him point blank. Townsend, you saw the wounds and the blood. Now, there he sits in shackles, fit as a rattlesnake on a hot day, and laughing. If you send for a territorial judge you might as well release him now.” The townsmen agreed, but the elders, accustomed to the days of centralized rule from Mexico City, took more convincing. Amado’s pleas, not Knight’s, eventually brought them around. They held the trial in the tavern. Shackled, Nesbitt hunkered in a dark corner like a rat. Knight had no words, no frame of reference for the beast known as Nesbitt Carl. He beat him only by abandoning all logic and relying on instinct. Now logic and reason were losing badly against Nesbitt Carl. A railroad bookkeeper with a back-east education represented Nesbitt. The young man correctly stated nothing could tie Carl to the scene of the crime, which Townsend and his party had already destroyed. Carl’s only possible crime was being in Knight’s room, uninvited but unarmed. Knight knew Nesbitt didn’t play by the rules in the bookkeeper’s back-east law book. They needed a frontier trial, where evidence carried less weight than fear. Amado beseeched the pueblo chiefs to come and testify, but none did. One sent a messenger to beg the court to appease the demon Nesbitt, lest he devour them all. “The injun is the only one talking sense!” Nesbitt cackled from his irons. “I hereby absolve the red savages from my terrible vengeance.” To Knight’s relief, Townsend quickly found Nesbitt Carl guilty of the murders of Sheriff Jackson Wellsby and the Lady Josefita Lucero, as well as twenty six counts of the unlawful death of an indian. During sentencing, Knight shocked the gallery when he spoke in favor of burning. This statement received Nesbitt’s full attention. “I’d rather take my chances out there with the savages instead of you ‘civilized men’! Bloody Americans, no better than the French,” Nesbitt protested, visibly shaken. The bookkeeper stood and tapped his law book. “This, gentlemen, is the U.S. Constitution as well as the territorial charter of New Mexico. It’s enough this is a sham trial, based on superstition and...” he waved his finger at Knight. “...blind fear! My client is right. We are no better than the primitives we’re supposedly here to show the light of reason, law, and Christian love. The legally proscribed form of capital punishment in this territory is death by hanging or firing squad. For all that is right and merciful, at least do this. Or we might as well all live in Texas.” The bookkeeper carried the day. Nesbitt grinned smugly as they dragged him into the cold sun and onto the gallows in the town square. In anticipation, a crowd gathered under the bare aspens surrounding the gantry. The fact the disappearances stopped once Knight apprehended Nesbitt didn’t go unnoticed by the villagers. A gasp went out among the crowd. Villagers crossed themselves with cries of, “El Diablo!” as women turned away. Knight made his way through the spectators to see what the commotion was about. Nesbitt’s skin darkened and turned purplish-black. It began to split and bleed. Blood trickled from his eyes like perverse tears. Townsend inched forward. “Nesbitt Carl, you have been found guilty of the murders of Jackson Wellsby and Josefita Lucero. Do you have anything to say before sentence is carried out?” Nesbitt looked left and right over the crowd. “Knight! Where’s Knight?” The railroad agent stepped forward. “Ah, there he is. I have but one request for my new friend.” The crowd fell silent as Nesbitt leaned over as far as his chains allowed, blood and pus dripping onto the freshly cut planks. “Before I snapped her neck she told me you were coming. Seer of the unseen, she said. The bitch cursed ya, Knight! Cursed ya with old magic, deep magic, and you don’t even know it. So you better bury me deep, old boy. BURY ME DEEP!” Knight stepped back, hand seeking the reassurance of his pistol grip. A woman screamed and fainted. Trembling, a young priest from the mission stepped forward. “Do you want me.... do...you...want me to read from the Holy Scripture?” he stuttered. Nesbitt rolled his eyes and grinned. Black blood oozed from between his teeth. “If it will get that hood on me, you bet your ass, laddie! Why don’t you read Daniel 9:9, that one is always short and entertaining in times like these.” The priest fumbled though the pages. “The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him.” Nesbitt issued a deep, gurgling laugh. “Say, padre, could you bring that a wee closer so I can read it myself? My eyes are a bit watery right now.” The priest held the Bible closer to Nesbitt, who promptly spit a wad of black juice on its pages. “Damn you to hell!” the priest recoiled. “Too late. That forgiveness shit didn’t play too well in my case,” Nesbitt chortled as Townsend placed the hood over his boiling, disfigured face. “Ahh, that feels so much better!” With a cackle, Nesbitt broke into song. “Death is master of lord and clown; Shovel the clay in, tread it down. CLOSE THE COFFIN, HAMMER IT DOWN!” Snarling, Townsend yanked the lever and the trapdoor fell away, sending Nesbitt to a sudden jerk three feet above the New Mexico clay. Nesbitt’s feet kicked wildly. His neck didn’t snap. Knight had seen enough hangings to know when they would linger. He pulled a Colt and fired one bullet into the hood and one into the abdomen. Nesbitt ceased struggling. The bookkeeper looked up at the body in horror and disbelief. Knight bumped him as he turned to walk back into the tavern. “I guess he gets a hanging and a firing squad today,” Knight said. “I figure justice must be plum happy ‘bout that.” THE CAVE, Part 10 (Two days later) “You were right, we should have burned him. Will he come after us?” Amado asked. Knight chewed on a piece of grass, and kicked at splintered planks surrounding the grave, which was now a gaping hole dug from the coffin up. It reeked of sour mash whisky. “Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he’ll come,” Knight answered. “I fear Nesbitt Carl, whatever spawn of hell he may be, is too big, too strong for us to fight,” Amado said. “I’ll find out what he is and I’ll find a way to kill him,” Knight replied, Nesbitt’s final words clouding in his mind like hot gunsmoke. For several minutes they contemplated the empty grave in silence. “I wish I could have met your wife, Amado.” Surprised, Amado looked up at Knight. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Why do you say this?” Knight looked upon the distant mountains ringing the Valles Caldera, the season’s first snow lightly brushing its rim. Even against a slate gray sky, they were vivid and beautiful. “A beautiful woman once told me there was magic in this land. I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but now I do. She said it was old magic, bigger than us, bigger than Nesbitt.” Amado shook his head. “I don’t understand.” Knight looked him in the eye. “She said fire and steel won’t serve us against this enemy.” He spit the piece of grass into the disemboweled grave. “But in the end, fire and steel is all I got.” Knight removed the turquoise crucifix and silver chain from his pocket. “Townsend brought this back from the cave. He thought you’d want it.” Amado extended a trembling hand, and then pulled back. “Her precious memory will live with me forever, in our home, in our tavern...and in the village she was so loved. In this respect, I will always be a wealthy man. I’m not sure why, my friend, but I think she would want you to have it. Perhaps it will give you more than fire and steel.” Knight nodded in thanks and shook Amado’s hand. Silas Knight, railroad agent, soldier, and man of consequence and purpose, rode south and never looked back. He spent the rest of his days trying to forget the smell of the cave. THE CAVE, Epilogue The bobby trailed the big man since spotting him entering the Whitechapel an hour earlier. He wore a long trench coat and a wide brimmed hat. The stranger’s boots sounded oddly foreign on the London cobblestone. These slums were the domain of dregs and destitutes. This man, neither beggar nor gentlemen, didn’t belong here. The stranger slipped through the fog with purpose, but without obvious direction. This bloke is looking for something, and I suspect that something is trouble. Trouble plagued the East End these days and the policeman wasn’t about to let this stranger cause any more. He picked up his pace, determined not to lose the big man in the foggy darkness. The big man turned the corner at Miller’s Court, followed by the bobby a few moments later. And then he vanished. The bobby ducked into the side alleys, searching each in detail, unwilling to believe this stranger could give him the slip on his own turf. Yet, that’s exactly what happened. After ten minutes jogging up and down the nearly empty streets, the bobby gave up. He briefly considered blowing his whistle for reinforcements, but decided against it. He’d keep an eye open for the big man tomorrow night. He walked backed to Whitechapel Station, his shift almost over. The big man materialized out of the fog and watched the bobby turn the corner. He held a crumpled copy of The Penny Illustrated Paper and Illustrated Times, which detailed the recent murder of a local prostitute, Miss Catherine Eddowes. The bobby was right; the man in black was looking for something. He smelled the cave in London’s East End, and came with fire and steel to put a stop to it. He opened his black oilskin drover, revealing two Colt .44 pistols. Each black as night, one he named Consequence, the other Purpose. But he knew they weren’t enough to stop the evil he followed across the Atlantic. He needed more. The street lamps shone down upon his chest, reflecting off a turquoise cross hung from a silver chain. The End.  Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoyed THE CAVE. You can get The Illusion Exotic here, featuring The Cave and other short stories. Please browse all my titles here.
