A/N: So, this is my first ever Halloween MK fic. Hope you all enjoy it and just for reference this takes place in California 5 years after MKX.
The Quick and the Dead
It was the ex-Earthrealmer's revolver that executed the elderly man, but it was not Erron Black that had pulled the trigger.
The two visitors standing on the deceased homeowner's heavily decorated porch looked down at the hollowed and mangled skull of the man as his blood stained the cherry wood of the entry way of his home; turning the dark wood almost black.
The ceramic bowl of candy that was intended to be handed out to them lay broken in jigsaw pieces alongside the wrapped goodies littered on the floor along with his blood.
Erron looked over his shoulder and watched as people scattered with their children, frightened by the gunshot that echoed through the once serene small town neighborhood; their holiday night now ruined.
Black and his accomplice, the one that had killed the unknown man, stood in silence in the doorway.
The more Erron's fingers continued to linger inside the empty leather cave attached to his leg, one that was deprived of its usual comforting heaviness from his gun, the more he grew nervous. The emptiness of his holster only further confirming that it had all occurred.
He looked at his unexpected companion that night; the blue eyes of the one that tricked him held an annoying smugness that relayed silently to Erron of his naïve stupidity for underestimating him.
It immediately washed away Black's feelings of anxiousness, causing a small twinge of rage that began to bubble within his stomach as he looked down at the charlatan's eyes; his eyes as glacial and cold as they were in color.
Without a single shred of guilt, his friend walked over and picked up a piece of blood-soaked candy from the floor.
Unwrapping it, he took an overly generous chunk out of the large chocolate block. His head tilted back, his eyes closed in pleasure and an audible moan of delight as he savored it could be heard as he chewed and looked back at Black.
A small, grateful smile ghosted across his face at the Outworlder, as if thanking Erron for letting him use his gun. The grin unsettled the marksman, but mostly angered him; it was remorseless and full of self-gratification.
Thanks for letting me use your gun — even if I didn't say please.
Erron heard the macabre words loud and clear in his head despite his muteness. Instinctively, Black pulled out the other revolver from his holster, cocked the hammer back and aimed it at his head with speed only used in combat.
"What are you," Black demanded. The words came out in an ire growl. His helper gave him a pitying but wicked smile at the question; as if rebuking the gunslinger that he couldn't figure it out.
He nonchalantly told him what he was and Erron's eyes narrowed hard in disbelief.
"Bullshit."
Black felt flesh where the handle of his gun used to be, his hand suddenly clenching involuntarily in a fist.
He took a genuine step back when he saw his other revolver suddenly in his former ally's hand.
His weapon had been stripped from him and he didn't even see him move an inch— if he had moved, there would be a bullet in his head.
How the hell did that little shit get his gun from him?!
His now ex-accomplice raised both, the barrel ends pointed at him as he let the affirmation of who had the upper hand sink in. Erron's mouth formed into a snarl.
This was not how this night was supposed to go.
His traitorous friend squinted his eyes almost comically and curled his mouth into an over-dramatic scowl as his voice deepened: "You see, there are two kinds of people in this world. Those with the loaded guns, and those who dig..."
Erron Black felt a scowl settle on his face as he watched the humored grin pulled over the punk's face as he chillingly finished his sentence; his features turning dark and dispensing with his act.
"You're gonna dig, tonight Erron Black."
Few Hours Earlier...
Usually, his targets demanded the necessity of using stealth to sneak up on them, but today was an unusual circumstance where he could suspend with his usual tactics of lingering in the shadows.
He had never heard of this holiday, and he had to admit, his eyes were bugged wide for a good ten minutes when he saw everything.
The entire scene reminded him of a ritual he had heard over gossip one night in a saloon.
The Cajun had spoken of something similar— Mardi Gras if he remembered correctly. From what the old Grey Back described in detail, the view before him made him frown heavily.
Was this it?
No, it's not. A voice in the back of his head spoke up.
He glanced around at the banners that hung from the lamp posts of the downtown square.
Harvest County
45th Annual
City Square-Scare
Halloween Bash
Halloween, Mardi Gras. Whatever, it was supposed to be, it was a parade of drunken idiots dressed like fools. Almost everyone wore some ridiculous outfit as they laughed obnoxiously and ducked in and out of the street that lined itself with bars.
Most of the costumes were lost on him; every outfit a calamity of color and oddities. The only purpose he could see that they served was a reminder that he was glad he left to Outworld and avoided whatever the hell happened while he was gone.
He kept mostly to the shadows of the alley nearby.
Black pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squinting as a headache pounded against his forehead like the beating of drums.
Ever since he got here, he still couldn't get rid of the damn migraine since he went through the portal in the woods. It came in waves, sometimes calm and then sometimes as if he as in a barrel in the middle of a raging storm.
He rubbed the back of his neck and yawned, tired both by entering the portal which could happen on occasion and just ready to get his assignment done and over with.
The gunslinger eyed the costumed square again before looking down at his own attire. Unfortunately, the authentic nature of his clothes would give him away even in the ocean of fools. His blue eyes looked at the party again, only meaning to observe until an idea popped into his head when he spotted an awful costume rendition of the time he was born in.
The Stetson hat on the fat man in his 50's looked horrible, made no doubt out of some shitty quality leather, and the tin star with the word 'Sheriff' written on it was laughable.
If people were dressed similar— and similar was pushing it— then there was no reason to stay to the alleys all night. If it was customary to wear a costume tonight, perhaps he should join in — it would definitely help getting closer to his targets in disguise considering they knew him.
In the cover of the alley, he saw a clothing store that had closed its doors for the night.
Camouflage it is then.
Although not too pleased about the idea, he walked out of the shadows and joined the in the parade of masqueraded people.
The center of town was bustling with activity, decorated heavily with hollowed pumpkins, inebriated costumed folks, orange lights and a band on a stage dressed as Roman Gladiators, playing music loudly on their instruments as people hollered with contentment.
He hadn't been a place so stupidly rowdy since the Gem Saloon, but at least the patrons of the Deadwood saloon were a far better company that could hold their liquor.
