Would you consider fucking Dolly Parton? I mean she's not really attractive but she has a weird cuteness, don't you think? Even with the whole age thing, unless her vagina looks like a trailer park after a tornado, that might be a deal breaker.

Assuming this isn't creepypasta or something, how old was she? I felt like it was about an elderly woman until I re-read the beginning.

>kissed her lips one last time

Jesus fucking Christ thats the scariest line in this whole pasta

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When I was fifteen I moved to Utah. It was a smaller town just north of Salt Lake City, and far enough west that the wind would carry the smell of the lake in, and the air would reek like a spoiled sea.

I got dropped halfway into sophomore year, which was terrible for an awkward kid in a new place, because in Utah they began high school with sophomore year, so I was effectively a freshman twice. The only luck I had was a girl I had met named Sarah, and we started dating right at the end of the school year, so we were able to spend a majority of the summer together.

Now, you might not know this about Mormons, and I certainly hadn’t, but in their church they really like big families. Something about spirits in heaven requiring bodies. So it wasn’t uncommon for some of the more devout Mormon families to have eight, nine, or more kids. It really just meant outdoor freezers packed with hamburger helper and houses with bigger kitchens.

Sarah’s family was pretty Mormon, and my family didn’t practice much of any religion, so we just never discussed it. She had six sisters, seven in total including her, ranging from 6 years old to 18. I only met her mom once, and she was always pregnant, and I never spoke with her dad. I was a little too overwhelmed by meeting her family and I avoided it. I probably would have figured it out then, but I had only lived in Utah for six months and everything already seemed so weird to me.

I remember a particular night I had picked her up. She had a curfew that made it so I had to park down the street so she could sneak out. I wanted to jump over a small gully flanked by trees beside her house, but she refused and we had to walk around, which meant passing by her parents’ window. I thought it was weird, but I just assumed she was worried she might get her feet wet.

It went like that for a couple months. I would stop down the street, and I would wait while she walked beside the gully, around her house, and up the street to meet me. Sometimes I’d meet her at the road, but I was always careful not to walk too far onto the lawn for fear I’d wake her parents.

One night it was raining, and I didn’t want her to walk alone through the dark in the rain, so I had planned on surprising her by meeting her by the back door she snuck out through. To save time, and avoid walking by the window, I walked through the trees to the gully. The water was a bit higher and moving quicker than normal because of the rain runoff, but I figured I could make the jump.

Man, I was wrong.

My feet landed in the mud on the other side, but I sank immediately in the wet earth and splashed backwards hard into the muck. The rush of cold water was a shock and I reached up and grabbed a storm drain, but what I had grabbed dislodged and flowed down with me. The water wasn’t very deep, maybe two or three feet, so I stuck my shoes in it and stood up still holding what turned out to be a black garbage bag.

I dropped it and started to crawl up and my hand landed on another black garbage bag. I tried to crawl up, but they kept dislodging in the slick viscous grime. It must have been the third of fourth time I tried to find something to grip onto when I accidentally tore one open. At first I thought it was a rotten orange, black and decaying, among a spoiled nest of old bones. But I could just make it out, yellowed skin bloated on the white bone, it was a skull—a baby’s. I let out a shout, I didn’t know what else to do. It smelled awful, and I was suddenly afraid to be near it.

Quickly I scrambled up through the mud and kicked myself up against a tree, my heart racing. Sarah was there. She was crying. She had been waiting for me by the street, and came over when she heard me shout. She must have always known.

I never saw her again, and all of the girls were pulled out of school. The local news report said that her father had decided he had enough kids, and had been burying each newborn out by the gully. But they recovered five tiny bodies, all girls, and I wonder if he had just been waiting for a son.

All I have to say is that this is good Story telling, both of them.

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I grew up in a large suburb outside of Houston. It was during the early 90s when a lot of farmland settled by the original German immigrants was being bought up by developers and turned into new homes. My family lived at the very end of our subdivision, and past my house was a great expanse of farmland, flanked by thick woods, and old decaying wooden shacks from the 1800s.

Every day on my walk home from school I would pass by a particularly overgrown old shack, which I guess must have at some point been a house, which leaned like it would fall over at any minute on its tired old foundation, and just beyond it was a long row of fence. It was my daily commute to and from elementary school, and I’d walk by it, pick up interesting rocks and things, and I never thought much of it. There was always construction while the subdivision was expanding, so they had dug long trenches for what I suppose was for sewer, and erected electrical lines through the farmland.

Beyond the fence was a small lake, which I had often snuck in to explore and catch frogs, but after an encounter with a water moccasin, which is a species of pit viper, I decided to stay clear of it. The farm had cows which would meander through the meadow, and one large black horse.

A storm had rolled in during the previous night, and I remember that the clouds were so thick and black that it felt like night when I had arrived at school. It didn’t take long before the storm was in full force, and the power had gone out at school. Our teacher decided to have us all sit together on the floor and read to us for the rest of the day, which was fine by me.

The storm had passed, but the darkness lingered when I got out of school. I walked the now muddy path in the strange darkness past the crooked house, and beside the aging fence, each step becoming more and more difficult as the mud collected on my shoes. That’s when I heard a thrashing. The cows weren’t there, but I remember clearly that old black horse. I remember thinking that it was sick, or injured, or something.

Its black coat was slick, and steam was rising off its body in the cold air. It was kicking its back legs wildly, and violently slamming its face into the muck. It had a weird look to it, not like it was panicking, but like it was calm, and it didn’t look to be out of breath. Again it slammed its head into the mud, and kicked out its legs, then shook its head from side to side furiously. I stopped to watch it; looking back I wish I had just kept walking. I remember that after a minute or two it stopped and looked up at me, the grime sliding off of its face.

It must have been in a matter of a second, because I had no time to react, and the horse had charged towards me. It didn’t jump over the fence, but instead lowered its massive head and tore through the gap between the fence boards.

The wood cracked and splintered as its muscled body strained and its long neck extended through the gap. The horse savagely lashed out and started snapping at me. With its entire body covered in huge, swollen muscles it would recoil then slam all of its weight back into the fence, attempting to break the boards. It did that again, and again. Its enormous, broad teeth came inches from me, and I fell out of my shoes backwards, leaving them stuck in the mud. It’s a miracle that the fence was holding it back.

I could see it clearly now, the horse was burned, badly. The skin around its mouth had been seared off, and tendrils of pink, bloody skin snaked its way over its face like a spiderweb. The absence of skin made its teeth seem even larger, its black gums exposed, and its mouth frothing with spit that I could feel hitting me in the face. At that moment I was absolutely terrified that this horse would kill me. I remember wanting to get up, but the thick mud had me trapped.

I also remember the smell. It was like sulfur—a mixture of wet animal, burned meat, and singed hair. But what has stuck with me the most were its eyes. They were cloudy like black ink poured into milk. As it struggled to reach me through the fence its nostrils flared, and I could feel the heat of its breath on me, its teeth snapping shut over and over, the clacking noise of the heavy teeth slamming together was deafening.