#shortstory #horror #halloween #spooky #western #serial *** If you enjoyed this blog, please like the post and leave a comment or if you're feeling brave, share it on social media. This platform is my entire advertising budget and is how I share the word on my books. Also visit my Facebook, my author page and check out my photography book from America Through Time, "Abandoned Wiregrass: The Deepest South's Lost and Forgotten Places."
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Halloween is two days away, and today is Part 7 of a short story from my compendium "The Illusion Exotic". I'll run an installment each day leading up to Halloween. If you missed Part 1, you can catch up here. THE CAVE, Part 7 A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate. "The Cave", & "The Illusion Exotic, "Copyright 2016 Brian L. Braden  A grim calm settled over the dark man as he straightened and turned toward the entrance. He had his answer, but the answer didn’t make sense. The sun peeked under the top lip of the cave. He rolled down his sleeves and donned his coat. Before he stepped over the woodpile, something made him look back. He didn’t know why, because he didn’t want to. During the war the same inner voice made him duck right before a bullet whizzed by, or compelled him to advise General Palmer contrary to sound intelligence reports, thereby saving the division. Sunset now bathed the back of the cave in crimson light, highlighting every fly with crystal clarity. A ray of orange sunlight settled onto the gap in the pile where he removed Wellsby’s body. Something twinkled like starlight amongst ghoulish arms, legs and bones. Leave, his heart told him. Go see, something else whispered. The stink of rot and sour mash whisky enveloped him as he returned to the pile once more, careful not to block the sunlight from the sparkling place. Tangled black hair spilled over the body’s face, and Knight hoped he’d uncovered a freshly slain indian at the bottom of the pile. But the shade of black wasn’t quite right, and a few strands of gray stood out in the ruddy light. He kicked away another body to reveal white cotton and blue velvet. A silver chain wrapped around a delicate hand, which grasped a turquoise crucifix. As if watching someone else, he removed one glove and gently brushed away the black hair, uncovering pale, olive skin. Knight reeled backwards and fled the cave. Cleansing sunlight warmed his shoulders as he fell to his knees beside the stream. Knight stripped off his coat and splashed water over his face and arms. He kept scouring his forearms with water and sand until they bled, sucking in breath after breath, trying to purge death from his lungs. Townsend meekly approached. “Mr. Knight, are you okay?” Knight rinsed the bandana and folded it neatly in his pocket. He donned his coat, adjusted his hat and collected himself. “It’s just like Amado and I told you, isn’t it? Like something from hell,” Townsend said. Knight snapped his Colt up into Townsend’s forehead and shoved him against the ravine wall. “Where is Josefita Lucero?” He screamed into Townsend’s face. “You crazy som’bitch! Put that damn thing away!” Knight grabbed Townsend’s face and raised him off the ground with one arm. He shoved the black Colt up against the sheriff’s temple. “Tell me where Josefita Lucero is or I’ll shoot you dead now!” “Amado sent her to Santa Fe three days before you showed up! She went on the weekly coach. When we came back from the cave he said he was scared and didn’t want her ‘round. Yesterday he got word the carriage never made it. Amado was organizing a search party this morning.” Knight dropped Townsend into a dusty heap, turned and walked to his horse. “Señorita Lucero is in the cave, dead by two days near as I figure. Wellsby is in there, too. He’s been dead longer.” Townsend sat in the sand, face in his hands. Knight mounted up. He wasn’t going to tell Townsend, or anyone else, about his encounter with the Spanish Lady last night. “You still think I had something to do with this, don’t you?” Knight reached into this saddlebag and pulled out the unopened bottle of sour mash whisky. He cracked the seal, pulled the cork and took a whiff. Knight grimaced before his face solidified into a mask of determination. “There’s not a man alive with enough evil in his soul to do this. If there was, you ain’t him. The poor souls had their blood drained. They were feasted upon.” Townsend shuddered. “Probably some damned redskin.” Knight remembered General Palmer’s words: I fear, Silas, the old world is here, its sins and demons have followed us to the New World. “Get on your horse and ride hard back the way we came. Get back before sundown. I’m circling north via the rail line.” “Hell, I’d have to kill my horse to get back that fast!” “Then kill it. What did this knows we’re out here. If he catches you before you get to Espanola, you’ll end up stuffed under that pile with Wellsby and Amado’s wife.” “Well, tell me who done it. I’m the sheriff, and I’ll take care of ‘em!” “I suspect Wellsby left here with a good idea, too. I think he kept his suspicions to himself until he could confirm them. He underestimated this enemy and paid for it. I suspect the Lady Lucero knew who did this, though I don’t know how.” Knight reeled his horse around. “A good deal of what’s transpired here remains a mystery, but my gut tells me Father Garza may be dead, too. The faster you get back, the better the chances are you’ll find Amado still alive. “Now this is important, so listen carefully. When you get back, organize a party of about five men to come back at first light. Drag all that timber into the cave, soak it with kerosene and burn it to ashes. Then dynamite the cave and collapse the bank. As for tonight, stay at the tavern. “Don’t be alone, not even for a minute. If Amado hasn’t gone off looking for his wife yet, then.... well, tell him what I saw in there. I, for one, think he already suspects as much. Watch over each other, or you may not live to see the dawn.” Townsend swallowed hard. “I’ll bring the padre to bless the grave.” “If it makes you feel better, but this ground is cursed...deeply and forever.” “Are you going after who did this?” Knight jiggled the bottle. “I’m going to drink this, all of it till I can’t feel or smell anything else. I’ll see you back at the tavern. Tell everyone I plan on being mean and drunk, so stay the hell out of my way. In the morning, I’ll ride for the monster who did this.” “Who’s gunna watch your back?” Knight patted his Colt and rode off to the north without another word. He followed the cart tracks he scouted when they arrived at the river. He didn’t tell Townsend about the tracks, the less he knew the better. THE CAVE, Part 8 As darkness crept across the high desert, the wind howled up the Chama Valley. By the time Knight darkened the tavern door, the wind switched from the north, carrying flurries foretelling the season’s first storm. He swayed as the wind blew out the oil lamps. His glazed eyes swept the room until they fell upon Townsend. The lawman and the aborted search party sat quietly in the tavern, somberly nursing beer and whisky. Stumbling in, he slammed the empty whisky bottle on a table. The railroad agent raised his head and squinted at the wailing drifting from the upper rooms. “I take it Amado and his daughter know,” Knight slurred. Townsend nodded. “I caught ‘em just before he set out for Santa Fe with the search party.” “You did everything I asked?” Townsend nodded again. “I’m going to bed. There’s killing needs doing come dawn. Wake me before first