It was chaotic and Black could his headache intensify as he pushed his way through the crowd, noticing nobody gave any mind to his appearance after all. He smiled, just as expected; even in plain sight he was a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Perhaps I don't have to dress up like an idiot.
No, they would still recognize you. You have to.
Why?
"Nice costume man!" He felt someone drunkenly pat him on the back. Erron's lip instantly vanished from behind his leather face mask, his eyes turning stormy.
He turned around and couldn't say the same about the teenager that had addressed him and the teenage girl dressed scantily on his arm giggling. The skinny, zit faced kid aimed his strange looking machine gun, the noise clicking like crickets annoyingly in repetition. Erron's hand went to his revolver.
Wait. A voice in his head rang.
He held his hand on the revolver but didn't draw.
It's just a toy, stupid.
"I got ya, wise guy," the kid laughed idiotically in his face.
Black grabbed the black lapels of his cheap feeling cotton, pinstriped suit. The fedora with the white hat feather he wore fell to the ground in unison as the skinny runt immediately regretted addressing him at all— especially when he lifted him above the ground with his feet dangling.
His girlfriend squeaked in horror at Black's reaction, doing nothing but standing doe-eyed in a ridiculous blue and white checkered dress and red shoes. She was skinny as a tree branch, dolled up in too much makeup and her dress left nothing to the imagination. Erron raised a disgusted eyebrow at her; if she was trying to inform everyone she was a two-bit whore, she was doing a good job at it.
"Hey, man! What's the big deal? I just said your costume looked cool"— the kid offered with a scared smile— "who you dressed up as by the way? Revolver Ocelot? Steampunk Clint Eastwood?"
The kid's voice was whiny and barely out of gates of puberty— it irked him.
Erron brought the kid closer, his blue eyes boring into the teenager's brown, frightened ones. "I'm dressed as someone who is thinkin' of fillin' your gut full of lead."
He gave the kid a shove, letting him fall on his ass on the confetti-littered ground.
"Touch me again and you'll be writing your own obituary with whatever fingers I don't happen to break," Black threatened with a raised finger in his direction.
After that, they both ran in hurried strides as far away as they could from him. Her red high heels clicked annoyingly on the pavement, barely audible over the noise and before Erron ducked into the crowd some more.
Black went into the alley and quickly found the back door to the shop. After breaking down the door, he entered and adjusted his eyes to the darkness of the shop. It was clearly a man's clothing store.
The clothing looked lavish while some looked more functional than others. He placed his hat on the glass counter and undid his buckled face mask, removing it and placing it by his hat for the moment.
He spotted a silk tie that hung on one of the clothing racks and snatched it. He removed the kohl from his eyes, wiping them clean— there was no need for it at night.
He discarded the now dirty tie on the counter and lifted his poncho next, another piece of him that they would recognize in an instant.
The gunslinger placed it on the table and walked over to the brown, leather trench coat that lay on the hanger against the wall to the side. Erron ripped it from the hanger unceremoniously and put it on. It was too small so he grabbed another identical one from the rack.
It was a better fit. The dark chestnut brown coat fell past his calves with a belt that tied around his waist. He ignored the belt and instead secured the buttons to cover his bulletproof vest and the guns in his holsters.
Erron let out a sigh; he immediately didn't enjoy the coat and couldn't wait till he could get rid of it. Black knew he couldn't wear his mask—yet another thing they would recognize— so instead he pulled out his secondary, brown bandanna and secured it around his neck; leaving it ready to go if he needed to pull it over his face.
Satisfied, he walked back to the glass counter to retrieve his poncho and hat. He was preparing to remove the hat band but came to a halt when he noticed his hat and poncho were missing from the counter.
His hand snaked under the brown coat and withdrew his revolver as his eyes scanned around the darkened clothing store.
Even distracted trying to organize a costume together, he as sure as shit knew he didn't hear anybody else in here.
Black thought he heard footsteps and whirled around, the revolver cocked and ready but only found himself confused.
Hanging on a naked, white mannequin, was his poncho draped over its stiff shoulders and his hat resting comfortably on its head.
Erron stormed over, grabbed the hat and placed it on his head before tearing his poncho from the mannequin and tucking it in the crook of his arm; the plastic body thudding to the ground as its head rolled across the floor.
Black felt a coldness and even though it was an a piece of him they might notice, he put his poncho back on, covering his back and placed his hat back on his head after he carefully removed the bandolier around the hat. He put his mask and bandolier hat band in the coat pockets for now.
The Outworld gunslinger gazed around, looking for the person who pulled the prank. He felt something burn at the back of his head, something akin to an intense sunburn.
He rubbed the uncomfortable warmth with his free hand; it persisted for a moment but then calmed, only a small inconvenience that was replaced by a slight headache.
Black pushed it aside and instead looked for whoever was in the store with him. He stalked around; looking in every corner and shadow there was to hide.
He saw a black silhouette slide over the wall to his left and he pointed the gun in the direction. He could hear breathing coming from behind the glass counter and saw a pair of white shoes with a black check marks on them poke from behind.
"I know you're there," Black called out to him, placing his gun back in his holster.
Sheepishly, a small boy around the age of 11 walked from behind his protective cover of the counter to stand in front of the mercenary.
His eyebrow rose at the kid before him, standing unafraid by Erron Black's immediately intimidating demeanor.
The boy looked at him, his bright blue eyes covered by both the large black Stetson hat and the straight brown hair that brushed his eyelids. The hat, unlike the Sheriff he saw earlier, looked authentic and too big for his head. A turkey feather stuck pass the edge of the hat like a piece of wheat tucked in an ear, held in place by the black hat string.
Like Erron, he wore a poncho, but upon further inspection, Black could tell the poncho looked nothing more than a forest green wool blanket with a hole cut in it to stick his head through. It fell to his knees, covering his blue pants and barely allowing his hands to poke behind the material. He wore a navy blue bandanna around his neck much like the gunslinger did.
"I was wondering when you would notice me. Sorry about the joke," the boy told him sincerely, knowing he was in trouble. "I was just having fun. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone you were in here."
"Scram," was Erron's answer to the boy, nodding his head towards the door. Without another word, the boy fled out the door that Black had broken to get into the store. He was apprehensive about letting the kid go, something clawing at the back of his mind that he would regret it.
