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magiccallie · 2 years ago

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Campfire Tales: Blood Statues, 2000 or so words, also it occured to me I never posted some of the other weird west kinda short spooky stuff here so lemme know if that sounds interesting

The setting sun cast the rocky outcroppings in the distance and the dust of the desert in bloody hues. The shadows were at their longest, soon to join with the dark cold night. Already far above the stars were coming out, and the desert was coming alive. The three bounty hunters waited carefully to see any smoke from another’s campfire, but when they saw none they relievedly made their own. The dried cow patties and what little other fuel they could find stank as it burned, but the light and heat it provided was a welcome barrier from the growing night around them. They were too far from help if trouble arose, and the cult they hunted was not far. Indeed, the saguaro cacti around them grew tall and strange, and the cult’s supposed warship of them seemed almost sensible in those twilight hours.

‘Faststitch’, had been an army medic, and had tried to be a tailor. He sat low by the fire, watching his cooking carefully with his beady eyes. If he had ever earned a medal, he didn’t show it, but a bag of medical supplies never left his side, nor did his revolver. Jezabel Rae sharpened her knife as she waited, a slight scowl on her face. Occasionally, she’d flick her head like a horse to get a stray lock of her black hair out of her face without using her hands. Finally, there was Brutus J. Brutus was, perhaps, more simple of outlook than the other two but no less competent. Brutus was so enshrouded in fabrics it was hard to distinguish any feature about them, but they claimed dust and storm didn’t bother them for it. They stood with their arms crossed, their gaze more on the horizon than the fire.

It was their first job together, and they had spoken increasingly little as the distance from Tinstar grew and the daylight hours waned. Brutus broke the silence as the beans finished cooking. “So, either of you got any stories?”

Faststitch fave a scalding gaze over the fire as answer. Jezabel however, just switched what side of her mouth she was chewing and asked, “What kind of stories?”

“Any kind, just to fill the night and get to know each other.”

“What’s a matter Jupiter, afraid of the cult and cacti? Because you know,” she leaned back, gesturing to the desert around them, “you should be afraid. There are all sortsa weird things out there in the dark.”

Brutus couldn’t help but glance about, “Such as?”

Now Jezabel leaned close, and Faststitch kept an eye on her. She move her arms about as she spoke, still eating. “Well for one, it was last year. East of Salvation and Purgatory, where the mountains are tall and the drops long. They were trying to make a tunnel for the trains. It was early summer, but the heat was still terrible, the kind that rises from the ground and makes every surface scald. I, a deputy named Earl, and a member of uh, one of the organization in Purgatory named Smith were all going to investigate a hold up on the site.

Now I know what you’re thinkin. You’re goin, Jezabel what does this have ta do with weirdness, an don’t tell me you’re a union breaker. No no, that ain’t my rodeo an I wouldn’ta taken the job if I thought that that’s what it was. It sounded like maybe someone had threatened the crew and they were too scared ta work. They were set up in a rocky outcropin, to the west was a long drop an a bridge, the east a tunnel, the south was a drop and the north a climb and some trees. We got there late in the afternoon and got right ta work. The Deputy and the Foreman got ta talkin, Smith started to talk with the workers, and I tried to look around. It was a small camp, and they haden’t spread their tents far from the Foreman’s shack or and the supplies. In fact the workers all looked kinda nervous, and they kept lookin at the tunnel like they expected somethin ta come out of it. The ground didn’t have any weird tracks, and I got ta wonerin what had um all so spooked. The tunnel was deep enough ta be dark, an I couldn’t make out anything in there. Luckily the other two’s efforts had been more fruitful.

Deputy told us the Foreman did not understand why they were afraid, but said a week before they had started refusin ta go in, sayin it was dangerous. He also mentioned he’d seen an old hermit around a few times since they’d started work. The hermit had glowered and stared at them at first, then started ta yell at um to leave. When that didn’t work he stopped showing up as much, but more than once they had caught him sneakin around the camp at night.

Smith had a different side of things. The workers said thing had appeared in the cave, figures that looked almost human and stood deathly still. One a them had tried ta investigate and his screams echoed out the cave an he didn’t come back. That got Earl pissed, and he went back to argue with the Foreman before the Representative had even finished. Smith said the workers wanted to collapse the tunnel, but had been stopped by the Foreman. We glanced at Earl arguing, it looked like he would be at it awhile. We shared a look, an Smith asked the workers if he could use some dynamite, which they seemed okay with. I lit a torch an got my revolver ready, an we went in. There were certainly figures standing there near the back, and the smell of rot filled the still air.

When my light hit them we stopped. The figures were statues, roughly carved in human shape, splattered with dried blood, but statues. At their feet was a battered and mangled corpse of a railway worker. They didn’t have eyes, but did have indentions around that area, an I couldn’t help but feel like I was bein stared at. I remember tryin ta joke, “That’s all? A pickaxe could deal with this.” And the Rep gave me an unamused look. He inched closer ta them, inspectin um, when suddenly one of um moved, turnin ta look at at him. I yelled an he jumped back as the whole lot a them started to move. He tried ta punch one, I think he mighta thought it was a costume, but I heard his knuckle crack over my yellin. I started firin, blowin off a few chunks, but they didn’t stop comin. He pulled out a pistol from his vest an started ta fire with one hand, pulling out the dynamite with the other.