light.” With that, Knight stumbled to his room and slammed the door shut. A barmaid closed the tavern door, but not before another slipped in unnoticed from the windswept darkness. Knight lay fully clothed, boots on, on top of the sagging mattress. Motionless and eyes closed, he breathed deep and ragged like a passed-out drunk. Townsend and his men’s muffled voices floated down the hallway and mixed with the branches rattling the window. Something slinked across the floor in the pitch-black room. Alert and cold sober; Knight’s senses were fully engaged. Eyes closed, breathing unchanged, he knew hell shuffled only a few feet from the end of his bed. He smelled the cave in the cramped space between the bed and the washstand. It’s deciding whether or not I’m really asleep. Like a spider, the enemy needed to ensure the venom was fully engaged before it wrapped the fly. Suddenly, the dark presence seemed to expand. The Colt blasted from under Knight’s right leg. In the muzzle flash, Knight saw a man slam against the opposite wall. Knight sprang up and discharged another cartridge where he calculated the body fell. Through the ringing in his ears he heard a groan. Townsend and his men exploded into the room brandishing guns and lanterns. Through oily gun smoke and dingy light Knight saw the motionless form of Nesbitt Carl against the shattered washstand. ("The Cave" concludes tomorrow.)  I hope you enjoyed this installment of THE CAVE. It will continue tomorrow on The Illusion Exotic and conclude on Halloween! Can't wait to find out what happens? You can get The Illusion Exotic here, featuring The Cave and other short stories.
#shortstory #horror #halloween #spooky #western #serial *** If you enjoyed this blog, please like the post and leave a comment or if you're feeling brave, share it on social media. This platform is my entire advertising budget and is how I share the word on my books. Also visit my Facebook, my author page and check out my photography book from America Through Time, "Abandoned Wiregrass: The Deepest South's Lost and Forgotten Places." Halloween is two days away, and today is Part 6 of a short story from my compendium "The Illusion Exotic". I'll run an installment each day leading up to Halloween. If you missed Part 1, you can catch up here. THE CAVE, Part 6 A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate. "The Cave", & "The Illusion Exotic, "Copyright 2016 Brian L. Braden  Formed by successive floods, heaps of gray scrub oak and rotting pinion formed a wall guarding the cave’s mouth like ragged teeth. Death lurked in there, every bit as grim as Amado and Townsend described. Josefita’s words came back to him...you will need more than fire and steel. Knight cocked the Colt’s hammer. Fire and steel will have to do. He stepped gingerly over the woodpile looking for the telltale sign where men had repeatedly transversed the heap. Knight quickly found a path of flattened sticks and followed it. Immediately after clearing the woodpile, Knight spotted the first bones. Covered with tattered flesh, they formed a scattered trail stretching into the dark recesses. Then the hot, putrid reek of rotting flesh assaulted him, along with the deafening buzz of a million flies. Knight pulled a flask of rye from his coat and took a long pull. He poured some over his bandana and tied it over his face. Returning the flask in his pocket, he knelt down examined the cave floor. Once again, the tracks told the story. Knight slipped deeper into the cave until the sloping roof forced him to stoop. That’s where he found the pile, exactly as Amado and Townsend described it. Clouds of black flies ebbed so thick they partially obscured the flesh mound. Arms, legs and bloodstained indian garb poked out from sheets of squirming maggots. Fighting an overpowering urge to vomit, his nostrils rebelled against an unholy stench the bandana did little to curb. Knight wasn’t familiar with the local savages, but he felt confident these weren’t white men. The corpses weren’t piled as much as stuffed into the back of the cave, new corpses tossed atop the old ones instead of spreading the pile out in the ample cave. The pile looks compressed. It’s been arranged. Beyond the scene’s sheer horror, that fact puzzled him. Knight glanced back at the bright entrance. The bone trail leading to the cave’s mouth obviously came from the older bodies near the bottom. Four men have been here. Amado’s, Townsend’s, and perhaps Wellsby’s tracks were several weeks old and easy to spot: straight in, straight out and close to one another like frightened creatures. The fourth set of boot tracks cut fresh and deep and bold across the cave floor, proclaiming the predator’s lair. The only scavenger tracks were those of the freshly killed coyote, and its tracks only meekly penetrated beyond the woodpile. It snatched the first scrap it found and high tailed out. Every critter for miles around should have been in here, feasting and dragging the carcasses up and down the riverbed. The only buzzards he saw were freshly arrived and circling over the dead coyote outside. From First Manassas to Gettysburg, Knight had witnessed fields of blood and carnage. Nature wasted no time feeding on war’s grim bounty, but here only flies reported for duty. The evil that repelled the scavengers began to seep into his bones. As bad as he wanted to run, grim duty kept his boots planted in the cave. If the bone trail leads from the center of the pile, it means someone needed to make room. Knight returned to the woodpile, thankful for the fresh air. He removed his drover coat and pulled a pair of leather gloves from its inner pocket. He laid the coat over the pile, rolled up his sleeves, and donned the gloves. That’s when a thought occurred to him. He looked back at the cave floor, and blew out a long breath of air between his teeth. There weren’t any signs of bodies being dragged, either inside or outside the cave. That’s why the killer’s tracks are so deep. He carried them, perhaps for miles. Returning to the corpses, Knight pulled on a rotted leg protruding midway down the pile. At first it didn’t budge, but his efforts released a fresh wave of foulness along with a cloud of flies. Knight coughed and fought for breath as he pulled again. The body slid out with a wet sucking sound. On a hundred battlefields Knight had never seen a corpse like this. The indian, perhaps in his late teens, had been here over a week, but wasn’t as stiff and bloated as would be expected. All the dead grow pale, but even a red savage wouldn’t be this eerily white, even after a week. Then he saw how the indian died. The man’s blood had been drained through a long gash ripped into his neck. Knight looked around, but there was no evidence of mass bloodletting anywhere in the cave. He wasn’t killed here. He pulled another corpse from the pile, this time an older man. He died the same way. Another older, badly decomposed body told the same story. He examined their necks more closely, trying to deduce the weapon that inflicted the killing wounds. “Knight, you alright in there?” came Townsend’s voice from beyond the cave. “I’m alright,” he yelled back. “But I reckon you won’t be if you don’t high-tail it back to that‘X’.” “I ain’t moved, Mr. Knight.” Townsend responded a moment later in a fainter, more distant voice. Knight leaned closer over the dead. No other wounds were apparent, only the gashes which delivered the killing stroke. Too jagged for a knife...maybe a saw? He peered closer at the necrotizing flesh, occasionally flicking away a maggot. Knight couldn’t believe what