It's just a kid. Don't get so worked up.
The thought seemed to soothe his worry, but he was still unsure whether he made the right call; it stuck to the back of his mind like a parasite.
It was several minutes of silence before Erron decided to just leave. It was an odd encounter, but he wiped it from his memory when he remembered he had more pressing matters to attend to.
He placed the gun back into his holster and left, gathering his things and leaving the clothing store and proceeded with fulfilling his contract. The only reason he came to Outworld.
To kill the Earthrealmers that had been giving Kotal Kahn much grievance all these years.
"C'mon Jin."
"No— go jump off a cliff, Takeda," the Shaolin groaned, his voice muffled through the pillow that covered his face. He lay sprawled on the blue leather couch, in no hurry to get up, but another person had a different idea in mind.
Suddenly he heard the sound of quick footsteps felt a sudden and uncomfortable weight flop on top of him; unintentionally hurting his groin.
He groaned painfully, his eyes wide from underneath the pillow as it fell off him.
A tiny face came into view that was obscured by a white hockey mask, her brown eyes barely noticeable over the black film for the eye holes. She waved her plastic machete in her hand as if her toy was threat enough to get him to budge.
"Jin! C'mon! Get up! We are going Trick or Treating!" the squeaky little 5-year-old girl complained. She lifted the mask, sitting it on top of her curly black hair and beamed a smile down at him, melting the ice around the Shaolin's usually stoic heart when it came to kids; he only made the exception for her.
Kung Jin lolled his head back on the sofa arm, a forearm draped dramatically across his forehead. "No... go on without me! The light... it grows closer..."
The Shaolin Archer let out a forced groan, playfully as if drawing his last breath before he closed his eyes and played dead.
It took him all his effort not to smile when he could feel the small African American and Thai girl pouting at him from above.
"You are so weird!" she voiced with a laugh, although she was annoyed he wasn't moving. She beat him softly with the gray toy machete, each soft blow hitting the white shirt he wore.
"Wake up! We're going Trick or Treating!"
"Can't go candy begging— I'm dead..." Jin replied, opening one eye to peek at her before it closed.
"Alright, leave him alone, Susan," Takeda said, walking into the living room and scooping up his daughter as she let out a delighted squeal. He gave her a kiss on the forehead before he handed the orange jack-o-lantern bucket her direction; holding her securely with one arm as she wrapped her little legs around him.
"Ready to go have fun?" Takeda asked with a smile.
She nodded eagerly, her curly black hair bouncing playfully along with the plastic Jason Voorhees mask as he eyes lit up.
They heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and they turned to see Jacqui with a hand over her face as if in severe disappointment and Cassie coming down. Jacqui was dressed casually; wearing jeans and navy blue long sleeve shirt, but the same could not be said of Susan's godmother.
"Really, Sergeant Dork?" Jin questioned with a roll of his eyes.
Cassie scoffed," Seriously guys— it's Halloween. It's a crime not to dress up on Halloween."
"A crime I'm happy to commit, thanks," the archer retorted with a perplexed and somewhat confused look. "What the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?"
Cassie gave them a dubious look, "You guys have seriously never heard of Freddy Krueger? Besides, Susie is going as a Jason — I'm just following her move."
"Which I have to thank you for and why you don't have movie nights with my kid anymore," Takeda uttered with a displeased groan. He still owed Cassie a copy of Friday the 13th after he broke the DVD in rage.
"Hey, she picked the movie. I was just an unwilling participant," Cassie said in defense, raising her hands innocently.
"I thought this was a children's holiday?" Kung Jin jabbed.
"I'm a child at heart— deal with it," Cassie retorted, adjusting the razor claw glove on her hand before she cupped her breasts in the tight midriff red and green striped sweater.
"You look awesome, Auntie Cassie!" Susan exclaimed, jumping from Takeda before running over to her with her orange candy bucket.
"Thank you. At least someone appreciates me taking the effort to dress up— on Halloween," Cassie asserted, earning several eye rolls from the other adults in the room.
"I'd appreciate some Borax to clean my eyes with," Kung Jin snickered under his breath. He let out a sigh, the corner of his mouth turned up. "Why do I have to come again?"
"C'mon Jin— you wouldn't wanna hurt Susan's feeling by not coming would you?" Jacqui nudged a small grin on her face.
Susan ran over to Jin, the latter sitting up on the couch of the Takahashi household. Susan looked up at him like a begging puppy. "Please, Jin! Please come!"
Kung Jin's face dropped. In all honesty, he didn't want to. He had just gotten off a flight, was jet lagged and wanted nothing to do but sleep on the couch.
She stared crestfallen at him, silently waiting for his answer.
Jin raised an eyebrow at her, shaking his head lightly with a chuckle. "Don't give me that look— it doesn't work on me."
Susan disagreed. She let out a false sniffle, her eyes to the ground as her posture slackened and proceeded to pretend to cry.
"I am made of stone. Nothing you do will make me say yes."
Susan lifted her face to show the tears brimming at the corner of her eyes. Jin instantly frowned regrettably; he didn't mean to make her cry. The saddened wetness in those heartbroken hazelnut brown eyes finally made him falter.
You little brat. I hate you.
He let out a loud groan as he raised himself from the blue couch. "Ya ya, okay. I'm coming, you persuasive little monster."
Susan's melancholy act vanished suddenly and instead a broad grin jumped on her face. "Ok!"
The small girl ran to Cassie, grabbed her by her clawed hand and dragged her out the door, leaving Kung Jin somewhat slack-jawed.
He felt duped — no he knew he had been fooled— but regardless he followed everyone out the door.
Takeda was the one to close the door to the white and blue suburban house; a townhouse cookie-cutter like all the rest of the neighborhood. It was already night and Jin could already see some of the kids eerily making their way out of the houses with their parent dragging behind.
Kung Jin narrowed his eyes when he could make out the conversation between Freddy and Jason.
"You're getting better— what you think of to make you cry?" Cassie asked.
"Homeward Bound. I thought of when Shadow falls in the hole," Susan answered nonchalantly with a shrug.