I left my shoes and ran home. I remember my mother screaming at me about the mud when I stormed in. I told her about the horse that had nearly killed me, and that I had left my shoes there in the mud. She grabbed me by the arm and was going to make me take her back there to get them, but I cried and screamed not to go, so she went alone.

When she got back she had my muddy old sneakers in her hands, and she told me that she saw the horse. It was dead. A farmhand was dragging its body behind a tractor, and he told my mom that the horse had died earlier that day. One of the power lines that had been installed running through the meadow was knocked over during the storm, and the horse must have been near the lake, because it had been electrocuted and killed. He said that it had died instantly beside that lake when the power went out hours ago.

These go so well with the grim music

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The funny thing about Mars it that the sunsets are reversed. During the day the sky is red, not clear like on Earth, but a mottled fog of red dust. At dusk blue light pierces the murky sky and illuminates the Martian earth like a biblical red sea, and casts long purple shadows behind the Martian rocks. It’s one of the only moments I’m reminded of Earth, and even miss it a bit.

No human being has ever walked on Mars. That would soon be remedied once we were given approval to step outside of our lander. Seventy-two hours ago we landed on Mars in a region called Tharsis beneath the solar system’s largest dormant volcano. I was selected after a long vetting process for my technical and engineering background, my copilot Dr. Mahdeep Panwahi was selecting for her studies in xenogeology. The EXEL, or Extraterrestrial Exploration League—an independent think tank comprised of several countries—had selected me to take the first steps on the red planet. It was made clear to me that the American donors wanted to retain the record of American astronauts taking the first steps on alien planets, and I was happy to have the honor.

Most of our computing power was accomplished on board the Rhea Silvia, a ship we had launched from that was still in orbit. It had a team of scientists and was equipped with all of the necessary tools and lab area for Dr. Panwahi to study the rocks we’d recover on the journey back to Earth. My job was to make sure that the equipment that got us here, and would get us back, functioned properly. To help me we had an on board AI named Cymon. He was in charge of sending and receiving communications as well as all processes on the lander.

“Cymon,” I said, “confirm with Rhea Silvia the ETA for departure onto the surface.”

Cymon’s voice was male and flat, and everything he said was flashed across our monitors. “Negative,” replied Cymon. “Conditions for Mars walk have not been met. “

“What conditions are we awaiting, Cymon?”

“Awaiting rendezvous with OWL.” The acronym wasn’t familiar, but there it was in glowing blue light—OWL.

“What is OWL, Cymon?”

“Sargeant Waterson, that information is not available at this time,” said Cymon in his flat, loveless voice.

“Bullshit it’s not available. Repeat, what is OWL?”

I didn’t catch Cymon’s reply; three loud bangs echoed through our lander. Mahdeep looked at me and I returned her worried glance. If we were hit, possibly by meteorites, we might be leaking air or lose pressure. If it came to that I would get to walk on Mars a little prematurely, regardless of what OWL was. It came again, in the same pattern—three loud bangs.

“John…” said Mahdeep. Her hand was raised up and a finger pointed to the aft window. There was an astronaut outside.

Without thinking my jaw dropped open and I mumbled, “It’s just not possible.” We had spent a year travelling to Mars, spent trillions of dollars preparing for it, and I was certain that we were the only human beings to ever see the Martian surface.

“Cymon, who is that outside!” I shouted.

Cymon was silent.

The stranger knocked again. If he was from a competing shuttle that was sent in secret then there was no evidence of his ship, and the Martian weather wasn’t something anyone would want to be in for very long. I flipped open the panel that controlled the exterior door and pressed hard on the green flashing button. The exterior door slid open with a woosh as air seeped into the Martian atmosphere.

The stranger walked up the steps into our lander and nearly filled the small airlock. Mahdeep and I stood in our confined compartment and looked back at him through the borosillicate glass window—a material chosen for its ability to endure the harsh climate changes from within the lander and the deep Martian cold.

Looking to the stranger I shouted, “you need to acclimatize or you’ll get the bends, so you’ll have to be in there for a few minutes, alright?”

He was eerily silent, and didn’t unclasp his helmet. Instead he stood in the airlock unmoving, staring back at us through his dark helmet where we couldn’t make out his face.

“Where did you come from? Are you OWL?” I asked again.

The stranger shifted, looked at Mahdeep, and then back at me. His suit wasn’t at all like ours, and seemed very retro. It was probably white or gray originally, but had been died brick red by the Martian wind. His nametag read Vladislav Volkov. It didn’t make sense. The Russians were part of EXEL, and it just wasn’t possible that they could have funded or executed a separate mission.

“Volkov? Can you hear me? Where is your craft? How long have you been out there?” I asked. Again, there was no response from the cosmonaut.

Slowly, the Russian lifted his hands up to his helmet and unclasped the locks. As he removed his helmet Mahdeep screamed. He was human, but his lips were black and rotten revealing long savage teeth. His eyes were missing, and where they should be were two black pits that stared straight at me. He looked like a man who had experienced the vacuum of space and hypoxia, but then he should be dead.

Opening his jaw wide he started to scream, but the only sound that came out was a muted hiss. If he had been exposed to the outside his lungs would have burst a long time ago.

“We have to help him!” cried Mahdeep.

“No,” I said and waved her hand away from the door lock. “Cymon, what is OWL? Who is this man?”

Cymon flicked back on and as he spoke I read the text on the screen. “Cosmonaut Vladislav Nikolayevich Volkov of Soyuz 11, died 1971. Now host for OWL.”

“Cymon, what is OWL?”

“Outerspace Wayfaring Lifeform, a deep space species that requires a host organism. First documented in 1971 by the crew of the Soyuz 11 while docked with the Russian space station Saylut 1. Fearful of an outbreak on Earth they were forced to eject the infected cosmonaut depressurizing their craft just before reentry, killing themselves in the process. Whereabouts of the infected cosmonaut were unknown until 2017, when it was rediscovered caught in the gravitational pull of Mars.”

The blue text flashed again. “Please take your seats. Launch commencing for return to Rhea Silvia. In possession of three OWLs.”

There wasn’t time to respond. The switch on the airlock had been overridden, and the shambling grey carcass of the expired cosmonaut burst out, falling on Mahdeep first, tearing out her throat. Her lifeless body was already rising when he came for me.

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I was seeing a girl when I was in college, and we had gone to a party together. She had gotten drunk and was outside with some people and I was inside talking to a kid I had met. I saw her through the window kiss a guy, and she was holding his hand. My heart sank, and I didn’t want to make a scene so I left immediately and just started walking home. I was in a rural area just outside of town in a canyon. I figured it would only a few miles until I got out of the canyon. I was a poor college kid so I didn’t have a phone, and I figured I could call a friend for a ride once I found a gas station.

