The one armed man left his horse just outside of Carson’s Bluff. He didn’t want to be seen until the time was right to take Larabee down. He shivered as he crossed the threshold into the town, his eyes shifting nervously around. ‘Stop acting like a durn scaredy cat,’ he thought. He waited for the chills running down his spine to stop before continuing into town. The howling wind swept through the motley group of buildings picking up anything that wasn’t nailed down. He fought his way towards the lighted windows and skulked past them, chancing a quick glance inside. His eyes caught the figure surrounded by the six men. ‘Enjoy them, Larabee, you won’t be seeing them much longer.’
His eyes roamed around the darkened street searching for a place to hole up until it was time to make an appearance. He settled on the last building at the end of the street. It would provide him with the perfect view of the town. He ran towards it shivering at a particularly cold spot in the center of the street. He shoved at the slanted door and hurried inside. ‘Soon, Larabee, very soon.’
The darkly clad gunslinger felt the man run through him. The time was nearly at hand. Soon he would have his revenge and he would take his leave of his namesake. His eyes followed the newcomer as he disappeared inside the dilapidated building. A smile covered the gunslinger’s face at the thought of his final revenge.
The second apparition met the eyes of the darkly clad gunslinger. “It will be our time soon, Samuel, I will kill you once again and my son will kill Larabee.”
“Don’t count on it, Porter” Samuel L. Carson warned.
“It is their destiny. They will face off in the street tonight as will you and I. Larabee will join you as a haunted member of this decrepit old town. He will be forced to stay with you. Tied to you. His life forfeited because of an old debt.”
“I owe no debt.”
“You owe me. You took her from me. Her death was at your hands and his shall be at mine. I will take your son from you as you took her from me.”
“Chris Larabee is not my son.”
“He is closer than a son. His father was more than a brother to you and since you had no sons of your own his son’s life will be the perfect revenge. Until tonight, Carson,” Richard Porter cackled as his ghostly essence faded away. He knew where his son was holed up and he glided towards the building. He would help him rid the world of Chris Larabee and tonight he would rid himself of a spectral enemy who was keeping him imprisoned in this town.
Morning light streamed through the window, bathing the pale figure lying on the floor in its milky brightness. The sun did little to alleviate the coldness he felt and he snuggled further under the blankets.
‘Chris Larabee, I’m calling you out,’ the voice sounded angry and Larabee opened his eyes. He sat up to quickly and shut his eyes against the onslaught of pain. Gasping he opened them once more and looked around the room, wondering why the others hadn’t reacted to the sound of the voice.
The gunslinger spotted his clothing next to the fireplace and struggled to his feet. He swayed drunkenly across the room until his hands grasped the familiar dark clothes. He didn’t notice the mist like presence that surrounded his friends, keeping them asleep and unaware what was happening around them.
The blond fought to get his clothes on and with unfocused eyes looked for his gun. He found it sitting on the same chair his clothes had been moments before. It seemed to take forever for him to get the belt on and his gun pressed reassuringly against his hip. “Dammit,” he gasped as his head spun dizzily. He looked at his friends again, his foggy mind unable to grasp why they weren’t moving. Barely holding on to consciousness he stumbled out the door into the windswept, rain drenched street.
The one armed man watched the building that held the seven peacekeepers. He’d wait for Larabee to make his appearance and then he’d kill him and anyone who tried to interfere.
‘Billy.’
The one-armed man glanced around the room until his eyes fell on the misty presence to his right. He recognized the sharp features, the cold eyes, the scarred face, and tried to back away. “N...not r...real! You’re...you’re dead!” he stammered.
‘You want, Larabee, you will do as you’re told. Do I make myself clear?’
“Y...yes, Pa,” Billy had been scarred to death of his father while he was alive but the specter before him went far beyond terrifying him. It sent a cold knot of fear and dread through his body, causing him to shiver in uncontrollable fear.
‘You always were a weak, pathetic, kid,’ Richard Porter cackled through dead lips. ‘Don’t kill Larabee yet. I want him on the street tonight.’
“But they’ll leave now that the storm is over.”
‘No, they won’t, Billy, I’ve made sure of that. Chris Larabee will be here tonight for you to kill. Your brother didn’t deserve to die.’
“That’s why I have to kill Larabee.”
‘That’s right but not now. Tonight at midnight you will take care of Larabee and I will take care of Sam Carson. We’ll see whether this town really deserved the name of Carson’s Bluff.’