"Don't think those tears are going to work with your dad and me," Jacqui warned, grabbing Susan's hand as the smaller girl hooped her bucket in her arm; Cassie and Jacqui holding each hand.
Susan shrugged, "It works on Grandpa Jax," her face scrunched in thought, a small frown growing on her face. "Grandpa Kenshi is a harder nut to crack, though."
Kung Jin shook his head at the as he followed next to Takeda who was laughing at his daughter's last statement.
It didn't take Erron as long to find them as he thought it would have.
Being in camouflage helped him to blend into the scenery and walk the streets of the small community. The costumed gunslinger spotted them as soon as he turned the corner into the neighborhood he knew Mr. and Mrs. Takahashi lived in with their daughter.
He had been staking their home for a month, only gathering information of what the Shaolin Monk and Sergeant Cage were also up to.
Despite having a daughter to raise, the Takahashi's were still visiting Outworld, both of them never turning down the call to do reconnaissance. The Shaolin and Cage were also doing the same, reporting on Kotal Kahn's movements and agendas.
They had been doing this for a while now and when Reptile informed the Emperor he had spotted them, Kotal Kahn was less than ecstatic about learning that there were Earthrealm vermin under his nose.
He assigned the task to Erron to kill them all and he had planned to do it one by one until he overheard that all of them would be in town at the same time to visit before going on another excursion to Outworld together the next day.
Like fish in a barrel.
For now he waited behind the trees of the small child's jungle gym centered in the neighborhood and watched them from afar. Black saw the kid and while he wasn't comfortable with the fact she was there, a job was a job.
He had made an effort to try and get close, but he noticed that a lot of the children had adults accompanying them or they were older kids in big groups.
He could stray out of the cover, but just from first glance, he could see an adult dressed up without a kid next to him might look suspicious. For now, he just waited and followed until his presence wouldn't look so out of place.
"Aren't you a little old for Trick or Treating?"
The mercenary whirled around and looked down.
Staring up at him, was the same little punk that had pulled a prank on his in the clothing store. The boy looked up at him with a puzzled but humored look, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.
Erron immediately scowled upon seeing him again and the only question Black wanted answered was how he managed to sneak up on him so easy.
He looked back at his targets walking to another house.
Huh. I must want to get paid more badly than I thought...
"I like your costume," the boy told him.
Black narrowed his eyes and gave a rough nod towards the woods, "Beat it, kid."
"That's not nice," the boy remarked with a matter of fact tone. "I just said I like your costume. Looks kinda like mine. You like Clint Eastwood movies too?"
The real Western Cowboy turned his back and walked away from to the kid. He stopped to lean against the oak tree at the perimeter of the park with his arms folded across his chest, hoping the boy would take the hint.
Unfortunately, Erron heard his footsteps come up next to him. "Or any John Wayne movies? You ever see True Grit?"
"You ever see the inside of a gun barrel?" the mercenary shot back in a low tone. He turned towards the boy with a dangerous pointed look. " 'Cause that's what your gonna see if you don't start walkin' away."
The boy seemed ignorant of the genuine nature of the gunslinger's threat; in fact his face brightened as he dug under his poncho and brought out two small toy guns. They were revolvers but silver in color and made specially for kid hands by the looks of it.
"I got guns, too," the boy smirked. He pulled the triggers multiple times, aiming them both at the sky. Erron listened to them dry fire with a small, annoying clicking sounds.
"They're not real, though. My dad bought these for me for Halloween. The hat is his though and he let me borrow it. I really like your hat— the bullets you had on them were totally bitchin'!"
Black felt his lip curl up as he reached into his coat and grabbed one of his revolvers. He pointed it at the kid, refraining from pulling the hammer back for now. The kid gave him a cool look, but Erron could tell by the way he shifted from foot to foot and blinked rapidly, he knew the gun was real.
"This ain't a toy and you're gettin' on my nerves," the Outworld gunslinger warned with a growl. "Get movin' or my bullets will graze your feet and make you move."
Much to Black's aggravation, the boy laughed; as if he thought Erron was kidding. "You're like straight out of the movies! You must really like Halloween, man."
He wasn't going to kill him, but he was more than done with this conversation, and cocked the hammer back, "Last chance—"
"That's gotta be why you keep watching Susie and her parents," the kid suddenly cut off. "You know them or something?"
The smaller cowboy gave, the older one a smirk, his eyebrows raised at him with a knowing, smug look gracing his face; as if the kid silently knew what the mercenary was up to. He hesitated for a moment before his eyebrows furrowed with irritation.
"How long you been watchin' me?" Erron demanded, his cocked firearm's sights still aimed at the middle of the boy's head.
The boy gave a silent, innocent shrug before he changed the subject. "I was coming over here to ask you something."
Black's eyes narrowed suspiciously as the kid changed the subject. "Spit it out— what do you want?"
The boy walked a couple paces in front of Erron, a sincere sheepish look on his face. "Well... I was thinking since you are by yourself and we are wearing cowboy costumes, that we could go trick or treating together."
The Ex-Earthrealmer flashed the boy with a pestured look and scoffed. "What?"
"Trick or Treating. You know. Go door to door? Get candy? Halloween tradition?" the kid educated, sounding almost doubtful that Black had any idea what he was talking about; especially considering the severe look of agitation he had on his face.
"You must have been born daft if you think I would ever do anythin' of the sort," Erron told him with a scowl.
"You know, you don't have to be mean about it," the boy declared with an angry frown. "You could just do it and have fun."
Erron let out a sardonic chuckle, "Nobody pays me to be nice, kid."
"I can pay you with candy," the boy offered with a hopeful smile. "We'll split the bag. 50/50."
Black released the hammer on the revolver and put it safely back in his holster since it was doing nothing but rusting in the night air; the gun not swaying the boy at all.
Erron jerked a thumb at him, "Do I look I'm here lookin' for sweets."
Much to Erron's surprise, the boy's face grew with an ominous seriousness that Black would have used to display to someone as if was preparing to kill.
"No. You have been here for a month looking at them," the child said, looking over at the Earthrealmers walking further away with each minute that passed. Black felt the burning sensation on the back of his neck again, but it wasn't enough to garner his attention of how unsettled he was.