I remember walking in a usual drunken stumble, and I was really upset, so I probably wasn’t making good time. As I was walking I noticed a black dog sitting across the street just outside of the glow cast by a street light. As I walked down the opposite side of the road it always lead me by a few hundred feet, always just out of sight, always in the dark. I thought it was weird, and continued walking, the dog leading the way—stopping every so often to look back at me and letting me catch up.

As I rounded some houses near the mouth of the canyon I saw another man walking. He was probably drunk too, and looked pretty disheveled. I thought he might have been homeless or something. As the man walked around a long row of fences and into the dark the dog looked back at me one last time, and then followed him.

I could hear a slurping noise as I approached the end of the fence. It was like wet rags being thrown to the ground. I kept walking, not really thinking about what it could be and as I passed by the end of a fence. There was a man there, the same homeless man who had rounded the corner minutes before me, and he was kneeling down beside the dog—his back to me. It was dark and the fur on the dog was black, so I couldn’t tell you what breed it was, but it was on the bigger size, and its hair was matted and thick.

Then the dog began to rise. Legs grew from beneath it and its head started to lean back until it was facing towards the night sky and a new pair of glowing eyes emerged from beneath it. It was a person, but not a person—a creature. The dog was being worn like a coat or a skin. Two long dark arms were holding the man up by his shirt collar.

As the thing wearing the dog rose it dropped the man and he landed in a wet thud, his throat was torn open and pouring blood onto the gravel path. The lanky figure wearing the dog stood straight up, at least as tall as me, but much thinner. With legs that spindled out from the black hairy form it moved like a spider, its legs bent at awkward angles and moved in a strange gait slowly toward me—like it was sizing me up.

On its round face beneath the dog’s head it had a rictus of a smile which dripped dark liquid and chunks of what must have been the man's throat. I should have run at that moment, but I was frozen. As it approached me it stepped into a bit of light cast by a porch light, and I could see its entire form emerge from the darkness.

It was red, like muscle and sinew, and it wasn’t wearing the dog, but instead a part of it. Its skin was sunken, and bony ribs appeared down the length of its chest. A long clawed hand was offered outstretched to me, and it tilted its head just a bit. Its round face was flanked on both sides by the dark matted hair of the dog, and red gore spilled down its face. It opened its hand and dropped something. I tore my eyed off of it for just a second and looked down to see that it was a knife.

Then it smiled, or tried to. With that last toothy grin—which will always be burned into my memory—it sprung upward over the fence, its long legs uninhibited by the seven foot tall fence.

A few days later I heard in the news that a girl had been slashed on that same canyon road just days before I had walked down it. They had found the man who had done it, he was dead. His throat slashed, presumably they said, with his own knife.

I still see that dog sometimes, and I always smile back to it.

Having all been written by one guys these are really good.

>>919
go on

Do you guys want me to share more of my stories?

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“But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.” - Isaiah 34:14

The forest hushed. Leaves fell like thunderclaps, and among the brush Sergius slowly lowered himself to the ground. The birds trusted him, but they had no love for men, and their silence let him know he should hide. His mother had warned him: trust not the men for they hate what you are.

Morning sun kaleidoscoped off fresh dewdrops and projected a pattern of light across his frame as he slipped through the underbrush. He was propelled by human hands, a gift from his mother, and inhuman legs, a curse from someone else.

Sergius reached an outcropping above an overgrown path that had been abandoned by the humans when they declared his forest forbidden. He crept to the edge and leaned over to inspect the human who had invaded his forest. It was a young girl.

She was dressed in a white blouse and blue skirt that fluttered in the breeze as she stumbled down the path among the falling leaves. Her hair was pulled back and covered by a blue kerchief, a common fashion among the puritans in the area. Her steps were slow and uncertain.

Sergius allowed himself a moment to relax. He had seldom seen humans, and never this close since his mother had died when he was young. He didn’t know why he should fear this one. His curiosity burned, and the desire to know more propelled him forward.

Sergius crept slowly along the small outcropping that flanked the path, never taking his eyes off the girl. She still wasn’t aware of his presence. The girl stopped and crouched down, forcing Sergius to halt. He possessed exceptionally keen ears, and tilted his head to each side listening closely—she was quietly weeping.

The girl wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her head between them. Her sobbing increased. His fear lifted, and was replaced by pity for the fragile thing crying alone in the woods.

Sergius emerged slowly. He was aware of his appearance, and didn’t want to frighten the girl. Sergius lowered his head and held his arms out, his palms open. As he came closer he could see the dried stains of blood drops on her blouse.

“Do you need assistance?” said Sergius in a calm, soft voice.

The girl looked up at Sergius, and wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. Her mouth dropped open as she swallowed the sight of the half man, half monster. Her gaze met his feet first which had been replaced with two cloven hooves. Then her eyes followed up his legs, which bent backwards abnormally, to his waist, which gave way from hair to flesh that was lean and muscled. Wide eyed she continued to his nose which was broad and flat like an animal, then to his eyes, which were a pale green, and entirely human, to his horns which spiraled out from either side of his head, then up and over the satyr as she fell backwards, unconscious.

Sergius stood up straight, baffled. He looked around, and could see no one. He could hear his mother’s warnings in his head, and how he should take special care to avoid humans. But looking down he couldn’t help but feel empathy for the girl. How she was like him, wounded and alone, lost in the woods. So he lifted her up and took her with him.

The girls ran her fingers through the hair on his chest and clung tightly as she started to awaken.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked weakly.

“Certainly not,” said Sergius.

Sergius could see yellow-black bruises on the girl’s face. The swelling was enough to force one eye nearly closed, and her tear soaked cheeks glimmered in the sunlight.

“What’s your name?” said the girl.

“My mother named me Sergius,” he replied.

“I’m Prudence. They say you’re a monster—that you eat children.”

“I don’t eat children,” Sergius paused, “but I am a monster.”

“Oh, right…” replied Prudence. “You live here? In the woods?”

“I live in the woods. Yes.” said Sergius. “Not these woods, but one slightly over a bit.”

“Is that where you’re taking me?”

“Yes, to my home. You can rest there and I have food and fresh water, and if you feel fit I’ll escort you back to the edge of the forest.”

Prudence was lulled back to sleep in Sergius’s arms by the rhythm of his long strides through the forest.

When Prudence awoke she was lying on a bed of clovers beside a small lake. She leaned forward and her gaze followed the aroma of cooking fish to a small stone cottage covered in moss where smoke piped from a chimney.

Sergius emerged moments later from the humble dwelling with fish and locally collected vegetables on a stone plate.

“It’s good to see you’ve awoken. I have food here… if you’re hungry.”

Prudence accepted the plate and devoured it while maintaining poise and manners as best she could. She looked up, embarrassed that she had eaten the food so quickly, but Sergius only smiled. He was glad to have some company, and more than happy to entertain a guest.

“How long were you walking through the woods?” asked Sergius.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, still chewing her last mouthful of food, “Since early last night, so for more than half a day,” replied Prudence.

