Drink With The Living Dead.

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[[include component:preview
text=1872, the Weird West. A member of the Union Investigation Unit is sent to chase down a shambling corpse. Will he choose to duel with the drink, or the gun?
]]
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Marah snorted heavily in annoyance as the sun sank below the horizon, leaving us with the full moon and stars to light our way. By this time, he would usually be lounging around while I finished setting up camp for the night; but our destination is visible in the distance, and I’m looking forward to a warm bed for once. ‘We’re almost there, old friend,’ I mumbled as I dug into my saddlebag and fished out the last apple. With my body laid over his neck, I held it out with one hand while lightly petting his neck with the other as he munched away. ‘You can rest up, drink your fill, and I’ll get you a few more of these in town. Sound alright?’ My steed assented with a soft whinny and gentle bucking of his head before he took another large bite of the apple and carried me the last dozen miles to Ruby, Arizona.

—--

The town clock told me it was just past ten as the two of us slowly made our way down the main promenade. At this time of night, the only other folks on the street were on their way to the saloon or stumbling home from it; which made it quite easy to find. Once we pulled up to the entrance, I hadn’t even slipped out of my saddle before Marah dunked his head into the trough outside the saloon. ‘Thanks for pushing yourself, buddy,’ I chuckled softly as I tied up his reins to the post and rubbed his neck a bit. With a couple light pats, I added, ‘I’ll find you a place to rest up for the night.’

He stamped his hoof lightly to agree while I made my way up the steps and through the batwing doors. I’d wager around forty people had gathered within the large saloon; engaged in card games, idle chatter, or the odd business discussion. A few folks looked my way with curiosity, but soon went back to their drinks. I paid them no mind as I saddled up to the bar, slipped into an empty stool, and waved down the bartender.

‘Howdy there, stranger. Name’s Colt. You look like you just got into town.’ He was an aging fellow with a balding head and muscular arms that told me he wasn’t a stranger to breaking up fights in his saloon. Still, he seemed amiable enough.

My best smile spread over my face as I tipped my hat lightly in greeting. ‘Yep, just tied up my horse outside. Any chance there’s someone here who can give him some good food and a nice stall?’

Colt slowly looked around the bar before spotting someone and calling out to them. ‘Sally Mae! This fellow here needs lodging for his horse!’ A moment later, a short, mousy woman with wild brown hair popped up with a wide grin and hurried over with a barrage of questions.

‘What’s their name? What breed are they? Are they okay with other horses, or do they need a more private stall? What’s their favorite food? What treats do they like? Would they be okay with me washing them and brushing them down?’

‘Uhh…’ The whirlwind of questions blew around in my head as I stared at her for a few moments in confusion before I could put together a response and rattle off the answers. ‘His name’s Marah, he’s full Arabian, he’s good being around others, prefers timothy hay with a good handful of alfalfa, apples for when he’s been good, and he will be a sweetheart if you wash him and brush him down.’

I paused after rambling off the answers to her questions, then add one more thing. ‘I did also promise him a couple of extra apples for pushing him to get here tonight. So I’d appreciate it if you would toss a few at him. Here, lemme go introduce you.’

Sally Mae was halfway across the room before I had even gotten off my stool. By the time I stepped outside, she had made her own introduction and was rubbing Marah’s side and scratching an ear. With a light chuckle, I moved in front of him and joined Sally Mae by affectionately rubbing his nose. Though I had to tease him a bit as I muttered, ‘You’re such a whore for attention, pal.’

After watching Sally Mae for a bit and seeing the light in her eyes, I let out a soft sigh of relief that she was already as kind to Marah as I was. ‘Guess I don’t need to worry about anything. Oh, and thank you for taking care of him this late. I’ll pay your tab tonight, alright?’