Erron was always careful— never once had in all his years had anyone called him out about stalking a target.
He was confident he had never seen this kid before tonight and knew a mere child was not crafty or skilled enough avoid the mercenary's detection. So how did this brat know he had been watching them for a month?
He unbuckled the buttons of the leather coat, ensuring it would be easier to reach his guns. He saw the boy's ice blue eyes dart down towards his holsters before meeting his gaze again.
"Ever since that shooting at the school, everybody is not allowed to have guns except the cops," the boy told him, his voice filled solemnness even though his eyes raged with hatred. "The Sheriff lives on this block. All I have to do is knock on the door."
Black felt that burning sting on the back of his neck grow hotter, feeling as if his skin was blistering, but his temper flared with more heat at the punk's obvious intentions to try and blackmail him.
The Outworlder took a step towards him, clouding the kid in his taller and more imposing stature. "And all I gotta do is pull a trigger — balls dropped or not, I'll still put one between your eyes."
The cowboy child titled his head like a quizzical dog, the corner of his mouth tugging up in an almost impossible mature smirk for his age not going unnoticed by Erron.
There was something wrong about all this...
"All I'm asking is we walk the block," the boy reiterated. "We don't have to talk if you want and you can meet up with your friends when we are done. I can't trick or treat by myself and you're way too old for it. This way, we both get what we want."
Erron Black crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the kid with a skeptical look. He didn't like this kid, he hadn't liked him since he met him in the clothing store and he really didn't enjoy his efforts to persuade Erron.
Despite his young age, there was a maturity about the kid that radiated off him like a bad stench, warning Erron not to trust a single word he said.
It's just a punk kid.
No, there's somethin' that ain't right about any of this. It doesn't settle right.
What harm could a child do? He just wants to walk with you— it would be a good way to get within firing range. Just do it, shoot them and you can go home to collect your money from Kotal.
Why does he want to walk with me?
Do it.
The headache flared again and Black let out an exasperated sigh, internally kicking and cursing himself for even considering doing this.
The boy seemed to understand that he finally caved in and walked ahead, heading towards the neighborhood Erron dragging his feet behind him with his arms still crossed over his chest.
He hated kids, didn't ever want anything to do with them nor spawn one of his own. Yet, here he was striding down the street and entering a neighborhood full of them against his will.
Erron Black didn't kill kids; it was against what was left of his Earthrealm morals, but this brat was definitely pushing him to break his rule tonight.
"What's your name you little shit?" Erron asked, his foot stepping on the sidewalk as the boy turned to him with a triumphant smile.
"Patrick," he answered with a laugh; uncaring of the offensive comment. "What about you?"
"I ain't tellin' you my name," Erron spat as he caught up with the kid, walking by his side as they dodged the parents and their kids walking down the same sidewalk. "It's bad enough you snake-oiled me into doing this."
Patrick adjusted his hat, the brim falling towards his chest from the poor fit and looked at him with a smile. "So you're like The Man With No Name. Just like Clint Eastwood!"
Erron let out a low growl from his chest, extremely irked by just by Patrick's voice alone. "I thought you said no talkin'."
"Oh right, right, sorry," Patrick apologized, although his eyes glinted with humor. "We'll play the Silent Game. That was my mom's favorite game."
Black didn't miss the past tense he used to refer to his mother. "Where're your folks? Shouldn't you be with them instead of botherin' me?"
"I thought you wanted me to shut up," Patrick replied, raising an eyebrow at the desperado. The mercenary gritted his teeth as they continued to walk along the sidewalk.
"They're not around," was the vague answer Black eventually got.
They continued to pass by houses, Erron casting a glance around at the activity. A small girl dressed in a pink, frilly dress and crown passed by them with her mother. The attractive blonde woman looked at him, not even seeing Patrick and smiled before failing to hide her blush and following her daughter to the door of resident's house.
Black let out a smirk and noticed Patrick give a roll of his eyes. "That's Margaret Baker and like my dad used to say, she's been ridden more times than the mechanical bull at the Roadhouse."
Erron gave a small chuckle, he understood what he meant, and raised a humored eyebrow at the boy who copied his look.
Both Cowboys turned their attention back towards the house. Erron noticing more hollowed pumpkins with carved faces staring at them from the deck. Even though the information was useless, he still had to ask.
"What's with carvin' the squash?"
Patrick kept his eyes forward. "You just do it and you leave them lit all night. That's the rule."
Didn't really answer his question, but Black accepted anyway.
The little girl knocked on the door, holding a small orange bucket out in front of her as the door opened. Both Patrick and Erron watched from the sidewalk. The door opened and a brunette woman in her 20's with wavy hair dressed in regular clothing held out a bowl of candy with a smile.
"Trick or Treat!"
"You look so cute! What are this year, Jamie?" the woman asked, grabbing a handful of wrapped goods and placing it in the bucket.
"I'm Sleeping Beauty!"
"Very cool, that is my favorite Disney movie! I love when they bake the cake." the girl told her, earning a smile from the girl and Margaret.
"Thank you, Laura, Happy Halloween," Margaret said with a nod, both her and Jamie moving along. Laura gave a goodbye, just as another group of kids ran towards the open door.
"Trick or Treat!" they all cried in unison, and again more candy was handed out. Erron turned to his small tour guide, looking for an explanation.
"Trick or Treating? You don't know that one too?" Patrick asked.
They both walked, Black's eyes scanning for the targets that were a couple blocks down the straight street and kept his focus mainly on them. They were too fixed on what they were doing, the girl and the Cage girl going up to the door eagerly collecting treats while the Shaolin and the Shirai Ryu Ninja stood on the sidewalk behind them and watched.
"Can't say I do," The Outworlder stated simply.
"You go door to door, say Trick or Treat and you get candy—you gotta wear a costume though or you break the rules."
"Fascinating," Erron drawled with an expressionless tone; feeling anything but fascinated by the sweet begging tradition of the holiday.
All of them continued to make their way down the street, the amber glow of both the pumpkin's lights and the street lamps lighting the neighborhood with what seemed to be the main color scheme of the holiday anyway.