his eyes told him, but the dead don’t lie. Chew marks. Bites. “Poor bastards.” As a deputy in Kansas City, he once investigated a prostitute’s murder. Something about these bodies reminded him of that brutal violation. He examined the rest of the three corpses and discovered bruises around their wrists. Someone very powerful pinned them down, ripped open their necks and drained every ounce of blood from their dying bodies. They didn’t struggle much, and that he didn’t understand. They all looked to have been strong bucks. Shaking, Knight stood and took several deep breaths. He placed his hand on the holstered Colt until the trembling ceased. Looking back at the cave entrance, the light slowly dimmed as the day wore on. The tracks in and around the cave gave Knight confidence Townsend wasn’t responsible for this atrocity. The evil here wasn’t indian handiwork, either. Even the monstrous Comanche had never done anything like this before. Knight battled the urge to bolt, but an unseen force held him. He glanced back at the pile and saw black fabric poking from beneath an indian leg. Knight shoved the leg aside and discovered a hand and arm wearing a white man’s coat. Knight grabbed the sleeve and tugged at the body buried deep inside the pile. Initially, it wouldn’t budge. Knight dug in his heels and turned his head against the hellish fume rising from the heart of the pile. The body broke free as corpses tumbled right and left, leaving a stinking valley in the death mound. Knight gasped for air and took a long pull from his flask before examining the new corpse, two holstered pistols strapped to its hips. “Wellsby.” He’d never met the man, but felt sure it was him. A tin star topped Wellsby’s black overcoat, his white shirt now stained with rot from his new companions. Wellsby died differently from the rest. His mustachioed face was purple and bloated, his body stiff with rigor mortis. Bruises encircled the lawman’s throat, but the neck wasn’t ripped open. Someone snapped Wellsby’s neck with bare hands before the sheriff could even draw, carried the big man here, and then stuffed him deep inside the pile like a rag doll. Probably a hard man, Knight knew someone like Wellsby didn’t have his neck snapped easily. Still leaning down, Knight caught a faint scent hiding beneath the blanket of rot and decay. A familiar scent. Knight pulled down the whisky soaked bandana, closed his eyes, and whiffed the air. At first, the putrid rot overwhelmed his senses, but then he caught it again. Wincing, he filled his lungs again and again, leaning over the pile like a chef taking in the aroma of the day’s soup. Whisky. This wasn’t the hard-edged old rye soaking his bandana, but a sweeter, more refined aroma of Kentucky sour-mash. (to be continued tomorrow)  I hope you enjoyed this installment of THE CAVE. It will continue tomorrow on The Illusion Exotic and conclude on Halloween! Can't wait to find out what happens? You can get The Illusion Exotic here, featuring The Cave and other short stories.
#shortstory #horror #halloween #spooky #western #serial *** If you enjoyed this blog, please like the post and leave a comment or if you're feeling brave, share it on social media. This platform is my entire advertising budget and is how I share the word on my books. Also visit my Facebook, my author page and check out my photography book from America Through Time, "Abandoned Wiregrass: The Deepest South's Lost and Forgotten Places." Halloween is three days away, and today is Part 5 of a short story from my compendium "The Illusion Exotic". I'll run an installment each day leading up to Halloween. If you missed Part 1, you can catch up here. THE CAVE, Part 5 A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate. "The Cave", & "The Illusion Exotic, "Copyright 2016 Brian L. Braden  “It’s there, in the cliff face on the east side of the river.” Townsend pointed down to a sharp bend in the river about half a mile north of their vantage point on the cliff. Knight lowered his hat against the naked sun and followed Townsend’s finger to an overhang in the opposite cliff. There, the river had carved out a hollow in the soft yellow clay. In the stark midday shadows, he couldn’t be sure how far it penetrated the cliff. With monsoon season nearly over and the Brazos Mountains snow pack almost gone, the Chama shriveled to a trickle. The challenge would be finding a way down the cliff to the streambed. “I see it. How do we get down there?” “The cliff descends in another mile north.” “Something is moving down there, just south of the cave,” Knight pointed to a dark speck trotting out from the cave’s shadow. Townsend shielded his eyes from the sun and sat higher in the saddle, wiping sweat from his brow every few minutes. “That there’s a cay-yote-aye, maybe a mangy wolf. Hard to tell from here, I didn’t see any sign of a...” Townsend jumped in his saddle as Knight’s Colt thundered inches from his ear. “SON OF A BITCH! I’m gonna be deaf in that ear for a week, you...” Ignoring Townsend, Knight calmly replaced the revolver in his holster, and rode through the blue smoke. Townsend rubbed his ringing ear and looked where Knight shot. Far below, the animal lay motionless on the riverbank. “It had something in its mouth. I want to see it.” “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled and spurred his horse after Knight. As Townsend promised, the cliff soon descended to the sandy streambed. Knight stopped just short of the river and trotted back and forth, looking intently at the ground as Townsend caught up. “Hell of a shot back there. Musta been three hundred yards. Never saw a revolver shot like...” “What’s east of here?” Knight interrupted, pointing to a wisp of black smoke on the horizon. “That’s Foreman McGhee’s railhead camp, maybe four miles. The line stays north of the river until it enters the mountains.” Townsend took off his hat and wiped his head with a rag. “Looks like ole’ McGhee’s making good progress all things considered.” “Answer me this, and answer carefully.” Knight turned and directed his gaze squarely on Townsend. “Have you told anyone what Amado spoke of last night? Does anyone in town, other than you and Amado know of this place?” Townsend shook his head. “Only the kid from the pueblo and Father Garza.” “I ain’t worried about the boy. If what Amado told me is true, there isn’t a red skin alive who’ll come near this place.” Knight galloped about fifty yards downstream and halted, studying the sandy bank. Warily, Townsend trailed a few yards behind. Knight suddenly wheeled about, pulled his gun and pointed it squarely at Townsend. “The boy, did he accompany you and Amado back to the cave?” Townsend slowly raised his hands. “Hey, I ain’t done nothing to you or any of those poor souls!” Knight cocked the hammer. “Answer my question.” “No, he was too afraid. Stayed upstream ‘til we came back fer him.” “Father Garza...when did he leave you and Amado and head back to the Espanola?” Knight asked. Townsend looked confused. “I don’t understand.” “It’s important you answer my question, Mr. Townsend. Otherwise, it’s going to go bad for you.” “Last night, neither of you told me what happened after you found the cave. Tell me what happened to Father Garza after you left the cave.” Sweat poured down Townsend’s face. “He took the boy north, to the pueblo. Don’t rightly know what became of them since. I suspect Garza made his way back to San Marcos.” “And Wellsby?” “He went back with us, I know Amado told you as much.” “We’ll see. Turn around and ride north ahead of me.” “Are you gunna tell me what the