“You need to be careful. You were nearly to the deep wood, and it’s not safe there.”

“Not safe?” inquired Prudence swallowing the last of her food, “Even for you?”

“My heritage is less than pure, but there are some who would give into the wild within them. If there was any humanity in them it’s gone now, replaced with a savage darkness. I don’t mingle with the wild ones.”

“You speak so well for a, well, a man who lives in the woods.”

“My mother smuggled me here when I was very young,” he said, resting against a tree beside her. “She was worried I would be killed for what I was. We made a home here, but died several winters ago, and I’ve been alone since.”

“I’m so sorry. I lost my mother too.”

Sergius lowered his head and took the empty plate away from Prudence. “How did your injuries come about?”

Prudence held a hand up to her bruised eye.”My father has a temper.”

Sergius frowned and looked away, fearing that he had been too forward. “It will be dark soon. Would you like me to escort you back to the edge of the woods?”

Prudence nodded and they began walking quietly through the woods following paths created by the migrations of local fauna. After the food and rest Prudence’s strength had recovered enough to make the journey home.

“Will you be safe?” asked Sergius motioning a hand to her bruises.

Prudence took his hand in her own two and smiled, “Yes, I think I will be. But, would it be alright if I visited?”

Sergius looked shocked. He didn’t expect her to want to visit him again—a creature like him.

Misunderstanding his surprise and fumbling her words Prudence revised her request, “I mean, if it’s alright with you, and just sometimes. If, well, if I need to get away.”

Prudence flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered.

Sergius smiled, widening his already broad beastial nose, “Of course, m’lady.”

Prudence curtsied, and continued off into the field. She was still a few hours from her home through a valley between the mountains in the distance, and Sergius didn’t want to leave her alone for the trek, but he dared not leave the safety of the forest.

Prudence returned several days later and brought Sergius a book entitled The Pilgrim’s Progress from This World to That Which Is to Come. Sergius especially liked a character named Ignorance who he felt he would be good friends with if they had ever met in real life. Prudence also brought seeds for Sergius to help him plant a garden.

Sergius could read, a bit, and was more than happy to let Prudence help him learn more. She would sit near the edge of the water and read to him sometimes, and he would close his eyes and imagine the cities and town that existed in her stories. His mind would wander, and he would dream of what it was like to be fully human.

She asked him about the deep wood more than once, but he always managed to avoid answering her. He often thought of the shadowy region beyond his home where the trees were thick and light was shunned. It was a place that worried him, not because it frightened him, but because it excited him—a part of him at least. The sanctuary of his meadow was all he had to retain his humanity, and the wild part of his nature beckoned him to give in to the wild of the deep wood. He was strong enough to resist it—he hoped.

From then on she visited him once a week, sometimes twice. As the seasons changed so did her outfits to match the weather, but there was also a bit of levity to her wardrobe. Her clothing became more and more daring as she visited Sergius. His freedom from wordly problems excited her, and she desperately wanted to escape from hers, and to live in the wild with him. But she worried about her sisters, and how they would fare without her, and in the end always returned to her village.

The topic of her father only came up once. She told Sergius that her father was the Judge of a puritan hamlet on the other side of the mountains. He was cruel, and when she could she would take the brunt of his anger to keep her sisters safe. Sergius never mentioned it again—he could tell it upset her.

Sergius waited for her at their usual place at the usual time, but she didn’t appear. Weeks passed and he watched the leaves turn from green to shades of yellow to orange and then red. He continued to make the short trek to the edge of the forest every few days anyway, in hopes she would arrive.

It was mid autumn when Prudence finally appeared, wrapped in a thick wool scarf. Sergius was overjoyed to see her, and had in his hands the last book she had lent him, excited to discuss it with her. But he paused.

Her face was bruised again, and there was an uncertain gait to her steps which alarmed him that her injuries might be more severe. Her pace slowed, and she stumbled.

Using his unnatural legs Sergius bounded out from the cover of the trees into the field and caught the collapsing girl before she hit the ground. She was deathly cold and shivering. Sergius lifted her in his arms and carried her back to his small stone cottage, taking special care not to reinjure her.

“It’s bad,” said Prudence, wrapped in a blanket and holding a cup of hot tea prepared by Sergius. “My father knows I’ve been visiting you.”

Sergius listened to her story, but had trouble looking away from the deep black bruises that covered her face and legs. She was bundled up tightly from the chill, but he could imagine the extent of it.

“Father says I’m never to come back here,” said Prudence. “I would stay here, with you, but I can’t. I can’t leave my sisters to him. If I’m not there, then I don’t know what he would do to them.”

“I understand,” said Sergius. It was half true. He understood responsibility, and dealing with the reality of the life you’re given. He lived with it every day.

“Take care, Prudence. If this is the last time I see you, then I hope you’ll remember me.”

“I will,” she said teary-eyed. “I love you.”

They hugged, and Sergius escorted her back to the clearing. As she walked away he tilted his head and watched her go. She was his first real friend, and maybe his last. He had always kept his hopes up, and tried to do good, but always had the nagging feeling that his life was unfair, that his life asked too much of him. But now he knew that there was a little girl who had more strength in her than he ever could. He would miss her.

Sergius returned to the warmth of his cottage. He thought about Prudence, and her sisters, and her father, and her people for the rest of the day and into the night. How strange it must be to live among people. The forest was his home. His friends were the birds, and their song gave him comfort, but their singing was strangely absent. Prudence, he thought, she has returned!

Sergius erupted from his home and sped to their meeting place, but where he expected to see Prudence he instead saw five strange men, each one armed with a long musket.

“There it is! Fire!” shouted the front man.

A lead storm of musket balls whistled by Sergius. With extraordinary speed he dodged the shrapnel, poised low to the ground, and pushed off with his hands and feet sending him soaring into the posse of men.

He landed hard on the man who had shouted, and could feel his collar bone snap under the pressure. Springing back up he landed a hoofed foot into the face of another. Grabbing the next by the throat Sergius lifted him up and slammed him into the next. With primal vigor he continued on and lunged to the next man before he could finish reloading his weapon.

The helpless man was pinned against the cold earth. With eyes like fire Sergius leaned in. His horns sank down and framed the sides of the filthy yellow-toothed man’s face.

“Where is she?” said Segius in a harsh growl.

“The lusty witch? We know she’s been fucking the beasts in the woods, and now she’s got a devil in her belly! She’s got a date with the gallows, and then she’ll be burned—a fitting end for what she is! She’s probably dead already!”

Shock washed over Sergius, and the fire went out of his eyes. He had to save her. Leaving the injured men he raced towards the village. What had taken Prudence hours he could cover in minutes. The terrain was unfamiliar, but as he approached he could see smoke rising in the distance.