“Larabee’s out there alone now. I could kill him easily,” Billy muttered as he pointed his gun towards the staggering figure.
‘I said not now,’ the specter said, reaching out and placing an icy finger on his son’s spine.
Billy jumped as if he’d been stabbed. Cold pain emanated from the point where his father’s finger touched him and he groaned as he sank to the floor.
‘Stay there until I come for you,’ the specter snarled. Billy Porter could not answer. His body slumped to the floor and didn’t move as the ghost of his father shimmered and disappeared in a burst of black light.
Sam Carson watched the son of his old friend weaving back and forth in the middle of the street. He could see the lines of pain etched on the handsome face. ‘So much like his father,’ he thought as he glided towards the younger man. ‘Chris.’
Larabee opened his eyes and stared at the figure before him. He rubbed his eyes as he waited for the image to solidify. “Damned eyes are still not working properly,” he gasped as the figure before him remained translucent.
‘Your eyes are not deceiving you, Chris. I have come with a warning. You and your friends are in danger. You must leave Carson’s Bluff.’
Larabee’s legs gave out and he sank to his knees in the middle of the silent street. “Who are you? Do I know you?”
‘My name is Samuel L. Carson and I knew your father.’
Larabee’s head snapped up causing his tenuous hold on consciousness to grow weaker. His eyes began to close as he muttered weakly, “Can’t be, Sam, d...died years ago. M...murdered.”
‘I was murdered, Chris, and the man who did it is here.’
‘That’s right, Carson, I’m here and I’m going to see that you end up in hell along with him,’ Porter indicated the now unconscious man.
‘I won’t let you kill him,’ Carson hissed.
‘I know you won’t. That’s why I had my son come here. He will take care of Larabee while I take care of you. Your hell will be staying in this town. Miss Ellie will once again be mine.’
‘I was never yours.’
The two male figures turned to the beautiful woman gliding towards them. ‘How can you say that? You and I were to be married.’
‘I never agreed to marry you. I had no love for you then and I have no love for you now. Leave here while you can,’ the woman warned him.
‘Don’t say that, Miss Ellie, you were mine and will be again. I just have to make him disappear. I have to send him to hell where he can never interfere with us again.’
‘You will not hurt her again, Porter.’
‘I was not the one who hurt her before, Carson. You tried to bluff me and you lost that bluff. You’re responsible for her death.’
‘My death was an accident. Sam is not a murderer but you are. You murdered Selma in cold blood and when this night ends you will be the one in hell.’
‘No! This will end tonight but it will end with Carson in hell and Chris Larabee dead by my son’s hand.’
‘He has nothing to do with this.’
‘He has plenty to do with this. He killed one of my sons and maimed the other. This revenge will be twofold and I will have what I want and you will be mine, Miss Ellie.’
‘Never,’ the woman said as she placed her hands on Carson’s arm. ‘I will stay with Sam.’
The shunned specter shimmered in the dull light seeping through the incoming clouds. His anger a mirror of the angered darkness that soon overwhelmed the small town. ‘Then you will burn in hell with him,’ he screamed above the deafening thunder and the downpour spilling from the overstuffed clouds.
‘You must help him, Josiah, before it’s too late.’
Sanchez’s eyes snapped open and he gazed around at the sleeping figures of the other men. His gaze finally stopping on the vacant spot where Chris Larabee should have been sleeping. “Dammit, Chris, where are you?” he asked as he scrambled to his feet. He hurried past the others just as thunder once more rumbled overhead and rain pounded at the weak structure housing them. He opened the door, swearing as he spotted a familiar dark form lying in the middle of the street.
“What’s wrong, Josiah?” Wilmington asked as he opened sleep-drenched eyes.
“The storm’s back and Chris is in the middle of the street. Wake Nathan and the others while I get him,” the ex-preacher ordered as he ran into the street.
“Nathan, wake up.”
He healer’s eyes opened and he gazed into the worried face of the moustached man. “What’s wrong, Buck?”
“Chris.”
“Where the hell is Chris?” Tanner asked as he came to his feet. Standish and Dunne following him up.
All eyes turned to the door as a drenched figure stepped inside carrying another form in his arms. “He’s freezing, Nathan.”
“Get him over by the fire, Josiah,” Jackson ordered, completely awake and in healer’s mode. “We need to get those wet clothes off of him. What the hell was he doing out there anyway?” he asked but didn’t expect an answer. “Buck, pour some water in a cup so’s I can steep some tea. We’ve got to get him warmed up. Vin, put some more wood on that fire.” Jackson had little time to watch the activity around him. His eyes were glued to the pale figure of his patient. The skin was cold and clammy and the body was trembling violently. The skin surrounding Larabee’s lips was blue, as his breathing seemed to be at a bare minimum. ‘God Dammit, Chris, what were you doing out there?’ he thought.