hell’s going on? I ain’t done wrong by you or anyone.” “Maybe,” Knight replied casually from behind. “There’s what you tell me and what the tracks tell me. I’ll find out soon enough who’s telling the truth.” They rode several hundred yards north toward the distant railhead, until the terrain flattened and sand gave way to scrub and thistle. He commanded Townsend to stop, but stay on the horse. “Keep your hands were I can see them.” Knight dismounted and walked through the scrub, once again studying the ground, Colt always pointed in Townsend’s general direction. He bent down and examined the dirt. “Wellsby vanished, just like that?” Knight inquired. “It ain’t no damn different than like we told you,” frustration rising in the sheriff’s tone. “We got back just before dark. Wellsby told us to keep quiet and he was gunna wire back to Colorado Springs what we found. He never met us the next morning, like he said he would. Ain’t seen him since. Amado said we should keep quiet until you showed up. That’s the truth, I swear. Hey, if we were lying, why would I bring you up here?” Knight remounted his horse. “Because this would be a good place to dump the body of an agent of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. Now, turn your horse around and ride back to the river.” Townsend spit. “You planning on killing me?” “Should I?” They returned to where the cliffs enclosed both sides of the river. The horses splashed up to their hooves in the muddy water as they rounded the bend and the cave came into view. “Dismount,” Knight ordered. The railroad agent dismounted and cut an “X” in the sand with his boot heel next to the stream. “Stand here. Don’t move until I see if what you and Amado told me is true. Most of what you said lines up with the tracks going in and out of this canyon. If I see tracks newer than two weeks old coming from the south, I’ll know someone lied. And if I don’t find what you described in the cave, I’ll still know someone lied.” “We weren’t lying, Knight.” “We’ll see. If you move off that ‘X’ I’ll kill you before you mount your horse, understand? Even if my back is turned, I’ll still hear you. And if I can’t hear you, I’ll smell you. If I find what I should in there, then me and you, we’re okay.” Townsend remained silent as he tied his horse to a piece of scrub and stood on the X. “Ain’t you gunna take my gun?” “If I thought you knew how to use it, I would.” Townsend’s cheeks turned red. He jerked his hat low and crossed his arms with a huff. Knight tied off his horse and crossed the sluggish current, barely getting his boots wet in the process. As he walked down the canyon the cliffs rose higher and the breeze abandoned him to the New Mexico sun. Overhead, buzzards dragged their shadows over the creature lying next to the stream bed. It turned out to be a mangy coyote with a mottled coat and sore-covered skin. Jutting ribs and bulging eyes spoke of a creature already dying of hunger. A human femur, partially covered with dried flesh, lay beside its head. He nudged it with his boot, revealing blood-soaked sand under its chest. Lung shot. Knight stepped over the coyote, not bothering to look back at Townsend, knowing he hadn’t moved. The cave waited. (to be continued tomorrow)  I hope you enjoyed this installment of THE CAVE. It will continue tomorrow on The Illusion Exotic and conclude on Halloween! Can't wait to find out what happens? You can get The Illusion Exotic here, featuring The Cave and other short stories.
#shortstory #horror #halloween #spooky #western #serial *** If you enjoyed this blog, please like the post and leave a comment or if you're feeling brave, share it on social media. This platform is my entire advertising budget and is how I share the word on my books. Also visit my Facebook, my author page and check out my photography book from America Through Time, "Abandoned Wiregrass: The Deepest South's Lost and Forgotten Places." Halloween is one week away. I'd like to start a tradition on the Illusion Exotic, by featuring a short story from my compendium "The Illusion Exotic". I'll run an installment each day leading up to Halloween. I hope you enjoy it.  THE CAVE A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate. "The Cave", & "The Illusion Exotic, "Copyright 2016 Brian L. Braden The man in black leaned against the porch railing, patiently contemplating the purpose of his summons. Twirling his handlebar mustache, he admired the late spring maelstrom raging high above on Pikes Peak. Snow erupted off the upwind slope in sun-gilded plumes, blending into rolling clouds above the summit. The turmoil above contrasted to the calm where he stood a mile below. He understood the illusion of tranquility, of how quickly death could descend and deliver an unexpected blow. Squinting against the morning sun, deep creases etched his weathered face with shadows as dark as his drover coat and broad hat. The man in black seemed to soak the light from the morning air, testifying to the civilized world here stood a man of consequence, a man of purpose. He merely thought of himself as a man of duty. Duty drew him to the eastern Rockies, the slopes just coming back to life after a bitter winter. Most of the snow across the plains had already melted, transforming the streets of Colorado Springs into mud, confounding wagons and soiling the finest petticoats. He noticed quite a few petticoats and top hats, strangely out of place in a new frontier town. English tourists and English money saturated the city, driving prices as high as Pikes Peak. As the fresh scars of the Civil War began to heal, gentlemen and ladies from the finest eastern families and European nobility came west, deposited in Denver by the Kansas-Pacific Railroad. They journeyed the rest of the way courtesy of General Palmer’s Denver and Rio Grande Railway. Some came to see the vanishing frontier and gaze upon the majestic Rockies. Others came to hunt the plentiful trophy game in the high country. The one thing not plentiful here was liquor. General Palmer didn’t tolerate alcohol in his new town. He harbored deep respect for his former commander, but still brought enough good rye to keep him warm during his stay. He had some fine tobacco in his hotel, too. As bad as he wanted for a cigarette, he supposed this would be a bad place to roll one. The covered porch wrapped around a spacious whitewashed building, which could have been mistaken for a fine resort hotel. Perched between worlds, the majestic mountains formed the hospital’s backdrop and the plains fell before it like an endless gown. Frail, wispy figures clad in white robes surrounded the man in black like morning fog encircles a granite peak. They, too, existed between worlds; living ghosts slumped in wheelchairs across the porch. Nurses drifted among the pale figures carrying blankets and hot tea. Occasional coughing spasms racked the silence. The patients deflected their gazes away from him. Perhaps he’d dealt death for so long, he’d come to resemble it. During the war, General Palmer once confided why he always kept him by his side. Palmer believed the man in black could sense when death lingered nearby, attributing this gift for keeping the General’s feet firmly planted in this world. He told the General it wasn’t a gift. When you got the smell of death deep in your lungs day in and day out, it eventually stuck there like molasses on the inside of a barrel. After a while, you could smell it coming. Just when a man thought he’d exorcised death from his mind for good he’d get a whiff of it again, strong and fresh. Most men who fought