“Light!” He yelled. I tried not ta flail as we lit the dynamite, he tossed it behind us as we ran. When it exploded, I turned around. I didn’t hear any more movement, nor did I see anythin, or at least at first. Then I found them all in chunks. “I think that did…” I started to call but had’ta stop. The pieces were movin, slowly, but still. Like they were tryin ta remake themselves. I ran back out of the tunnel and shook my head at Smith, “They’ll be back. Gotta be somethin keepin them around.”

He nodded, holding the hand with the broken knuckle an scowlin. “I think we should visit this hermit.” He said. Earl walked over to check on us after the explosion, he looked tired as a dog after a game a tug o’ war. We told him what happened, but I ain’t sure he believed me.

It was startin ta get dark, and our choices were hope our actions didn’t provoke retaliation from the statues when they finished puttin themselves back tagather, or try ta explore around the wilderness at night in hope’sa findin the hermit. Somehow, watchin the cave all night seemed less appealin ta looking ta end it sooner and we started ta hike. It was a moonless night, an my an the Deputy’s toches were the only lights.

The trees and brush was thick an walking was as much an acta faith as dexterity. By a stroke a luck, I spotted a goat trail that we started ta follow. The camp was getting further an further away, and the night felt like it was pressin in against our torches at times. First sign we were gettin close was the bear traps. Then we saw somethin that made me jump. A shape in the dark was standing there. It was a statue, first one, then more down the trail. Then more still till there was all sortsa statues linin the path. All of um were made from stone or carved from wood, and they were animals an people in all sortsa positions. We kept expectin one ta move, ta come alive an attack, but the night was deathly quiet. The trail forked, an we saw one final statue set a little away an a shack of a cabin with its lights on. That final statue…I, could not for the life a me tell ya what it was supposed to be of, but it was big, shaped like a nightmare, parts of it were painted in red, and just looking at it gave me the creeps. I had the worst feelin the paint was blood, an I didn’t wanna take my eyes off it.

Unfortunately, we didn’t wanna give whoever had made all that stuff any more opportunity ta see us than we had already, so we needed ta snuff our lights. We shuffled real slow towards the cabin, not liftin our feet for fear of bear traps, and when we got close enough, we listened. Someone inside was scratchin at paper with a pen an mutterin ta himself. We all looked at each other, and Smith kicked in the door. The hermit was a dusty old chunk a jerky of a man. A crusty, skeletal old codger with wild eyes, few teeth, and had more hair and a need of a bath than anyone I’d met before. He looked like he was about ta fight, but the Rep knocked him down an yelled, “How do we stop the statues?”

That made the old guy hoot an holler in laughter. “Yall strangers are in over ya heads.” He jeered.

I looked at what he was writin, it looked like a plan ta blow up the bridge. All around were scattered pages with strange images an words. Smith pressed a knee onto the old man’s chest, but the Deputy pulled him back, only ta aim his gun at the hermit. “Sit, this here is ya chance. All sortsa folks want this tunnel done. Your…creations have killed some people already an that’s enough to arrest ya.”

The old man laughed again, spit flyin outa his mouth. “You’re laws mean nothing out here city boy. Yall are far away from civilization. Different laws and powers rule out here.”

Earl’s hammer clicked, “How. Do. You. Stop. Them?”

Suddenly we heard movement outside. We turned ta look out the window, and the old geezer got up faster than I woulda thought possible. He snatched a knife off the desk an stabbed it inta the Deputy’s back before we could stop him. Then he started spitting out some strange words an the Rep’s face started to peel. I mean, whole strips a skin startin ta lift up, it was terrifyin. We fired into the old guy, and the sound outside stopped, so did the peelin. Smith started ta bandage himself an I checked on Earl, but he was already gone. We lit the whole cabin on fire an I grabbed the Deputy’s body ta bring back. The big statue had moved, and now still and unbalanced, had tipped over. Whatever weirdness that had made them all come alive had died with the old man. I made sure they destroyed them all with dynamite though, just in case.” She finished with a small huff and her knife danced in her hand.

Faststitch pursed his lips, “Not the worst story I’ve ever heard.”

“Well alright there wise guy, you tell one.” Jezabel replied.

“Oh my stories aren’t as fun. I just mean you could use some work building mood. Ghost stories are all about that.”

Jezabel glowered at him a moment, then turned to Brutus, “What about you?”

Brutus. Who had been silent until then, tried not to sound nervous when they answered, “I think that might be enough story time. Its getting late and we need to sleep at some point.” Faststich snorted, but Jezabel nodded.

“Sure. Alright. But next time you’re telling one.”

#my writing #writing #short story #weird west #Camp fire tales. Bloody Statues

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