“Nathan’s is he...”
“He’s alive, Vin, but he’s so damned cold. Help me wrap him in those blankets and get some of that tea down into him,” Jackson said as they finished removing the last of the wet clothing.
Josiah Sanchez watched his friend attend their leader. He shivered as he remembered the soft, melodic voice whispering in his ear. Telling him he had to help him, wondering how he knew instinctively that it was Chris in need of his help. He gazed at the pale form of their leader knowing that this wasn’t the only help the man needed today. Somehow he had to save Chris from whatever danger still resided in the abandoned town of Carson’s Bluff.
“Josiah, did you hear me?”
“Huh,” Sanchez shook his head and looked back at the healer. “Sorry, Brother, what did you say?”
“I said you’d best get out of them wet clothes before you catch your death,” Jackson ordered.
“I will, Nate. How is he?”
“Cold,” was the quick reply as the healer continued to work at getting the blond wrapped in blankets. A low moan caused him to look at the pale face as dull green eyes opened to slits. “Easy, Chris, just lie still,’ Jackson ordered.
“S...sso...ccc...cold,” Larabee stammered as his body shivered violently.
“I know you are. Buck is that tea ready?”
“Got it right here, Nate,” Wilmington knelt beside his oldest friend and passed the cup to the healer. He gently lifted the blond to a semi sitting position and helped him drink the warm liquid, smiling at the grimace on the blond’s pale face.
Larabee tried to sit up further but the sharpshooter’s hand reached for his shoulder and forced him back down. “Where do ya think yer goin’, Cowboy?”
“G...gotta get o...out of here.”
“Ain’t nowhere to go, Stud. That storm’s come back and we’re stuck here for the duration.”
“C...can’t stay h...here. H...have to l...leave Carson’s Bluff.”
“Why?” Jackson asked curiously, helping the injured man drink more of the tea.
“Maybe I can answer that, Brother.”
“J...Josiah, y...you saw h...her?” Larabee asked, shivering in spite of the warmth flowing into his body.
“No, Brother, I never saw her but I did hear her.”
“Hear who, Mr. Sanchez?”
“I’m not sure who she was but I heard her warn me I had to help him.”
Larabee’s eyes grew heavy as he listened to his friends. A loud clap of thunder sounded overhead and he bolted upright, struggling out of Wilmington and Tanner’s grasp. The blankets slipped down his waist, revealing a heaving chest, “We have to leave,” he gasped.
“Why?” Jackson asked.
“He told me to get you guys out o...of here.”
“Who told you?” Dunne asked, his voice laced with nervous energy as lightening danced across the windows.
“Sam, told m...me to...” Larabee went quiet as his eyes lit on something at the top of the staircase.
Six sets of eyes turned to see what had grabbed his attention only to shake their heads and look back at the injured man.
Jackson tried to get through to the blond but his words fell on deaf ears as Larabee continued to stare straight ahead. “Chris, what is it?”
“She’s t...trying to t...tell me something. But...but there’s so m...much b...blood. S...she c...can’t t...talk.”
“Mr. Larabee, I can assure you there is nobody there.”
“S...she c...can’t t...talk but s...she w...wants me to...to f...follow her,” Larabee tried to stand up but was held in a powerful grip, a grip ripe with friendship and concern. He met the blue eyes of the tracker and his body shuddered as he tried to pull away.
“Yer not goin’ anywhere, Cowboy,” Tanner told him.
His green eyes lost all focus as he struggled to follow the ghost with the crimson choker. Somehow he knew she had the answer to getting out of this town. “L...Let me go!”
“Now you just calm down there, Chris. You’ve got a bad concussion and you’re not right in the head right now.”
“My h...head’s fine, Nathan,” Larabee hissed as he strained against the hands of steel holding him down.
“Yer seein’ things that ain’t there, Chris.”
“How do you know that, Vin? She’s there. I can still see her. She wants something,” he gasped as lights exploded in his head and everything went black.
“Nathan,” Tanner and Wilmington’s panicked voices sounded as one.
Jackson felt the strong, fast pulse at the gunslinger’s neck and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s ok. He’s just passed out.”
“What if he really is seeing something?”