She kept her attention on Marah while she moved down his body to scratch along his back and sides. I got the feeling she was like this with any animal that would allow her to pet them. With a soft, dreamy voice, she finally responded, ‘I always love caring for animals. I ain’t a fan of my drinkin’ being interrupted, though. Honestly, for most folks, I would have told them to go take care of all this themselves. But… you don’t wear spurs.‘ She turned to regard me with a warm smile and continued, ‘It means you don’t see Marah as a thing. He’s more than just some means of conveyance. He’s your friend.’

A few memories suddenly flitted through my mind. Marah pushing himself as much as possible while we outran a wendigo. Me laying on the ground, my blood soaking into it, and him stamping a wolf to death. A pissed off nature spirit being calmed by Marah bowing his head and speaking in a language I had never heard.

With a warm smile of my own, I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his. ‘More than that, even… He’s my partner. I’d have died quite a few times out there if he didn’t have my back…’

Marah simply whinnied lightly, lifted his head, and rested it on my shoulder in agreement. After a little petting along his neck, I stepped back, untied the reins, and handed them to Sally Mae. ‘Thank you for looking after him. I can tell he’s in skilled hands.’ As if to enforce that point, it was clear she barely needed to hold the reins while Marah happily followed behind. With a cheery wave, she called back, ‘No need to thank me! Getting to spend time with this handsome feller is thanks enough!’

I just laughed lightly and shook my head as she walked away with Marah. He’s gonna have a helluva ego boost for a while after this.

With my friend taken care of, I turned back to the bar and went to reclaim my seat where Colt was waiting for me. ‘Thanks for that, Colt. Oh, her drinks are on me tonight. And I’ll take a glass of water first, then a mescal, if ya please.’

The well-muscled man just chuckled as he took down two glasses, set them in front of me, and filled up one with water and two fingers of mescal in the other. ‘She made that much of an impression on ya, huh? ‘

With a chuckle of my own, I raised the water in a small salute and took a long drink before responding. ‘It ain’t hard to see that she loves animals and will take good care of my buddy. I appreciate that.’

‘Well, knowing Sally Mae, she’s gonna be drinkin’ deeply on that appreciation. So don’t be surprised if your bill is higher than you expect. Now, if you need anything else, ya let me know.’

With a nod from me, Colt wandered off to take care of the other patrons. Which left me alone to fish my orders out of my pocket, nurse my mescal, and read over them for the umpteenth time.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#f2f2c2; padding:5px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
++++ The Union Investigation Unit

**Case:** Revenant reported in Ruby, Arizona
**Name:** Stanley Creedy
**Class:** Undead
**Abilities:** Unknown
**Orders:** Eliminate. Bring back body.
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

‘Nnngh… Not a bit o ‘useful information. Fucking headquarters throwing us into unknown shit…’ Out of annoyance, I snatched up the mescal this time and sighed heavily while the liquor burned its way down my throat. For a long while, I simply sat there with the paper in front of me and got lost in the memories of how I even ended up in this line of work.

—--

I was too young to serve in the War, but my father and his brothers did. And they gave their lives for the Union at Gettysburg. I looked up to them for protecting the North, protecting my mother and I, and fighting to free the oppressed; so I tried to live up to them by becoming a US Marshall. There was no shortage of work with the expanding Frontier, and it wasn’t long before I had my first run-in with the occult.

The target, Martin Florence, seemed to fit the bill of your average killer. Preying on a small mining community in the Appalachian mountains, stealing townsfolk away, and doing gods know what. Turns out he was a bloodsucker. A vampire, those folks in Europe would call them. I finally found him hiding in a broken-down shack deep in the forest, engaged in a feeding frenzy.

I had the first move and took the shot. The bullet ripped into him, but he didn’t seem bothered. With a wet flop, the body in his hands dropped to the floor and he rose to show a twisted version of a human. Tall, gaunt, but with muscle rippling over his frame, and his face a visage of a demon straight from Perdition. With an unholy screech, it charged at me. The last five bullets in my gun ripped out as I fanned the hammer, but none slowed his momentum. In an instant, he was on me and shrieking in my face as I fought to hold him back. Jaws snapped at me, trying to find purchase on my neck while I scrambled for any kind of weapon.