Bounding over the heads of two armed guards just outside the town Sergius landed on the edge of a fence, and with his beastial strength leapt onto the roof of a tall building. With one last enormous leap he soared above the heads of the gathered crowd surrounding a girl on a wooden platform, a noose around her neck, and landed in the center of them with enough force to shake the ground beneath them.

There were a hundred people or more, watching him speechless with their eyes wide in their gaunt, grey faces. Sergius rose slowly in the center of the crowd, surveying them. They were thin, weak people. If they did indeed have anyone among them that posed a threat to him he had already dispatched them in his woods. Then he saw her. She hung limply from a wooden tripod, silhouetted in front of an enormous bonfire behind her.

With another bounding leap he landed beside her and lifted her up. With one pull on the rope he tore down the gallows. He held her in his arms and rubbed his hand on her cheek. She bore new injuries, and her skin was cold. She was dead.

Holding the small, fragile thing in his arms he looked up to the people. They remained still, immobile from shock, or fear, or both. Only one dared look back—the Judge. Sergius locked eyes with him, and the portly man turned around and fled.

His short arms and legs flailed wildly as he ran up a hill to a large house. Sergius put his hand to Prudence’s stomach. If there was ever humanity in his eyes it expired at that moment. His fury absolute he leapt into the air and covered the distance to the Judge in two long strides.

The Judge in a panic slammed the door behind him for some respite from the furious beast. The door exploded into splinters and Sergius emerged moving at incredibly speed, still drunk with anger, and lifted the heavy Judge effortlessly and slammed him fifteen feet across the room against the back wall of his home knocking away bookcases and shelves. Holding him up by his collar, his feet dangling uselessly a foot above the floor, Sergius let loose a savage roar.

But the familiar sounds of a girl quietly weeping forced him to calm and he looked over. There were three young girls there, huddled together. They were scared of Sergius, and weeping over the loss of their sister, but what they feared most was the reprisal of their father. What he would do to those innocent children?

Sergius leaned in close to the Judge, “And I had always thought that I was the monster.”

He looked one last time at the girls. They would finally be safe, it was the only way he could make sure that Prudence’s sacrifice would not have gone in vain. Turning around he dragged the Judge out of his home and into the town square.

“Help me! Kill him, he’s a devil! Kill him!” cried the Judge, but no one budged.

Sergius’s grip tightened on the Judge as he was viciously dragged through the muck in front of the terrified villagers.

”Fine, I confess! I did it, I did it. Have mercy on me! The child was mine!” shouted the Judge.

The townspeople stirred. The revelation came as less of a shock that they would have wanted to admit to themselves. They felt their own involvement in the murder of an innocent girl, and one by one they moved out of the way to allow Sergius and his captive to pass.

The Judge continued crying for help long after they had left the town, but Sergius ignored him. His clothes were torn and filthy by the time they reached the woods, and still he cried for mercy from the beastman, but it fell on deaf ears.

He dragged him back to his glen and then deeper, to where the darker, wilder things lived. Tearing the tattered jacket off of the Judge Sergius bound him to a tree.

Sergius leaned down one last time and looked the Judge in the eyes. “If I ever lose my humanity, it will not be because of you.”

Sergius turned around, the sight of the Judge repulsive to him, and left him there for the dark things.

“She should have never loved you more than me! She cried out when I strung her up! She cried out for you!”

Without looking back Sergius, in a flat, monotone voice responded, “I came when she called for me. No one will come for you.”

Then the dark things took him.

>>919
Good thing you managed to kill them both to write all this down!

>>923
This last one from ID:df5318 dropped the ball, I think. Pretty flat, pretty meh.

>>937
Can't win them all. Writing seven stories in a couple weeks is still pretty good I think. Still trying for more, but it's important to me that each has a point. Otherwise it's a waste of time for the reader. I'll post the next when I finish it.

There's a few more at roryedd.tumblr.com

>>938
Yeah, this thread is a good idea for /grim/, and I commend you for starting it. I'll be reading whatever comes next...

>>883
Shit story, OP.

>>945

I C WUT U DID THERE

File 136410409586.jpg - (80.18KB , 916x583 , cowboys-tintype-photo-old-west-smith-wesson-horses.jpg )

Three figures appeared through the thick dust of the high plains, and if bad things truly do happen to bad people, then the worst sorts of things happened to them. They were on horseback, and each man hung limply from his saddle. The figure at the front looked back at the other two and his face soured. He took one final long drag of his rolled cigarette and flicked it to the earth, withdrew his revolver, placed the barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. He hit the ground with a meaty thud, his head emptying its contents onto the dry landscape. The other two continued without looking back.

Romulus and Jacob had been on the run for two days. They had been careful to avoid each town in case Dogface’s gang had headed them off. They had been worried about their share of the spoils from their last job, and decided it was better to keep it for themselves than risk trading their share for a slit throat. Honor amongst thieves may exist in the city, but not in the territories. They could make it to the next town if their horses didn’t quit, and they knew that no one trusted men who rode in on dying horses.

“There,” yelled Romulus back to Jacob in his telltale drawl, pointing towards a town far in the distance.

Romulus was a tall, lean man with oily brown hair and a tangled beard. He had suffered a stroke years ago and now barked out words from the side of his mouth. His left arm was less than useless and his right arm more than made up for it. Even with little use of his left arm and eye he was a dangerous man with a revolver.

Jacob was his younger by more than a decade. He was clean shaven and had a mess of blonde hair that grew out from under his hat creating a stark contrast on his dirty skin. Neither had much in the way of a family, and over time they had become surrogate families for one another.

They slowed and eyed a sign beside them nervously, hoping they wouldn’t be recognized as outlaws once they passed into town. It read Welcome to Silver Gulch.

“Miners…” muttered Romulus to himself.

Miners were a rare breed. They weren’t dangerous, but they also didn’t trust anyone, and they would be landing a discerning eye on their new company. Dogface’s gang would have a hard time telling which direction the two had taken when they abandoned the heist, but word would travel quickly if they were spotted, and they hadn’t made the distance they needed yet to avoid a reprisal. They also had to be quiet about how they spent any gold. While city people loved gold, it only made poor miners salivate and ask too many questions.

Jacob lifted a gloved hand and pointed to a stable beside a hotel. “We need to let them rest or they’ll be useless tomorrow—us too,” said Jacob. Romulus nodded in agreement.

They tied their horses up, and Jacob removed his hat and dunked his head into the water trough. He shook his head and ran his hands through his golden hair, taking a deep breath. Replacing his hat he looked over to Romulus, his youthful features highlighted by his clean face that shined in the setting sun.

The hotel was several stories high and leaned heavily on its foundation making it seem like it was looking over the two as they entered. The lobby of the hotel was a saloon, and there were half a dozen men in all different states of inebriation throughout the bar. Jacob knew enough to avoid too many people seeing their faces and sat with his back against the wall at a far table, his eyes pointing towards the entrance.