“Now, Mr. Dunne, surely you’re not suggesting that Mr. Larabee is really seeing manifestations from another plain of existence are you?”
“Ez, if you’re asking if I think Chris is seeing ghosts then the answer is yes.”
“JD, Chris is seeing things alright. Things brought on by a severe concussion,” Jackson told him.
“I never thought you believed in ghosts, Kid,” Wilmington laughed, as he helped settle Larabee back on the blankets near the fire. He could still feel the ice-cold skin through the blankets.
“Course not, Buck. It’s just that...”
“Just what, JD,” Sanchez asked.
“Just that today’s Halloween. Midnight tonight is supposed to be when ghosts and other things come out to haunt us.”
“There’s no such things, Kid.”
“Buck, the Indians have plenty of stories of ghosts and spirits. They believe in other worldly beings.”
“Ah, come on, Vin, not you too?”
“I’ve seen things, Buck. I lived with...”
“I know you lived with a couple of tribes, Vin, but do you really expect me to believe in ghosts and...”
“I seen some strange things myself on the plantation, Buck. Some of em could be explained away as swamp gas but others there was no explanation for. I seen my master’s own wife after she died. She was a cruel woman in life and I seen something the night she died. Ain’t never told anyone bout it but I know it was her and I know she was already dead when I seen her. Knew she was goin’ to hell too. Had this dark shadow around her and she was screaming like a banshee. Only saw her the one time but life on the plantation got a little better after she died.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you Nathan?”
“Believe what you want to, Buck. I know what I saw,” Jackson shivered as he placed the empty cup on the floor beside the gunslinger.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Brothers,” Sanchez told them. “I’ve heard Chris Larabee described as having a dark soul but something tells me tonight his soul is going to become the reward for the winner of a battle that we may not be witness to.”
“What’re ya talkin’ bout, Josiah?” Tanner asked.
“I’ve been doing some thinking. Vin, you were supposed to be on watch last night, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you overly tired?”
“Naw, nothin’ I couldn’t handle. Why?”
“When I heard the voice this morning telling me to help him you were all dead to the world.”
“Guess I musta been tired,” Tanner remark.
“To tired to wake up when Brother
Chris stood up, walked across the room, got dressed, strapped on his guns, and
walked out the door?”
“I...I.”
“I don’t recall ever seeing you that exhausted, Mr. Tanner. It seems something very strange is happening in this town,” Standish observed softly.
“I agree and I’m beginning to think we should get Brother Chris out of here before it’s to late.”
“How, Josiah? In case you hadn’t noticed there’s a major storm brewin’ out there.”
“I know that, Nathan, but I think we’re better off chancing the storm than what could happen if we stay.”
“What about the rest of you?” Jackson asked.
“I say we leave,” Dunne answered.
“I’m afraid Mr. Larabee’s condition should take precedence. So I bow to Mr. Jackson’s opinion.”
“I say we stay. There’s nothing here to be afraid of and Chris needs to rest,” Wilmington announced.
“Vin?” Jackson asked as the younger man stared at the top of the stairs.
“I say we leave,” he said, icy hands seemed to touch his cheek causing his body to tremble slightly.
“It looks like we’re leaving,” Jackson looked at each man, letting them know he wasn’t at all sure it was the right choice.
“Me and JD’ll get the horses ready,” Tanner volunteered.
“Alright, Vin, make sure you bring them around to the front,” Jackson said. “Josiah, think you can hold Chris?”
“I can,” Sanchez assured the healer.
“Then let’s get things packed up,” Jackson ordered.
“We’ll be back with the horses in half an hour,” Tanner told them as the two youngest peacekeepers hurried towards the door.
JD flung the door open and gasped as a gale force wind pushed him back into the room. Vin felt a cold hand on his chest as he was also shoved back inside. The two youngest members of the seven fell to the floor gasping as a thick tendril of fog seeped into the room. Icy shivers ran down the spines of each man as the fog seemed to solidify into the form of a man.
A tall man with cold eyes and a scarred face stood in the door and slowly crossed the open space towards the prone figure.
“Get away from him,” Sanchez cried as he threw his large body over his friend, offering the only protection he had.
‘You cannot stop me.’
“Don’t bet on it,” Tanner snarled as he slowly regained his feet and staggered in front of Sanchez and the still unconscious Larabee. It wasn’t long before Chris was surrounded by the six men he proudly called friends.
‘You may leave now but he stays.’
“We’re not leaving without him!” Wilmington hissed.