Erron looked at the horrendous displays at each of the houses lawns: pumpkins, cobwebs, fabric ghosts hanging limply from trees and disfigured models of monsters standing in the yards. Some houses were more festive than others and he did notice that one house was obnoxiously decorated.
Black heard childish screaming and turned to see a man dressed as a scarecrow jump from the porch and scare the children that tried to reach into the candy bowl sitting next to him on the white porch swing. He gave chase for a little before he removed his burlap sack, apologized to the children with a laugh and then handed out a gracious amount to each of them.
Erron Black took a glance at Patrick, who stared at the kids. His face was scrunched with obvious, angered jealousy as he watched the candy being passed out.
"You alright kid?" Black asked him, his tone didn't care, but the look of envy he had on his face was somewhat troubling as if he was ready to kill for just a piece of that candy.
"I'm fine, let's go," Patrick huffed and turned away from the house, leading him once again down the street.
Something was simmering like a restless stew in Erron's gut, causing a cautious feeling to start to grow within him. They walked in silence; Erron trying to ignore the looks given to him that were bothered to say the least. He figured because the residents of the small community never seen him before or where just looking at his costume.
Black remembered something that Patrick had told him, something part of their arrangement they weren't doing.
"I thought you wanted to split the candy 50/50?" Erron interrogated smoothly, masking it like a simple question.
Patrick didn't turn to look at him, his face kept forward as he looked at the decorated house at the end of the street.
As they came closer, Erron could make out the gigantic tarantula on the house, the shingles dressed in cobwebs and large white mummies next to the legs like flies caught in a trap. There were more orange carved squash on the porch as well as the house stringed in orange lights. Tombstones littered the yard with skeletons pulling themselves out of the ground as if frozen in time. It put the other houses to shame on the block.
"There's just one house we need to Trick or Treat at," was Patrick's disclosure, his tone lifeless. Erron could make out the resentment in his voice.
They grew closer and Black could see the four growing nearer within shooting distance. He decided to go along with Patrick, using the facade of a parent with his brat as they got closer.
Patrick turned, stopping at the entrance of the small white picket fence and looked at the house with extreme malice.
Black only gave a look like that when he wanted someone dead. Patrick's feet moved towards the house with determination, each step planned and slow and for some damn reason, Erron's feet followed as well.
Perhaps it was mild interest; maybe he wanted to know why Patrick only wanted to visit this house.
There was something wrong about the house, it inexplicably flooded Erron with extreme disgust when he saw it. The reason why he had no idea what; he just knew he hated this house with an overwhelming, wrathful reason ignorant to him.
Erron stopped behind Patrick, looking at the back of the boy's head as he stood silent and still for what seemed to be an eternity contemplating what to do. The mercenary could feel the heat from the nearby jack-o-lanterns, doing little to warm him as he felt the night air grow colder.
A small hand raised, the gesture pulling down his white long sleeve shirt down to reveal his wrist. Black eyes widened at the sight of the red rings bruised darkly into the boy's wrist like iron cuffs, something that he had failed to notice before.
Patrick suddenly gave Black a side glance, the dirty look in his eyes unsettling when used by an 11-year-old child.
Something is VERY wrong.
The door opened and an elderly man opened, possibly looking like he was in his 70's at the least although he looked rather healthy for his age.
His green eyes were still sharp and his face gave a genuine smile. What was left of his stringy gray hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. He wore a faded orange shirt that read 'This is My Costume' and shuffled towards them with a bowl of candy in his hands.
He gave Erron and odd look but seemed to accept his presence there on the porch with an accepting kindness. The old man cleared his throat and held out the bowl in their direction with a smile.
"Trick or Treat?" he said to them, holding out the bowl towards the gunslinger and seemingly ignoring Patrick as if he wasn't even there.
Black felt the burning at the back of his neck again, his vision growing blurry for just a second before he noticed the left side of his hip, where his holster was, seemed a lot lighter than it was just a second ago.
When Erron's vision returned his eyes widened. Holding his revolver was Patrick and he was aiming the sights right at the old man's head as the old man fearfully stumbled back, the bowl of candy shattering the ground as he dropped it to try and close the door.
"Trick."
A single gunshot was all it took to disrupt the peaceful holiday mood and send parents and children panicking and running like racehorses out of the stalls.
They fled, screaming and heading for cover in case any bullets would be coming to hunt them and their children.
Black felt the blood spatter on his face, the old man's head looking like a melon dropped from a high ledge.
The two visitors standing on the deceased homeowner's heavily decorated porch looked down at the hollowed and mangled skull of the man as his blood stained the cherry wood of the entry way of his home; turning the dark wood almost black. The ceramic bowl of candy that was intended to be handed out to them lay broken in jigsaw pieces alongside the wrapped goodies littered on the floor along with his blood.
Erron looked over his shoulder and watched as people scattered with their children, frightened by the gunshot that echoed through the once serene small town neighborhood; their holiday night now ruined.
Erron Black and his accomplice, the one that had killed the unknown man, stood in silence in the doorway.
The more his fingers continued to hover inside the empty leather cave attached to his leg, one that was deprived of its usual comforting heaviness from his gun, the more he grew nervous. The emptiness of his holster only further confirming that it had all occurred.
Erron looked over his shoulder and noticed his targets running along with the herd, trying to get the little one to safety as well. He saw Takeda Takahashi and Kung Jin look in his direction, if he knew if it was him or not, Erron couldn't tell from this distance. They only remained there for a moment before they hurried to catch up with the women.
He looked at his unexpected companion that night; the blue eyes of the one that tricked him held an annoying smugness that relayed silently to Erron of his naïve stupidity for underestimating him.
It immediately washed away Black's feelings of anxiousness, because a small twinge of rage began to bubble within his stomach as he looked down at the charlatan's eyes; his eyes as glacial and cold as they were in color.
Without a single shred of guilt, his friend walked over and picked up a piece of blood-soaked candy from the floor. Unwrapping it, he took an overly generous chunk out of the large chocolate block.