To my right, I saw the snapped leg of a wooden chair and remembered what my grandmother had said about creatures like this from the Old Country. I struggled to hold him with one hand as I twisted closer while fighting him, groping for the wood. Finally, I found purchase on the shard, brought it between us and let go of him. His weight simply fell on me now, driving the wooden shard through his heart and ending the wretch's unholy life.

A few moments later, I shoved the twisted corpse off me and simply laid there for a long time, panting and staring up at the sky through the broken patches in the roof. I always assumed the creatures Nana spoke about were just silly stories to tell around a campfire. But with proof laying dead next to me, I had to reconsider everything I knew about the world, which occupied my mind once I dragged the body back and loaded it up to be taken to nearest the station.

Once I reached the Marshall’s office, removed the sheet, and presented the wretch, telegrams flew back and forth to offices I had never heard of. The next day I had a new set of orders to report to D.C. and something called the The Union Investigation Unit.

I was told the organization had been founded by President Grant in response to the increase of witchery that seemed to follow the Civil War, and kept under wraps to keep the civilians from panicking at every shadow. Ghostly platoons of soldiers still engaged in never-ending battles, monsters reported along the growing Frontier, strange cults appearing within major cities, among other bits of esotericism. Something about all the death and bloodshed causing an increase in something or the other. I could never follow what those academic types would go on about. They just tell me who, or what, to hunt down and I do the job.

They offered me a change of duties from hunting dangerous humans to hunting dangerous creatures of the night and humans steeped in magicks. A chance to protect people from greater threats that very few could deal with. A chance to save more lives than I ever could as a Marshall. Of course I agreed and took up my new badge.

While I didn’t have much of a hand for it, they took time to teach me a few bits of witchery to protect myself. Nothing too fancy; just ways to keep my body going when it would collapse, or make me a little quicker and stronger. They also outfitted me with some particular gear; an enchanted coat that should keep me from being clawed again, a case of bewitched bullets that can rip into any hide, and a compass that points me to the nearest Office. And Marah, my partner in all this craziness; a creature of many talents I haven’t seen from a horse, and a mind probably sharper than mine.

Now I get sent all over this wide nation, tracking these bewitched creatures that few can deal with.

—--

I finally snapped out of my reverie and sighed as I realized both my glasses were empty. Thankfully, Colt wasn’t far behind to offer up more and share his curiosities about me. ‘Wanna ask if you need another, stranger? But I must confess, I’ve been glancing over and seeing you lost in thought for a while now. Something about that telegram you’ve been starin’ at for the last hour?’

A light sigh came as I stuffed the paper back into my pocket, offered Colt a congenial look and simply responded, ‘Just a telegram, sir. Nothing you gotta worry about. But I’ll just take another drink, if you please.‘

He seemed a little letdown that I wouldn’t share my business, but shrugged and went about getting the liquor for me. However, I quickly reconsidered keeping that business to myself when I remembered that the saloon owner usually knows all the town gossip.

‘Hey, Colt… you ever heard of Stanley Creedy…? ‘

Mescal spilled over the bar top as Colt looked like I had just punched him. With a dark look in his eyes, he set down the bottle.

‘Stranger, I would advise you to never mention that name again. There’s things you clearly don’t know.’

It was obvious he knew something, so despite the clear warning, I took out my forged Marshall’s badge and set it on the bar. ‘I’m on a job to track down someone by that name. If you know somethi-’

Colt reached under the bar, produced a shotgun, and placed it down between us. Even still, I could tell he was giving me a warning instead of threat as he sternly spoke, ‘I don’t give a shit about your little badge, alright? Now I suggest you get your horse and get outta he-‘

But the soft sound of spurs and the batwing doors opening cut off the bartender as every face inside that bar turned a shade of pale. From my seat, I could see into the mirror across the back of the bar, and what scared the townsfolk. My target: Stanley Creedy.