Romulus continued on to the innkeeper. He was a short man with a big belly and a long curling mustache. He eyed Romulus up and down as he approached, but didn’t stop wiping out a mug with a rag. Romulus saw that as a good sign—anytime someone keeps their hands in the open, and not on the trigger of a gun beneath the counter, means that they weren’t recognized.

“Ho there, strangers. Need a drink? Maybe a room?” said the innkeeper.

Romulus used his right arm to lift his left up to the counter with a grunt. “Feed for a couple horses we have outside. Water for us.”

Romulus placed his right hand on the counter and slid its contents to the innkeeper. It was a lump of gold, more than enough for what they needed and a night’s stay. The innkeeper’s eyes glistened, and he quickly pocketed it.

The innkeeper moved to the end of the bar and kicked a young man who was resting against a barrel on the floor.

“Get up ya lazy boy, there’s horses that need tending, then fix the suite for our new guests.” Looking back to Romulus he smiled wide with his black, crooked teeth, “Anything else you be needing, just ask and I’ll make sure it’s taken care of. Welcome to Silver Gulch.”

Romulus returned to the table where Jacob sat with a tall pitcher of water and two glasses.

“The black hat in the corner,” whispered Jacob under his breath, eyeing the pitcher of water.

Romulus turned at an awkward angle as he sat to catch a glimpse of the man Jacob had mentioned. It was a large man with a copper star pinned to his pocket. A sheriff, possibly a marshal. Romulus didn’t say a word and poured out the murky water, and took a long deep swig. If the lawman didn’t notice them, then they wouldn’t make any effort to be noticed.

After a while the innkeeper walked up to their table, and replaced the now empty water pitcher with a new one along with two shots of whiskey.

“This is our top shelf that we save for an occasion when our presence is graced by gentlemen such as yourselves. Will you be needing a room? I’ve got Thomas preparing it for ya if you’re interested.”

“That’d be grand, sir. Thank you for your hospitality,” replied Jacob.

Romulus turned as the innkeeper walked away and saw the lawman staring back at them. Silently the man in the black hat rose, and started to walk towards them. Romulus turned around and looked into his glass of whiskey. His eyes wandered up to Jacob, who never had much of a poker face and was sweating nervously.

Romulus let his hand wander to his holster. If he had to he’d kill the lawman along with any witnesses. It was always better to be safe than sorry, and he liked killing anyway.

Before the man in the black hat could reach them the innkeeper darted between them. In a hushed whisper he pleaded with the lawman to leave his new guests be, and that they had already paid. Romulus smirked—a very good sign indeed. He let his hand drift back up to the glass of whiskey which he lifted up and poured into Jacob’s.

Jacob washed back the double shot and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Romulus let himself feel at ease and didn’t object when Jacob raised his hand and pointed to their table for two more. Things went like that for another hour before Romulus let out a long, tired yawn.

“Check on the horses, I’m going to the room. Don’t drink too much, we have to get started at daybreak if we’re going to keep our distance.”

Jacob nodded and started stacking the shot glasses and then collected his jacket. Romulus headed up the wooden steps in the back, making sure not to look at the man in the black hat who had managed not the budge from his spot in the corner.

Romulus opened the door to his room and looked around. The lanterns were lit and their bed prepared. Romulus would let Jacob take it, and sleep in the armchair in the corner facing the door. He disliked being comfortable. That was when a man’s guard was down, and his guard was rarely down.

Romulus placed his hat on the top of the armchair and sat himself down with his gun in his lap. He waited patiently for Jacob. At first ten minutes, then twenty. Romulus started to get annoyed. “I told that boy not to drink too much,” he grumbled to himself.

Standing up with his left arm dangling at his side he replaced his hat, holstered his pistol, and stormed out of the room. He slowed as he descended the stairs and surveyed the drunken crowd that had grown since sundown. Jacob was not among them.

Romulus proceeded casually down the staircase. No one took notice of him, and that was good. He decided that Jacob may still be out with the horses for some fool reason, and headed out the doors and around to the stable.

A shock of pain and a flash of light shot through Romulus followed by the taste of dirt.

A large man leaned down to Romulus, his faces floating around like the hands of a clock before finally coming to rest in one image. If someone was being kind they could call the man ugly, but he was a man who was antithesis to kindness.

“Howdy, Romulus. It seems you left without saying goodbye,” said Dogface.

Romulus’s face was deep in the dry dirt and with each breath he couldn’t help but inhale some of the chalky earth. He managed to twist his head just far enough to see Jacob. He was alive, but battered, and held down on his knees by two of Dogface’s men.

“My…” Romulus wheezed, “my bag.”

Dogface grabbed the back of Romulus’s long brown overcoat and pulled it up revealing a leather satchel. With his meaty hands he effortlessly ripped the strap and retrieved the satchel off of Romulus. Cautiously he tore back the flap and looked inside. Even without light to reflect off of the gold hidden inside his vile face seemed to glow.

Tossing the bag to one of the men who had his hand on Jacob’s shoulder Dogface leaned back down, placing his large hands on his knees and tilting his head sideways.

“Mighty kindly of ya to give that up so quick. But I gotta say, Romulus, I’m more than a bit upset you forced my men and I to ride such a long ways out here to get what was rightfully ours. First I’m going to beat on you, if ya don’t mind. Then I’m gunna put a bullet in both of yer brains. Ain’t nobody fuck with Dogface.” And he slammed his fist into Romulus’s face, forcing his head deeper into the cold dirt.

Dragging Romulus by the collar the men took the two behind the stable, better to put them down away from any witnesses. With his giant paws Dogface lifted up Romulus by the head, his thumbs pressed deeply into his cheeks, and blood pouring from his nose.

“The problem with you Romulus is that you think you’re dangerous. I’ve seen you kill people, and I know you like it. But killin’ needlessly doesn’t make a man dangerous, it makes him rabid, and rabid dogs get put down.”

Dogface landed another solid punch to Romulus’s gut and dropped him back to the ground. Romulus started coughing up blood violently and curled into a fetal position, cradling his abdomen with his one good arm.

“Goodbye you piece of shit,” growled Dogface, chambering a bullet, and pointing his colt at Romulus’s head.

A deafening shot rang through Romulus’s ears. Then another, and another. Hooting and scuffling followed and he could hear the rapid footsteps of men fleeing, then a loud thud beside him. Romulus dared himself to look up from the pile of blood that had pooled around his head and saw Dogface. He was stone dead on the ground face to face with him. A bullet had shattered his two front teeth and gone right through his head.

“You boys alright?” cried a voice behind them.

Jacob tore away his gag and ran over to the side of Romulus. The two men who had been holding him had fled when Dogface was killed, and we’re probably already galloping into the night—still in possession of the gold.

Jacob’s hand rested on Romulus’s cheek and turned his head to the side to assess the damage. His nose had been broken.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” said Jacob turning his head up to the black hatted man.

“Just doing my duty. I’m the sheriff of this little town, and I got to apologize. I thought you two may have been up to no good, but I had ya pegged wrong. Let’s get you boys inside and taken care of,” said the sheriff.