Erron smacked his lips together, tasting something disgustingly sweet in his mouth. Patrick's head tilted back, his eyes closed in pleasure and an audible moan of delight as he savored it could be heard as he chewed and looked back at Black.
A small, grateful smile ghosted across his face at the Outworlder, as if thanking Erron for letting him use his gun. The grin unsettled the marksman, but mostly angered him; it was remorseless and full of self-gratification.
Thanks for letting me use your gun — even if I didn't say please.
Erron heard the macabre words loud and clear in his head despite his muteness. Instinctively, Black pulled out the other revolver from his holster, cocked the hammer back and aimed it at his head with speed only used in combat.
What the Hell was going on?
"What are you," Black demanded. The words came out in an ire growl. His helper gave him a pitying but somewhat annoyed smile at the question; as if rebuking the gunslinger that he couldn't figure it out.
"A ghost."
Erron's hand loosened around the handle of the revolver. Despite being in Ermac's presence and knowing that some aspects of the spirit world existed, he was still having a hard time wrapping his head around the ridiculous declaration of what the boy claimed to be. Ghosts were green balls of energy that couldn't do you any harm unless trapped together in a vessel like Ermac.
"Bullshit," was Erron's reply, his teeth bared at the brat.
Erron felt flesh where the handle of his gun used to be, his hand suddenly clenching involuntarily in a fist and he took a genuine step back when he saw his other revolver in his former ally's hand.
His weapon had been stripped from him and he didn't even see him move an inch— if he had moved there would be a bullet in the boy's head.
How the hell did that little shit get his gun from him?!
His now ex-accomplice raised both, the barrel ends pointed at him as he let the affirmation of who had the upper hand sink in. Erron's mouth formed into a snarl behind his mask.
This was not how this night was supposed to go.
Patrick squinted his eyes almost comically and curled his mouth into an over-dramatic scowl as his voice deepened: "You see, there are two kinds of people in this world. Those with the loaded guns and those who dig..."
Erron Black felt a scowl settle on his face as he watched the humored grin pulled over the punk's face as he chillingly finished his sentence; his features turning dark and dispensing with his act.
"You're gonna dig tonight, Erron Black."
Erron's eyes widened when he heard him tell him his name. He never told him— how did he know his name!
He reached out and tried to disarm the boy, moving to grab both wrists and pull them off to the sides, but instead he found himself landing on something warm and sticky.
Black pushed himself off the dead body of the old man, whirled around and found himself face to face with his guns in his face. This time, Patrick did have his fingers on the triggers.
"You're going dig for me, but first we're going for a walk."
Reluctantly, and absolutely furious, Erron felt himself stand involuntarily. Black wanted nothing more than to pummel the kid until every single of his teeth were broken. He didn't know how he was doing it, but the kid was playing with him and until he could get an opportunity he had to listen.
Kotal Kahn's guard walked down the porch steps, each time his boot hitting like angry hammer beating on a nail; he was livid.
Erron Black walked, wondering where the 11-year-old boy with his guns at his back was leading them to and what he had in mind as they headed back towards the playground and entered the woods behind them.
Cassie Cage, Takeda, and Kung Jin had returned back to the house as soon as the gunshot had rang. Jacqui currently consoled Susie who was upstairs in her bedroom, her first Halloween turning out to be scarier than she thought it would be.
Cassie had changed from her Freddy Krueger costume and stood in the living room with Jin and Takeda wearing regular street clothes and sliding a magazine into her gun.
"You sure it was him, right?" Cassie repeated, making sure she was reminding herself of what to expect.
"It was Raccoon Jerkface, alright," Jin nodded, scowling. "I'd recognize that ugly mug anywhere no matter how hard he tries to dress up as an idiot."
"The poncho and gun was a dead giveaway. It's Erron Black," Takeda confirmed.
"What does he want?" Cassie said out-loud, "And why kill that old man? Who was he?"
"His name is John Thomson. He was a nice guy, moved in about a year ago. He was retired and wanted to move back to the town he grew up in," Takeda told them with a somber sigh. "He was a nobody, though, didn't do any harm to anyone."
"Maybe he should have thought twice before refusing to give the Cowboy candy then. What kind of freak eats a chocolate bar after blowing someone's head off?" Kung Jin blurted with a bleak tone. Takeda frowned at Kung Jin's words.
"Why kill him?" The Shirai Ryu challenged. "I would think Black would be after us. Not some old man whose only crime was breathing."
Cassie pulled the slide on her gun, putting a round in the chamber before lifting her coat back and placing inside the holster inside the holster against her rib cage.
"Why don't we go ask Coyote Fugly about that."
It wasn't long until the trees parted and the appearance of and old building grew more visible. With the unwilling gunslinger in front, the ghost child holding his revolvers still at his back, they walked across the gravel towards the tarnished red building.
The black, paint chipped words on the front read Harvest County Railroad Depot.
The rusty tracks covered by weeds and gravel only gave more evidence of the building's former occupation. It looked like it had been abandoned for some time, a very long time. The windows were either broken or dusted over; graffiti was tagged on the side of the red, two-story buildings walls.
They hadn't spoken a word to each other; Black still trying to figure a way out of his predicament and why the kid wanted that old man dead so badly to go through the efforts of such a charade.
A ghost had him at gunpoint.
That was a story he certainly couldn't take back to the Kahn when he asked why the Earthrealmers weren't dead.
The gunslinger had made an effort to try and get back his revolvers, using his skills.
Erron had no idea how he was doing it, but as soon as he would spin around attempt it; the kid vanished and reappeared with the hammers back and his fingers around the trigger.
Was the kid a teleporter? He heard of Outworlders with the capability (Rain being one of them) but somehow the theory sat like digesting bad food; it ate at his gut that it wasn't right.
Erron was led to the door of the old building, the weathered door stinking like mold as it hung off a single hinge. He felt the tip of his gun into his back, a slight poke to get him to go in.
Patrick addressed him from behind. "I just need you for this last thing I promise, and then you can go kill your friends."
"What's it got to do with the old man?" Erron wondered with a sharp tone.
He heard Patrick's footsteps stop behind him and Black turned to be greeted by a surprising sight.