The undead gunslinger stood at the entrance and slowly scanned across the saloon with a sole eye that had long since sunk into the decrepit socket. After a few moments, that eye settled on the only stranger in town; me. A wicked grin spread over the leathery hide that was his face. Seems he had also found his target for the night. Those rusty spurs kept jingling with each step as Stanley crossed the open floor, slipped onto the stool next to me, and spoke in a voice as thick as mud. ‘Barkeep, one shot of whiskey for myself. And one for my new friend.‘

Colt didn't say a word as he retrieved the bottle and two glasses, and he was trembling so hard that he spilled the whiskey over the bar as he set up the two drinks.

I had faced down wretches like this before and was still walking, so I simply turned to the wraith, gave a light nod and replied, ‘Thank you, sir, but I’m chasing worms.’

Stanley pushed the whiskey to me and growled with that muddy voice. ‘I pick the drinks, you knock them back. Or you draw against my hand.’

A drinking contest or a shootout. I decided to play his game, for now. So I took the shot glass in hand, clinked with the ghoul, and drank down the shot.

‘Another.’

Once more, Colt set us up, and we downed the rotgut whiskey.

‘Anot- ‘

The light sound of a chair scraping caught both our ears and made Stanley stop in his tracks. In the mirror, we could both see someone creeping towards the door, and in an instant, Stanley had whirled around, drew his gun, and shot him dead in the chest. The man barely had time to respond before the bullet was embedded in his heart and blood poured from the wound. ‘I-’, was all he could say before he crumbled into a heap. A few patrons began to scream, but as soon as the body hit the floor, Stanley roared out to the crowd, ‘Y‘ALL KNOW TO FUCKIN’ STAY PUT!’ The command left all of them glued to their seats, cowering in fear, and staring at me with whatever few shreds of hope they had left.

With another body added to his count, Stanley simply growled again, holstered his gun, and turned back to Colt so we could continue our game. ‘Alright, I’ll let ya chase some more worms. Barkeep, mescal.‘

While Colt went about retrieving the bottle and setting up our drinks, curiosity got the best of me. My tone was light, almost as if we were simply two strangers sharing some innocent drinks. ‘So, what’re we doing? You just need a drinking friend?‘

'Just shut up and drink your damn drink', was all the answer that Stanley gave me as he stared ahead.

It was clear that Stanley had no interest in sharing his story, but I figured I could pry it outta him. 'When's the last time anyone actually had the gumption to talk to you? It's gotta get mighty lonely if you keep it all to yourself.'

An annoyed look crossed Stanley’s leathery face at the thought of being interrogated, but he relented. ‘S’not like I enjoy having to do this. Well, killin’ folks is pretty fun, but doing it each night can be rather tirin’.’

That peaked my interest quite a bit and I couldn’t help but push the question. ‘So why the hell do ya do it?’

A sneer split across his face as he stared ahead at his reflection in the mirror. ‘Three years ago, I shot a man over a fine, aged bottle of whiskey. So they hung me… But the damned Lord cursed me before I died.‘ He grabbed up the shot of mescal, turned to face me, and glared. ‘So every night I gotta challenge someone to match me drink-for-drink, or we step out into the street. Win either one and you go free, then I can finally fuckin’ rot. Lose and you’re the one tossed into a pine box.’

I set down the drink and offered a growl of my own as I shot back, ‘That’s fuckin‘ crazy. You’re dead, you’re gonna win either of those.’

Stanley’s leathery face broke into a wicked grin as he tipped his hat and cackled. ‘Sorry, partner! Those two are your choices. Now DRINK!’

Well, I was in the shit now. So my right hand grabbed the shot while my left hand hid behind my back and worked up a spell. Not terribly complex, but should give my body enough to survive this. My fingers drew the few simple sigils as I quickly muttered the incantation under my breath. Once it was complete, I clinked glasses with Stanley and downed the mescal. A bit of it went down the wrong pipe and I choked for a few moments.