the war, like the General, spent the rest of their lives trying to avoid death. Thinking it a fool’s errand, the man in black quit trying long ago. In fact, he’d gotten so damn good at smelling death coming he made it his profession. Death permeated the clean, crisp mountain air. It wasn’t the hot, violent smell of the battlefield or a gunfight, but the cool, sterile odor of antiseptic decay. While expensive and beautiful, this place wasn’t a fine resort hotel and these weren’t English tourists. The patients came for a second chance at life and hoped to find it here at Craigmor Sanitarium. Neither stricken with consumption, or visiting a patient, he had an appointment with his former commander General William Jackson Palmer. Palmer’s personal secretary, a small man with a penchant for small details, emerged onto the porch and whispered to the man in black, “Mr. Knight, the General will be out shortly.” Silas H. Knight nodded and resumed chewing on a toothpick as the little man scurried off. A few moments later, a group of well-dressed men emerged onto the porch, Palmer at their center. “Gentlemen,” the General addressed them. “I feel certain I’ve laid to rest any doubts this grand institution, nestled here amidst our Lord’s natural beauty, is at the forefront of modern medicine. I am confident this glorious place of healing can only prosper and thrive under the stewardship of such a distinguished board of trustees. Now, if you will please excuse me, I must attend to other matters. I leave you in the hands of Doctor Edwin Solly, with whom you are already acquainted, to field any further questions.” He shook hands with each and bid them thanks and farewell. His smile cooled as he turned and made his way across the porch to Knight. “Sergeant, it does please me to see you again.” “General.” Knight touched the brim of his hat in a ghost of a salute. “How was your journey? Are you hungry? The kitchen staff here is excellent.” “No thank you, sir. The hotel has a fine breakfast, even if it is a bit rich for an old soldier.” “Ah, yes,” Palmer agreed. “The Antlers is the finest hotel west of St. Louis. I hope you find it agreeable.” “Most certainly.” Palmer motioned off the porch. “Well then, Sergeant, will you do me the honor of accompanying me in a stroll across the grounds while we discuss why I asked you here?” The two men made no small talk as they strolled in silence down the hill, past the garden toward the open prairie. Palmer stopped and surveyed the wide-open rolling grasslands stretching east, interrupted only by the distant town nestled among the foothills. A gust of wind stirred the late morning calm as the mountain storm behind them began to draw energy from the warming grasslands. Knight watched his former commander out of the corner of his eye. The steely look on Palmer’s face transported him back to battlefields long ago, and a thousand miles away. He knew deep inside that Palmer still fought the war. The general would fight for the rest of his life to purge the smell of death from his nostrils. “Silas, I trust you are in good health and your constitution is as firm as ever.” Palmer looked him up and down and nodded. “Yes sir, still fit enough.” “If my telegram was sufficient to lure you here then I can rest assured Kansas City holds no special bond for you?” Knight nodded. He had no bonds, other than to some inner code of honor he shared with a few men. Palmer was and would forever be his commander, loyalty bought and paid for with blood. Palmer nodded quickly and grinned. “Excellent." Palmer stretched his arm across the open grasslands, the way he did when he surveyed battlefields. Knight followed him, because unlike most Union generals, Palmer was a man of thought and action. A spy, the commander of the 15th Calvary Regiment, a former prisoner of war, and nemesis of General Lee, he was the most daring man Knight had ever encountered. “Colorado Springs is going to be the next St. Louis. I’m building railroads, but not out west, Silas. No, that is already happening.” He turned and motioned toward the giant peaks. “Instead, I’m building narrow gauge lines throughout the Rockies from Mexico to Canada. Not around them, mind you, but through them! In Washington, they see these great mountains as obstacles to uniting the continent. I see them as a source of wealth, the very backbone of the continent.” Knight listened as Palmer went on, detailing his plans for the Denver and Rio Grand Railway. To his former commander, it was simply a matter of breathing life into events already played out in his mind a thousand times. An engineer, the General visualized the end-state, and then applied scientific principles to make his vision reality. Now Palmer visualized pushing the American Empire across a virgin continent. “Science now allows us to engineer railways in places the ancients couldn’t have scraped a goat path. I have work camps scattered up and down the Rockies. These are lawless places, beyond territorial justice. If I can’t keep order, I can’t build the railroad.” Knight now understood why he’d been summoned. Palmer continued, “The camps are filled primarily with Mexicans, but there are some white men, mostly foremen and engineers mind you, at each location. There is liquor and whoring, I can’t prevent that. However, I can’t have these vices inducing strife with the local indians. The tribes, especially in New Mexico territory, are very different than those across the plains. They’re generally passive unless stirred to trouble. That, my old friend, is why I requested your services. Are you equal to the task?” “I understand, sir.” Sergeant Silas H. Knight, former scout of the 15th Pennsylvania Calvary Regiment would ride forth once again at the bidding of his general. “Very good. I knew I could count on you. I’ll pay well above what you earned in Kansas City. My personal secretary will handle the details.” “Yes, sir.” Ordinarily a hard man when it came to contract negotiations, Knight simply accepted his former commander’s word. “I hope your instincts are as sharp as ever, for I must request that you depart immediately. I received word this morning of trouble near the railhead in Espanola, in northern New Mexico. There is a territorial marshal there, a certain Thomas Wellsby, but he is a drunkard and a liar. I’m making you a deputized agent of the railroad. Under territorial law you’ll have jurisdiction in all matters regarding the Denver and Rio Grande Railway.” Palmer leaned toward Knight in confidence. “Espanola is the lynchpin for the Chili Line, the railroad stretching from Raton across northern New Mexico. Therefore, all matters in Espanola are in some regard the jurisdiction of this railroad.” “Will Wellsby be a problem?” Knight inquired. “He’ll see your mettle and likely stay out of your way. However, he is not above backstabbing, so tread carefully. Ascertain the situation in Espanola and, if he is involved, deal with him as necessary. And I suspect he is involved. “I want law and order established there, one way or another. When you are through in Espanola, move north or south along the rail line from Santa Fe as you deem fit. Let your reputation move ahead of you, if you take my meaning.” Palmer gestured to the well-worn grips of Knight’s .44 caliber Colt pistols. A cold gust of wind suddenly blew from the west, rocking Palmer slightly. Knight’s heavy black oilskin drover barely ruffled. The general turned and looked back at the sanitarium and the gray mountains beyond. The storm slowly descended onto the plains, darkening the blue morning sky and casting a shadow over