They slept peacefully that night; Romulus even took the bed. He recovered quickly, but his demeanor was shot. They had removed Dogface from their worries, but along with it their spoils. Now they were two wanted men, in the middle of nowhere, with no money, and nowhere to go.

A rooster crow woke Jacob first, and he got up quietly and allowed Romulus to sleep. Counting his supplies, including his horses, they probably had enough to get them to the next town, but that was it. Sell their horses maybe, start new lives. Maybe be a farmer, he thought. He didn’t know a thing about farming, but it sounded like a less dangerous vocation, and he had seen enough violence in his few years, especially being around Romulus.

He did what Romulus asked him to do because they had become brothers, but after almost losing their lives he started to reconsider just what kind of leadership Romulus brought them. Maybe I can talk him out of it, he thought, maybe I can make him go straight.

“Coffee?” asked Jacob holding out a white cup.

Accepting the cup with a grunt Romulus sat up and took a sip. He let his hand rest against his face, and felt the sting of pain from his nose. His eyes were dark and swollen from the bruising, and his lip was cut, but otherwise he was fine.

A knock came at the door and the two men whirled around. It was the sheriff.

“So, we couldn’t identify the thieves who attacked you last night, and we don’t know where they headed off to. I’m sorry, but whatever they stole from ya is probably gone. I wish ya both a speedy recovery,” and the sheriff tipped his hat to the two men.

“Sheriff,” asked Romulus, “where’s his body?”

“Oh, probably six feet deep in a wooden box by now. Burried out behind the old cemetery on the hill over yonder. That’s where we stick thieves and murderers, not on good Christian ground. Why do you ask?”

“Just peace of mind, I guess. Still a bit shook up from the attack.”

“You’re brave men. A second later I might not have been there. Be careful who sees you accepting high shelf whiskey, bandits like that will follow you town to town just waitin’ for the moment to take it from ya. I can’t help you out with reparations, but the bandit left his horse and you’re welcome to it. It’s a pretty white thing, might get ya thirty dollars.”

Jacob thanked the sheriff and closed the door behind him. Romulus leaned back in the bed and looked to Jacob, lowering his bushy, uneven eyebrows.

“Dogface is wanted throughout the territories just like us, but I don’t think anyone knows we were ever a part of his gang,” said Romulus in a hoarse drawl.

“Yeah, and what about it?” replied Jacob.

“Well, that ugly mug of his is worth ten thousand dollars.”

“Yeah, but the sheriff gets the reward not us. He’s the one who killed him.”

“Well then we won’t tell this sheriff. We just dig up the body and take it to the next town. But we gotta leave quiet.”

Jacob grimaced at the idea. When Romulus said “we” he meant Jacob, and dead bodies weren’t something he much liked being around.

The innkeeper was fine with the two men staying for the day, but his hospitality left along with their gold, and they wouldn’t get much more out of him. When the sun set they started saddling their horses, ready to leave come midnight. When they finally did take off they stopped just behind the hill where the cemetery rested.

There on the ground was some fresh earth with a simple wooden cross along with yesterday’s date. Jacob got to work, digging furiously through the soft ground, making sure to do so quietly. When he reached the wooden box he had to break through with the edge of his shovel. There was Dogface.

Jacob lifted the heavy man and slung him over his old horse, and stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“You can’t leave him like that. Sit him up,” whispered Romulus.

“What?” replied Jacob.

“We’re wanted men, we can’t go wandering around with a dead body. Sit him up. No one will question three riders.”

Using a length of rope taken from Dogface’s saddlebag and a piece of his coffin Jacob built a sling for the heavy man. He still hung loosely to one side, but the rope was strong enough to hold him upright. Jacob quickly shoveled the dirt back into the hole, and the three riders left silently under the moonlight.

The sun burned in the sky and made the dirt shine like water in the distance. Both men accepted the heat and carried on, Romulus with his eyes on the distance watching for unwanted company, and Jacob with his arm slung behind him holding onto their expired companion’s reigns.

Jacob looked back and inspected Dogface’s corpse. He looked better than usual, thought Jacob, but it was hard for him to be any uglier. His skin was pale white, and he didn’t carry his usual sneer.

Hours passed and they hadn’t seen a single soul. They had started heading east towards the next big town where they could find a marshal. If the marshal recognized Dogface from his poster they’d get a reward, if the marshal recognized them from their own posters they’d get their necks stretched. They deeply hopped for the former.

Jacob took a sip of water from a canteen, careful not to take too much, and replace it on his saddle. He never knew how Romulus was able to drink as little as he did. The heat was getting to him, and with it the smell from behind him. Jacob looked back at Dogface. His body had collected a fair bit of flies, and bloated to the extreme. The giant body was twice its already enormous size, and lopped back and forth on the saddle like a balloon.

“What do we do about that?” asked Jacob.

Romulus looked back and then his face grimaced like he wished he hadn’t. “Here, use this,” and Romulus handed a knife to his companion.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” said Jacob holding the small silver knife.

“Vent,” replied Romulus without turning back, his eyes locked ahead of him.

Jacob allowed Dogface’s horse to catch up to him a little and lifted up the shirt on the bloated body. The skin was mottled yellow and green, and flies were gathered in a thick mass around his gaping mouth. With a quick jab Jacob cut a deep hole into the side of the corpse. A thick steam erupted from the body and Jacob tried hard not to vomit. The smell of hot death crept up to Jacob and he covered his face with his bandana. Flies migrated to the new orifice and collected around it. Dogface’s body listed a bit back to one side, looking a bit more normal.

Taking a second bandana Jacob tied it around Dogface’s head, covering his mouth. Maybe if anyone saw them passing, they wouldn’t notice the man with his mouth wide open filled with flies.

That night they slept under the moon. They had sat Dogface up against a tree, and Jacob had a hard time sleeping as he continually woke up to make sure that their corpse was still there. Something unnerved him about it.

The horse objected when they slung Dogface back on in the morning, but they were able to calm it down. It was no wonder, black liquid seeped from the dead body and stained the saddle and back of the horse. The smell was enough to force both men to hold their breath as they did it. Some creature in the night had gotten to the body and eaten out his eyes. Two black pits now poured out a continuous stream of bile and puss.

The day grew hotter, and Jacob pleaded with Romulus to share the duty of holding the reigns of their bounty’s horse. Romulus shook his head, if danger came he needed his good arm for his gun. Jacob frowned and choked back the vomit, and continued on, holding onto the fly invested body, now trailing a long black trail of rancid fluid onto the prairie.

“There, ahead,” said Romulus pointing.

Jacob let loose a long relieved sigh, the biggest breath he had allowed himself in two days. There was a small cabin just ahead along with a sizable farm. They would be able to find water and food if the people were kind, and if the people weren’t kind that wouldn’t be a problem either.

Romulus rode out ahead and left Jacob with the body.