Stanley chuckled lightly as I was wracked with a few heavy coughs. ‘Only three in, friend. I hope ya got more fortitude than this.’

After one last quick cough, I offered a light laugh and responded, ‘Don’t worry ‘bout me, you’re the one who’ll be in that pine box in the morning.’ The bar sucked in a deep breath as I taunted Stanley.

He glared at me for a long moment, then threw back his head and let loose another cackle. ‘Now that’s what I like to hear! ANOTHER!’

As soon as Colt poured the mescal, we grabbed up the glasses, clinked, and drank. I could hear the others in the bar whispering ‘Man must be touched in the head,’ as I kept matching Stanley each round. I must’ve sent them spinning when I shot another taunt at my new drinking buddy. ‘Ya wanna keep drinking like this, I hope you ate a full dinner. Maggot pie?’ I could almost hear the crowd wince in anticipation of my death as I offered a smug grin to Stanley.

To the bar’s surprise, he simply broke into another cackle and pushed the newest glass of mescal my way. ‘I ain’t had some genuine laughs like this in ages! I like your grit, sir!’

With a nod, we clinked glasses again and tipped them back. Then another, and another, then five more as we went through vodka, rum, gin, and moonshine. After thirteen rounds, even a ghoul would start feeling it. Which was clear from the slight tremor in Stanley’s usually rock-steady hands. On my end, I was swaying in my seat and seeing two of everything. So, with a groan, I slapped my hand on the counter. ‘Gods damn, Stanley, you got a helluva consta-… consti… conservation in ya!"

Recognizing a man nearing his grave, Stanley grinned, leaned back, and taunted me a bit, ‘Like I said, been doin’ this for three years. You gonna let the drink kill ya, or do ya wanna die on your feet?’

It was obvious I couldn’t out-drink him, even with the spell reinforcing my fortitude. So I chose to outsmart him. ‘On my feet, damnation! In the street, let’s go! We draw at the midnight bell!’ On shaky feet, I rose and stumbled my way towards the door. Stanley just cackled, downed another shot, and followed me on much steadier legs.

The patrons looked around at each other for a few moments before the bar became a cacophony of chairs tumbling over and feet pounding the wooden floor. The men and women nearly trampled each other to get out the door and crowd the side of the street to watch our duel.

The wooden boardwalk was soon packed to the gills at the street level and across the overhang. Around the square, windows had popped open as the commotion roused the lighter sleepers. The more daring folks even hung out the windows to get a better view of the two of us.

From the boardwalk, I could see Sally Mae push her way to the front of the crowd. Her eyes slowly moved from me, to Stanley, and then back to me. I knew exactly what was on her mind and offered a warm smile as I reached up and tipped my hat to her. She understood completely and returned a sad smile. Should anything happen to me, I was entrusting Marah's care to her.

I had no plans of dying, though, as I stumbled to my position, my fingers struggling to draw the symbols while I quietly fumbled through another incantation. Like the first, it was a simple bit of magick that cleaned out toxins, but made a little more difficult after thirteen shots. And just as I got into position, the witchery took hold, letting me exhale an invisible cloud, purging the alcohol from my system and leaving me fully sober.

The full moon hung high in the sky above us, and I was grateful for the light that illuminated the otherwise dark main street, but it bathed Stanley’s corpse in an otherworldly glow that sent a shiver down my spine. Even still, I had faced worse than this revenant and it was easy to tamp down the fear. I told myself that I was one of the best shots in the agency and had once landed a silver slug right in a werewolf’s heart from 400 yards. With a soft exhale, I steeled myself and set my stance.

One minute to midnight and we stared each other down. The crowd was silent as a tomb while the wind rustled and a tumbleweed rolled between us.

Thirty seconds and both of us were getting antsy. Stanley’s fingers twitched with each second that ticked by. My own nerves were getting to me and I couldn’t stop doing the same.