Palmer’s face. “I have enemies. Not just the railroad barons in Denver, but in Washington. They want to see my narrow gauge railway fail. Lackeys in Congress try to block me and I suspect the work camps are filled with saboteurs. I believe Wellsby is one of them. “I fear the old world is here, its sins and demons have followed us to the New World. The war showed us that, Sergeant. We must shine the light of freedom and faith into the all the dark corners. We must not let those demons gain a foothold in this clean, bountiful land.” Knight did what he always did when his general waxed philosophically: nodded and kept quiet. He’d never been to the Old World, but he knew people were the same, whether white, negro, indian, or Mexican. Most were bad, few were good. And some were damned. (to be continued tomorrow)  I hope you enjoyed this installment of THE CAVE. It will continue tomorrow on The Illusion Exotic and conclude on Halloween! Can't wait to find out what happens? You can get The Illusion Exotic here, featuring The Cave and other short stories. *** If you enjoyed this blog, please like the post and leave a comment or if you're feeling brave, share it on social media. This platform is my entire advertising budget and is how I share the word on my books. Also visit my Facebook, my author page and check out my photography book from America Through Time, "Abandoned Wiregrass: The Deepest South's Lost and Forgotten Places." All titles by Brian L. Braden are either on sale or free in e-book from now until 15 July.  the illusion exotic in e-book is FREE through 11 July! This diverse short story collection is a great introduction to the style and prose of Brian L. Braden. Brian L. Braden presents six tales of souls turning life’s corners. From the Old West, to the edge of space, six people must learn to abandon the illusions that feed their fears, and trust in love, friendship, and their own courage. The end of the world is bad enough, but its worse when you’re a kid. For little Anant, hope comes in the most unlikely of forms, the voice of Captain James T. Kirk. However, in "Spaceship Name", hope does not come without a price. In "Green", a young pilot’s courage and fledgling skills are tested to the limit in the pitch black skies above a treacherous battlefield. In one terrifying moment, she will either lead her crew to triumph, or perish. A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate in "The Cave." After a long day, second grade teacher Margaret Nichols only wants to go home, run a warm bath, and open her wrists. Fate has other plans, however, in the form of a bloodstained Bible and "The Boy in the Hole." On a Saturday night, high school nerd Mike faces a tough choice: pursue a chance for romance with a popular cheerleader, or hang with Todd, his best friend and notorious loser. What he doesn’t know is his decision will mean life and death, and forever go down in history as the "Incident at the West Flatte Dairy Queen." "Carson’s Love" takes the reader into the lives of the Campbells, a family falling apart. Megan and Rob have become so lost in their own lives, they’re about to lose each other. Then, while giving their baby a bath, Rob Campbell makes a startling discovery, and their world suddenly turns upside down.  THE GOLDEN PRINCESS is free on e-book through 11 July! Enter the world of THE CHRONICLES OF FU XI with this stand-alone prequel to this ground-breaking epic fantasy series. "Escape the City of Gold, or live forever in chains." Raised in splendid isolation. Betrothed to a man she despises. Destined to rule over the greatest city on earth. She is the Golden Princess. Sarah dreams of love and adventure beyond her gilded prison, but tonight her dreams come true in the most terrifying way imaginable. A bloody power struggle erupts for the throne, and dawn finds the princess on the run with a bounty on her head. Alone and hunted by guards, criminals and a ruthless slaver who will stop at nothing to burn his brand into her flesh, Sarah must summon courage she never knew she possessed. Hope, however, comes in the form of two lowly thieves. Driven by a secret, they race through Hur-ar’s underworld to find Sarah before her enemies do. Before the next sunset, Sarah’s fate, and that of empires, will be decided with gold, steel and blood.  THE CHRONICLES OF FU XI, Volume 1 and 2 e-books are discounted 9-15 July!
Semifinalist, 2013 Kindle Book Reviews Sci-Fi/Fantasy Book of the Year! The fish have disappeared from the sea. The animals have vanished from the land. All humanity, and even the gods, tremble under the specter of a pending cataclysm. The demigod, Fu Xi, races home from the edge of the world bringing news of a looming god war, but finds his land under attack by monsters he once called his children. He discovers a terrible curse has been cast, one intended to destroy the gods and all life. To his shock, Fu Xi learns that mankind's last hope rests solely on him, a simple fisherman, and a banished slave girl. Beset on all sides by ancient foes, both immortal and mundane, Fu Xi knows he must act quickly and races west to rescue the saviors. Unaware of the real doom that awaits, Aizarg the fisherman and his party begin a perilous journey across a dangerous steppe. They seek the last of the Narim, the legendary Black Sea Gods, who hold the key to their salvation. Leading them is the rescued slave girl Sarah, the only one among them who knows the path to the land of the god-men. Over seven days, the defining struggle of gods and humans begins under the onslaught of a powerful force whose true objective and origin remain a mystery. Fu Xi knows the secret to victory resides in the fisherman and the slave girl, whose lives he must protect, even if it means the rest of the world must perish! *** If you enjoyed any Graham Hancock's books, you will love BLACK SEA GODS. BLACK SEA GODS transforms recently re-discovered Black Sea legends, possibly the root of all Eurasian mythology, with ancient Chinese mythology to create an unprecedented epic fantasy series. Find out more about this series at blackseagods.com A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate in "The Cave." The Cave is one of six short stories in my book "The Illusion Exotic." Here is a small sample, I hope you enjoy it. *** “It’s there, in the cliff face on the east side of the river.” Townsend pointed down to a sharp bend in the river about half a mile north of their vantage point on the cliff. Knight lowered his hat against the naked sun and followed Townsend’s finger to an overhang in the opposite cliff. There, the river had carved out a hollow in the soft yellow clay. In the stark midday shadows, he couldn’t be sure how far it penetrated the cliff. With monsoon season nearly over and the Brazos Mountains snow pack almost gone, the Chama shriveled to a trickle. The challenge would be finding a way down the cliff to the streambed. “I see it. How do we get down there?” “The cliff descends in another mile north.” “Something is moving down there, just south of the cave,” Knight pointed to a dark speck trotting out from the cave’s shadow. Townsend shielded his eyes from the sun and sat higher in the saddle, wiping sweat from his brow every few minutes. “That there’s a cay-yote-aye, maybe a mangy wolf. Hard to tell from here, I didn’t see any sign of a...” Townsend jumped in his saddle as Knight’s Colt thundered inches from his ear. “SON OF A BITCH! I’m gonna be deaf in that ear for a week, you...” Ignoring Townsend, Knight calmly replaced the revolver in his holster, and rode through the blue