Flashing #21: Western Horror

My first published work was in the Western Horror genre, a comic anthology I edited called Western Tales of Terror. I’ve always loved the western/horror mash-up. There’s something about open ranges, tough men, and evil spirits always got the imagination going.

I strayed quite a bit from the original memoir with this one. I kept with the theme of making up for the past only to accept your current life as is but I even mangled that a touch. Whatever, with these genre stories I’m just trying to have fun. I’ll stick closer to the original with the form stories. Loose interpretations – you’ll be hearing that a lot over the course of a year.

Head on over to the main page for more Flashing stories.

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Eldon sits on the edge of the bed and shakes the sleep from his head. The frame buckles in the middle, the wood creaks and splinters; it used to hold two but now the one is heavier than any load it’s ever been built for. Eldon’s feet rest in a puddle of rainwater that’s been steadily coming through the roof for the past four hours. The small house is cold this morning, a chill wind coming in through the gaps and holes in the walls, the oven as cold as it’s been for the past five years. Eldon slept with no blankets, the only thing keeping him warm is his undergarments and a layer of blubber that only grows on a man who’s all but given up. He spits on the cracked floorboards, pulls up his soiled suspenders, picks up his shovel, and makes his way into the woods. He has to dig another hole.

The ground is damp. Mud forms around Eldon’s feet with each step he takes; the imprints swell with water and blades of torn-up grass. The rains came down hard last night. It didn’t look like rain, but this is God’s judgment of the wicked in full effect. The heavens opened up and let loose a torrent of life-giving water, and the piping coming out of the ground seems to have the mark of God’s wrath. It’s wet – mud cakes the rim of the pipe and nothing seems to be coming out of it except for the unmistakable stench of death and sin.

Eldon drops his shovel to the ground. The earth is soft and gives easy. The soil is heavy. It takes all of his strength to lift it over his shoulder and toss it behind him. In like air, out like clay. It’ll take hours to dig this hole again. Every time he drops his shovel down he pictures Margene, working her garden with her spade, planting onions and daffodils despite Eldon’s promises that nothing’ll ever grow on this land. She’d pat her belly and smile before going back to her work.

Eldon puts his mouth to the pipe and inhales bloated flesh. “I always told her this land was nothing but death, Shep.” He drops the shovel in again and hoists another load of poisoned soil behind him. “I reckon God proved me right last night.”

Two hours in and Eldon’s hardly dug a foot down. The mud keeps sliding into the hole; it seems two shovels-full of earth falls into the hole for every shovel-full he casts out. “Shep,” Sheldon says towards the pipe, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Christ was judging me right now.

“This land…I was supposed to take her away from it. Ya hear me? I promised her I wouldn’t make her raise our kin here. Wouldn’t be fair to any of us. Hell, Shep, I was even looking for someplace new. Somewheres in Dakota. But that was many years ago, Shep. You know that story. You happened upon this cursed land before I came home.”

The sun is bright now. It bakes the earth. It hardens the soil. The hole becomes easier to dig. The sides don’t cave as often. Eldon stands hip-deep now. The piping comes out to his elbows. The air around it smells of repentance. Over the past four hours, there hasn’t been a sound coming from that pipe. Not a murmur or a gurgle or a reply.

“You know what, Shep? I honestly thought you’d come through this. I really did. I’m not a righteous man by any means, and I know I ain’t one that has the right to pass any sort of judgment. For all I knows, you’re more righteous than I ever was. Maybe you were a man of the Book. Maybe you just had one slip-up, I don’t know. I had lots ‘a slip-ups. I mean, look at me now. I was a worker. My hands were cracked and calloused from the land. Now I’m just slothful and lazy. Now all I can think about is revenge. I honestly thought Christ would give you a pass. I mean, who’s to say it shouldn’t be me in there, waiting for the Lord’s Word?”

Three more hours pass before Eldon’s shovel hits wood. He clears out the area near the pipe and sees that the coffin has held together. “Heh – I didn’t think it’d hold. I thought fate would deem me a murderer. Looks like the Lord had other plans, huh, Shep?”

Eldon digs out the remainder of the grave with his hands. He digs the earth around the coffin so he can open it an bare witness to the Lord’s ways. He pulls the nails from the damp wood. “I feel a little bad in all this. You killed my Margene. You killed my unborn child. At first I was glad you spent the night sucking for air and drowning. I was glad you thought you had a chance only to find the Lord isn’t always forgiving.

“But now, Shep. I don’t know. This doesn’t feel like the kind of thing a man should wait five years for.”

Eldon yanks the pipe out of the cover and opens the coffin. It’s filled to the brim with mud and water. He thrusts his hands inside and they meet no resistance until they hit bottom. He sloshes them in the soupy mixture. He panics.

“Shep?”

Dirt hits him square in the back. Eldon looks up out of the hole he’s dug and sees the silhouette of a man against the roaring sun. More dirt comes in. Eldon tries to climb out of the massive hole but the sides continue to cave. Dirt hits his face. The person standing at the edge of the hole is silent and brooding. As the grave gets filled in, Eldon swears he can see Christ the Redeemer.

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