‘Then you will all die,’ he cackled as his arm stretched through the others and he placed his decaying hand on Larabee’s forehead, leaving a small trail of blood-encrusted dirt in its wake. ‘He will soon be a part of this town and will never leave it,’ the specter told them as he slowly glided back the way he’d come.
“What the hell was that?” Wilmington asked.
“Hell being the operative word, Mr. Wilmington,” Standish whispered.
A low moan made them turn to the two men on the floor. Sanchez lay still, his head turned away from the gunslinger, his eyes misted with fear.
“Josiah, are you alright?” Jackson asked.
Sanchez’s eyes finally focused on the dark skinned healer. “I’m f...fine, Brother, but Chris is in more danger than we ever dreamed.”
“How do you know?” Tanner asked.
“I could feel its thoughts as the hand went through me. It was evil in life but even more so in death. If it succeeds in killing Chris it’ll grow stronger and be able to leave Carson’s Bluff. C...Chris would be tied to the town, forever in limbo. Neither dead nor alive. He wouldn’t be able to leave,” Sanchez explained as he lifted himself off the gunslinger.
“How do we stop it, Josiah?” Tanner asked.
“I’m not sure, Vin. I know in my heart there is a way but what it is I don’t know.”
“Y...you guys have to l...leave,” Larabee’s teeth chattered as he forced the words out.
“Yeah, sure, Stud, we’re gonna leave you at the mercy of a ghost who thinks it can keep us here.”
“B...Buck, i...it t...touched me. I...it won’t leave until I’m d...dead. L...leave while y...you can.”
“We leave together, Chris,” Tanner hissed.
“H...how?” Larabee gasped.
“If we can’t get out the front door maybe we can use the back one,” Dunne suggested.
“I shall endeavor to find out,” Standish said as he ran to check the door, only to be sent sprawling by the glacial hand. Jackson and Wilmington helped pick the stunned man up. “I do believe we are stuck here for the duration.”
“Tell it y...your g...going without m...me.”
“No!” the single word snapped from six mouths simultaneously.
Larabee smiled weakly in spite of the cold that seeped deep into his bones. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he looked at his friends. “Guess I c...can’t c...change y...your minds.”
“No!” the word came again.
“Forget it, Cowboy, you’re stuck with us,” Tanner told him.
“Mr. Tanner is correct, Mr. Larabee. United we stand...”
“Divided we fall,” Dunne finished.
“I do believe you two may have something there.”
“What do you mean Josiah?” Jackson asked as he poured hot water into the cup and steeped more of the tea for the blond.
“I believe the answer could be in our number.”
“Our Number. You mean Seven?” Wilmington asked.
“Correct. I believe it has to do with biblical references. The number seven is in the bible in many ways. I could quote you from the bible about the seven years of plenty and the seven years of famine. The seven Priests and the seven trumpets marching around Jericho. The Sabbath day is the seventh day.”
“Jericho!” Jackson hissed at the memory of the prison where Chris had spent some hard time.
“Yes, Nathan, Jericho. Another coincidence. I don’t think so. I think we ended up here for a reason.”
“What reason?” Dunne asked.
“I think we were brought here to do the Lord’s work. I’m not sure what it is yet but I believe Chris’s soul as well as our own are on the line tonight.”
“How do we fight it, Josiah?” Larabee asked.
“I’m not sure, Brother, but I think it will take the seven of us to defeat it. It’s getting late and I think we’d all better get some rest. I have a feeling we’re going to need to be strong tonight.”
“I’ll take first watch,” Wilmington offered.
“Alright, Brother, but I’m not really sure what you can do if it comes back.”
“I’ll do everything I can to stop it.”
“I know you will, Buck. Chris, if we fall asleep don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what, J...Josiah?”
“Like trying to take it out on your own. If you wake up before us make sure you get us up too.”
“Too damned c...cold t...to do a...anything on my o...own, J...Josiah,” Larabee stammered.
“Here, Chris, drink this,” Jackson ordered.
“What is it?”
“The last of the tea. It should warm you up some,” Jackson hid a smile as the gunslinger drank the tea laced with Laudanum. Ten minutes later the blond was curled on his side with the blankets pulled up over his trembling body.
“What’d you give him, Nate?” Tanner asked.
“Tea and a little Laudanum. I figure it’ll keep him down even if that thing comes back for him.”
“I’m not so sure that will do any good, Brother,” Sanchez’s ominous words sent shivers through the six peacekeepers who heard him. Each man settled down in a spot close to their injured leader and waited for the midnight hour.
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