Ten seconds and we both adjusted our stances.

Five seconds and we both nearly drew early.

One second and I sucked in a breath to steady my aim.

Midnight. The first bell rang out from the church house.

He was fast, but the large amount of liquor slowed even him. Stanley had barely leveled his revolver at me before I had landed an enchanted slug right in his left breast, the impact causing him to stumble back a few steps. The fingers on his gun lost their grip, the pistol fell to the ground, and the other skeletal hand came to rest over the bullet hole. His one, sunken eye looked over at me, and he smiled as he fell back with a heavy thud.

Everyone on the side was stunned when I walked over to Stanley and stood over him. The enchanted bullet was working to undo the necromantic energy that kept him together, but he still had the gumption to taunt me. ‘Heh heh, ya cheated me, didn’t ya? You’re stone cold sober right now. And this little slug is doin’ one helluva number on me.’

A small smirk lit my face while I patted my gun and gave a little taunt of my own, ‘Think I’d just call it evening the odds.’

Stanley just let out a choking laugh while considering his last few moments, and in a soft voice, he asked me, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Dale Everheart.’

‘Wanna thank ya, Dale. I’m glad someone finally put me down.’

Even if he was a bastard, I removed my hat and pressed it to my chest out of respect for his passing. Not a single soul followed my lead.

The crowd slowly slunk towards us, all their hackles raised high as if Stanley might jump back up. But the corpse stayed as cold as it always should have been. I took it upon myself to unburden Stanley of his gun as there’s no knowing if it might have picked up some witchery from his carrying it around.

Once the townsfolk reached us, they slowly looked from Stanley’s corpse over to me, their ‘savior’. After a long, quiet minute, I was the one to finally break the silence. ‘The undertaker here? I need this corpse boxed up and on a flat by morning. I can pay well for the rush job.’

A tall, nervous man in a fine black suit crept forward, stared at the corpse from a long distance, performed the sign of the cross and muttered the Lord’s Prayer before shouting back, ‘Ain’t no way I’m touching that Hell spawn, stranger!’

The growl of annoyance I let loose caused him to shrink back a few steps. ‘Then get me a fuckin ‘coffin! I’ll do it my damn self.’ I was grateful the Office allowed me a large stipend as I fished out forty dollars from my pocket and tossed it at the man’s feet. Seeing that much money energized the Undertaker quite a bit, who wordlessly scrambled to snatch up the money and scurry away to fetch the coffin and cart.

The only other one to step forward was Colt, who seemed to be the de facto mayor in this small town as he spoke up for everyone, ‘Stranger, you… You’ve done the entire state a service! That monster has been killing folks from Flagstaff to Tucson these past three years. You have every bit of gratitude that we can muster; so, for tonight, your room and anything you want is on the house.’ The gratitude quickly dropped from his voice as he turned down to look at Stanley’s body. ‘But… We don’t want that thing in our town. Come morning, we’d appreciate…’

I rolled my eyes as I heard the same thing I always did when I finished a job like this. //Thanks for saving us. Now get the fuck out.// It left a hard edge in my voice as I waved it off and replied, ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll move the body out of town for the night and be gone in the morning.’

Colt let out a relieved sigh that was shared by the congregation before he offered an enormous smile and motioned back to the saloon. ‘Once your grim business is complete, please join us in the saloon. I’ll get the stove back on if you’re hungry. A comfortable bed and warm meal is the least that we can offer you.’

At the mention of food, my stomach growled like a cornered coyote. The bit of witchery that cleared the liquor from my body did always leave me hungry, and a home-cooked meal is a rare occurrence out in the deserts. With a tip of my hat and an attempted smile, I offered my gratitude, ‘Please and thank ya, a meal sounds good after all of this.’

Satisfied, the crowd shuffled back to the saloon, leaving Stanley and me to await his pinewood box, and to look forward to the long trip back to El Paso in the morning.

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Drink With The Living Dead.

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