smoke. Townsend rubbed his ringing ear and looked where Knight shot. Far below, the animal lay motionless on the riverbank. “It had something in its mouth. I want to see it.” “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled and spurred his horse after Knight. As Townsend promised, the cliff soon descended to the sandy streambed. Knight stopped just short of the river and trotted back and forth, looking intently at the ground as Townsend caught up. “Hell of a shot back there. Musta been three hundred yards. Never saw a revolver shot like...” “What’s east of here?” Knight interrupted, pointing to a wisp of black smoke on the horizon. “That’s Foreman McGhee’s railhead camp, maybe four miles. The line stays north of the river until it enters the mountains.” Townsend took off his hat and wiped his head with a rag. “Looks like ole’ McGhee’s making good progress all things considered.” “Answer me this, and answer carefully.” Knight turned and directed his gaze squarely on Townsend. “Have you told anyone what Amado spoke of last night? Does anyone in town, other than you and Amado know of this place?” Townsend shook his head. “Only the kid from the pueblo and Father Garza.” “I ain’t worried about the boy. If what Amado told me is true, there isn’t a red skin alive who’ll come near this place.” Knight galloped about fifty yards downstream and halted, studying the sandy bank. Warily, Townsend trailed a few yards behind. Knight suddenly wheeled about, pulled his gun and pointed it squarely at Townsend. “The boy, did he accompany you and Amado back to the cave?” Townsend slowly raised his hands. “Hey, I ain’t done nothing to you or any of those poor souls!” Knight cocked the hammer. “Answer my question.” “No, he was too afraid. Stayed upstream ‘til we came back fer him.” “Father Garza...when did he leave you and Amado and head back to the Espanola?” Knight asked. Townsend looked confused. “I don’t understand.” “It’s important you answer my question, Mr. Townsend. Otherwise, it’s going to go bad for you.” “Last night, neither of you told me what happened after you found the cave. Tell me what happened to Father Garza after you left the cave.” Sweat poured down Townsend’s face. “He took the boy north, to the pueblo. Don’t rightly know what became of them since. I suspect Garza made his way back to San Marcos.” “And Wellsby?” “He went back with us, I know Amado told you as much.” “We’ll see. Turn around and ride north ahead of me.” “Are you gunna tell me what the hell’s going on? I ain’t done wrong by you or anyone.” “Maybe,” Knight replied casually from behind. “There’s what you tell me and what the tracks tell me. I’ll find out soon enough who’s telling the truth.” They rode several hundred yards north toward the distant railhead, until the terrain flattened and sand gave way to scrub and thistle. He commanded Townsend to stop, but stay on the horse. “Keep your hands were I can see them.” Knight dismounted and walked through the scrub, once again studying the ground, Colt always pointed in Townsend’s general direction. He bent down and examined the dirt. “Wellsby vanished, just like that?” Knight inquired. “It ain’t no damn different than like we told you,” frustration rising in the sheriff’s tone. “We got back just before dark. Wellsby told us to keep quiet and he was gunna wire back to Colorado Springs what we found. He never met us the next morning, like he said he would. Ain’t seen him since. Amado said we should keep quiet until you showed up. That’s the truth, I swear. Hey, if we were lying, why would I bring you up here?” Knight remounted his horse. “Because this would be a good place to dump the body of an agent of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. Now, turn your horse around and ride back to the river.” Townsend spit. “You planning on killing me?” “Should I?” They returned to where the cliffs enclosed both sides of the river. The horses splashed up to their hooves in the muddy water as they rounded the bend and the cave came into view. “Dismount,” Knight ordered. The railroad agent dismounted and cut an “X” in the sand with his boot heel next to the stream. “Stand here. Don’t move until I see if what you and Amado told me is true. Most of what you said lines up with the tracks going in and out of this canyon. If I see tracks newer than two weeks old coming from the south, I’ll know someone lied. And if I don’t find what you described in the cave, I’ll still know someone lied.” “We weren’t lying, Knight.” “We’ll see. If you move off that ‘X’ I’ll kill you before you mount your horse, understand? Even if my back is turned, I’ll still hear you. And if I can’t hear you, I’ll smell you. If I find what I should in there, then me and you, we’re okay.” Townsend remained silent as he tied his horse to a piece of scrub and stood on the X. “Ain’t you gunna take my gun?” “If I thought you knew how to use it, I would.” Townsend’s cheeks turned red. He jerked his hat low and crossed his arms with a huff. Knight tied off his horse and crossed the sluggish current, barely getting his boots wet in the process. As he walked down the canyon the cliffs rose higher and the breeze abandoned him to the New Mexico sun. Overhead, buzzards dragged their shadows over the creature lying next to the stream bed. It turned out to be a mangy coyote with a mottled coat and sore-covered skin. Jutting ribs and bulging eyes spoke of a creature already dying of hunger. A human femur, partially covered with dried flesh, lay beside its head. He nudged it with his boot, revealing blood-soaked sand under its chest. Lung shot. Knight stepped over the coyote, not bothering to look back at Townsend, knowing he hadn’t moved. The cave waited. ***  If you enjoyed that sample, you can read the rest of The Cave and other short stories in The Illusion Exotic.
Brian L. Braden presents six tales of souls turning life’s corners. From the Old West, to the edge of space, six people must learn to abandon the illusions that feed their fears, and trust in love, friendship, and their own courage. The end of the world is bad enough, but its worse when you’re a kid. For little Anant, hope comes in the most unlikely of forms, the voice of Captain James T. Kirk. However, in "Spaceship Name", hope does not come without a price. In "Green", a young pilot’s courage and fledgling skills are tested to the limit in the pitch black skies above a treacherous battlefield. In one terrifying moment, she will either lead her crew to triumph, or perish. A former Civil War soldier embarks on a quest on behalf of his former commander. He expects to find outlaws and gunslingers in the high deserts of New Mexico, but instead stumbles upon death incarnate in "The Cave." After a long day, second grade teacher Margaret Nichols only wants to go home, run a warm bath, and open her wrists. Fate has other plans, however, in the form of a bloodstained Bible and "The Boy in the Hole." On a Saturday night, high school nerd Mike faces a tough choice: pursue a chance for romance with a popular cheerleader, or hang with Todd, his best friend and notorious loser. What he doesn’t know is his decision will mean life and death, and forever go down in history as the "Incident at the West Flatte Dairy Queen." "Carson’s Love" takes the reader into the lives of the Campbells, a family falling apart. Megan and Rob have become so lost in their own lives, they’re about to lose each other. Then, while giving their baby a bath, Rob Campbell makes a startling discovery, and their world suddenly turns upside down. |
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