Romulus was careful to take his time. He didn’t want to spook the homeowner. He circled around first, noting the barren farm and around to the back where he saw a rusty old plow and a small garden.

“Hello?” called out Romulus.

Romulus watched as the back door of the cabin crept open slowly and out came a slender man with a big red beard, and a long rifle held down by his side.

“How can I help you stranger?” shouted the man.

“My friends and I are just passing through. I was wondering if we might rest our horses and refill our water. It’s been mighty hot out,” said Romulus in the friendliest voice he could muster. It still wasn’t a very good attempt.

The man dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground and waved his hand. “Sure friend, it’s always nice to have company. We’ve got supper on and you three are welcome to join us.”

The man was smart, he had noticed Jacob out front in the distance, but naïve, thought Romulus. Dismounting and walking his horse over he shook the man’s hand.

“The name’s Jeb, and my companion Jed is over yonder. Our friend is feeling mighty ill. Probably something he ate,” said Romulus with his half smile.

“The name’s Theodore, and my wife Mary and our daughter Matilda are inside. We’re more than happy to feed and water ya, but that’s all we can offer. We haven’t found much luck this season, so a single meal for weary folks is the best we can offer. And if your friend’s ill we’ve got an outhouse just behind ya, and he’s welcome to use that.”

“Oh, that would be perfect,” replied Romulus.

The two men sat at the dinner table with the kind family. They ate potato and rabbit stew, and it was relished by them both. Jacob had trouble taking his eyes away from Matilda, and Romulus had trouble taking his eyes away from the riffle Theodore had left in the corner of the cabin.

“Is your friend alright? He’s been out there an awful long time,” said Mary.

“Oh, he’s quite embarrassed about the smell, so it’s best to leave him be. Knowing him he’s leaking out of more than one hole if you catch my meaning,” said Jacob, smiling to Matilda.

Mary sneered, that answer was sufficient for her. They ate the rest of the dinner in peace, interrupted only by questions Matilda had for Jacob about his travels, and what the cities were like.

“Well, if you boys are interested I’m going to have a smoke. Care to join me on the porch?” asked Theodore.

Romulus nodded, but Jacob politely declined, having decided to spend more time inside with Matilda. Romulus took long drags on the rolled cigarello and thanked him for his hospitality. The sun was beginning to set and Theodore looked back at him.

“It will be dark soon. I don’t know if you have plans on continuing on in the dark, but you’re welcome to camp out back if you’d like. Good company is such a rare thing out here.”

The door creaked open and Jacob and Matilda stepped out, both giggling.

“Father, you have to hear the most wonderful story Jacob just told me! They’re heroes in Silver Gulch. They apprehended a dangerous bandit!”

“It’s true sir, we’re just doing god’s work keeping good people safe from the bad ones,” said Jacob beaming, with his arm now around Matilda’s waist.

“Where’s your mother?” asked Theodore.

“Probably out back leaving a plate for their friend.”

The two men stopped and shot each other worried looks. A piercing scream rang out from behind the home, and in a flash Romulus had knocked Theodore down onto his belly and dug his knee deep into his back. Removing his gun like lightning he pointed it at the girl.

“Jacob, take care of that,” growled Romulus.

“Romulus, I…” stuttered Jacob.

“Fine, watch them!”

Jacob removed his colt and had the man and his daughter lay down on the patio.

Romulus stormed off into the dark around the house. A single shot rang out, and Theodore screamed Mary’s name. Matilda began bawling, and Jacob could do nothing, but point his gun and watch them cry.

A heavy boot slammed the front door open and Romulus stepped out with his gun held at his side. He stood above the two as they sobbed and he watched Theodore struggle to get up. Romulus lifted his gun and shot Theodore in the knee then pressed his boot against his back forcing him down onto the ground. Theodore cried out in pain, and his daughter screamed for mercy.

“Romulus, no.” Jacob’s eyes were deathly serious.

“It’s too late now. We kill ‘em, drag the bodies inside, take what we need, and burn the place down.”

“No. These are innocent people. They don’t deserve this.”

“Did we deserve this? Did we deserve the lives we got? All men have to live with what they’re dealt. All of us are just crawling through the piss and shit that’s pouring outta poor Dogface making the best of it. If we don’t kill them they’ll alert the marshal, and there goes our bounty and our necks.”

“I won’t let you.” Jacob put his hand against Romulus and pushed him back, removing his foot from the back of Theodore.

“You’re my brother and I love you, but you’re being a damn fool. Don’t mess this up for us.”

“I can’t do it anymore. I can’t lead around dead, bloated bodies. We’re surrounded by death and I’ve had enough. Stand up honey,” said Jacob waving to Matilda.

“I’m killing these people, and you’re not going to stop me. It’s for your own good. If you don’t want to see it, go inside.”

“I ain’t moving,” replied Jacob allowing Matilda to cry on his shoulder.

“What, because of her? You’re green boy, you meet a girl and an hour later you’ll lose your only friend over her?”

Romulus’s face turned from disappointment to anger. He had never loved anything, never even had a friend until Jacob. His father was an abusive drunk, and Romulus had killed him when he was sixteen. Jacob was his family, and now some girl had made him decide that he didn’t need a brother. Well, that was a dumb decision, but Romulus would help him see his mistake.

Reaching out his good hand he grabbed Matilda by the hair and slammed her down to the boards of the porch and held his gun against her forehead.

“You’re just confused, Jacob. Let me help remedy that.”

Romulus shot the girl through the head, and she fell back limp against the cabin.

That morning the three riders left the burning cabin. The ears and nose had rotted away from Dogface and Romulus started to question whether he could claim the bounty anymore. He looked back to Jacob, and it assured him everything would be fine.

“You made a damn fool decision, Jacob. But I’m glad we’re back together. I couldn’t imagine being without my only family.”

Romulus waited for a response from Jacob, but he said nothing.

“Still mad, eh? Sorry about that. I just get a little too invested in the moment sometimes.”

Romulus stared long and hard at the two men behind him, and they only looked back at him with the pits of their lifeless eyes. He withdrew a cigarette he had lifted off of Theodore before he killed him and lit it with his last match. He winced as he breathed in, antagonizing the bullet wound in his side.

“But you know what they say about family, Jacob. They should always be together.”

Romulus leaned back in his saddle and took the first long drag of his last cigarette.

>>948
Well, the intro does make more sense now.

This is some of the best story telling I've ever seen, thanks for sharing anons.

>>951
I was almost expecting a zombie ending there, well played.

>>966
You should read a book some time. Anon's decent, but far from the best.

>>972
Well, it's free, and done by a guy posting on a chan. If you think I'm not up to snuff to be a published author, then you're right.

>>1018
Not talking down on you, OP, I enjoyed the read. Just saying that it isn't 'the best storytelling ever', and that the anon who suggested that it's the best they've ever seen should broaden their horizons because there's some really amazing shit out there. Nothing personal.