Tears ran down the kid's face, the revolvers looking heavy in his shaky hands as the boy's face quivered with rage. Erron smiled mentally at his kidnapper's emotions causing him to let his guard down.
"It has EVERYTHING to do with that son of a bitch!" Patrick hollered, sniffling hard. "He's the one—"
Erron lunged forward, grabbing his wrists and pulling the guns out of the way of his body; the revolvers discharged off the sides, blowing holes in the rotten floorboards. Patrick let out a startled yelp, surprised by Black suddenly attacking him.
The adult felt himself grimace at how cold Patrick felt, as if he was grabbing onto a large block of ice, but was even more fearful when he felt how strong the 11-year-old child was. It was as if he was fighting an adult of equal strength.
"Give 'em back you little runt!"
Patrick suddenly let go, whipping one hand through the air in a backhanded motion. Black felt himself ripped from Patrick, his body flying through the air and colliding with an old desk.
His head hitting the wooden top of the table, sending a flare of pain through his head as he rolled behind the desk and slumped to the ground.
Black jumped to his feet immediately, standing behind the desk and coming face to face with one of his revolvers aimed over the desk by Patrick. The other hanging in his other hand as he aimed the cocked one at Erron.
"Go ahead... make my day," Patrick provoked, his voice dropping deep into a drawl as he squinted his eyes.
"How do you keep doing that?!" Erron bellowed, slamming a fist on the table.
"Because I'm a ghost and its Halloween— that means I'm better than you," Patrick said, his mouth pursing with annoyance. "Quit fighting me. It's giving me a headache. My baby sister didn't complain as much."
Black gave a heated scoff at the kid, he walked from behind the counter. "You are either stupid or incredibly stupid to think you can keep this up with me."
"Whatever," Patrick said with a roll of his eyes. "See that door? Go through it."
Erron looked at the door he was referring to as well as letting the room sink in. There was nothing left inside, just the old wooden benches and a few glass display cases that had been toppled over some time ago. Mostly, the floor was covered in dust and trash. Erron turned the knob, feeling the dust on his hand and entered the room with the kid at his back.
It was an office, but it was different; meaning someone had been here to clean it. A desk, chair and a green cot with a blanket and pillow on it were the only things in the room. Black noticed a large metal cabinet stood against the far wall with a shovel against it.
Patrick gave him a blank glance before motioning over to the cabinet. Black walked towards it and waited for his instructions.
"We need a shovel if we're going to dig," the boy acknowledged blatantly. Erron gave the boy a hardened stare, a voice echoing in the back of his mind over a swelling headache to ignore Patrick. His body disagreed and did the opposite, he felt the wooden staff of the shovel.
Every fiber in Erron's body screamed at him to hit the kid over the head with the shovel in his hands. Just one good swing was all he would need...
Black let out a bellow, his head feeling as if it was splitting apart from the intense buzzing that ripped his nerves apart. It was blinding and felt himself drop to his knees, release the shovel and use his hands to cover his ears. His neck burned as if somebody was placing hot coals on his flesh.
Above him, Patrick titled his head with a blank countenance; it was clue enough to Erron that it was Patrick, that was tormenting him.
"I told you to stop fighting. I'm just borrowing you," Patrick reminded, his ice blazing with irritation. "Now let's go... it's only a little walk from here."
Takeda, Kung Jin, and Cassie hid behind the cover of trees that stood around the perimeter of an abandoned railroad station. They had heard gunshots and had immediately been drawn to the area.
Cassie held her gun in her hand, Jin behind an adjacent tree with his dragon-headed staff and his quiver of arrows. Takeda peeked behind the tree next to Jin, his Shirai Ryu whips concealed over a bulky leather jacket.
"Are you sure he's in there?" Cassie whispered over to Takeda.
Takahashi nodded silently. "I can hear him in there."
Cassie and Jin nodded, their eyes focused on the building as the watched a lone figure with a shovel walk out of the building and towards the woods on the opposite end of where they were.
Takeda sensed another presence with them; he had since they had arrived. He could not make out what it was, though, all it sounded like was incoherent whispering mixed with Black's voice.
Whatever it was, the telepath could feel it was malignant and it raised up a red flag. Like a whisper among the leaves, signaling warning of an upcoming storm if they didn't head for higher ground.
"Is it me or is he acting weird?" Kung Jin suddenly annouched.
Takeda looked towards the gunslinger and came to agree with Jin almost instantly.
There was something off about Erron Black.
Despite the small amount of encounters they had, Takeda could tell by the nature of his stride was different.
Black held the shovel in his hand, dragging the head of it against the railroad tracks as if it was a heavy bag. The metal clanked against the rails as he strolled, each step meticulous and measured. There was no egotistical cowboy swag in his step, no air of superiority with each stomp on the gravel, there was nothing.
He moved as if in a trance, only making an effort to avoid the roots of the trees as he started to disappear into the woods.
"Jeez, he's moving like a fucking zombie," Cassie grimaced, her eyebrows bridged with uncertainty.
Takeda placed his fingers to the side of his head and closed his eyes deep in concentration, trying to telepathically read Black before he got too far out of range...
GO AWAY!
Takeda's eyes snapped open when he heard the boy's voice loud and clear in his head, screaming violently at him. Cassie and Kung Jin noticed Takeda's reaction and looked over at him for an explanation.
"Guys..." Takeda began, his voice low and holding an anxious tone. "I think when he shot Mr. Thompson...I don't think that was Erron Black that was doing it."
After a few miles of trekking through the woods, the full moon above serving as the only spotlight in the darkness of the dense pine forest, Erron's headache began to grow more and more unbearable.
The burning at the back of his neck was also troublesome. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to soothe it with little avail. He could still hear Patrick's shoes behind him, crunching leaves under his weight as he kept one of his revolvers on Black's back; the other hanging by his side.
There were many unanswered questions that Erron was having difficulty configuring.
His first was how was the boy able to get his guns without him even noticing. The second was the amount of strength and the telekinetic powers the boy possessed. Another issue that raised suspicion was some of the things he said.
We need a shovel to dig.
We are going on a walk.
We just need to trick or treat at one house.
I'm just borrowing you.
Quit fighting, it's giving me a headache.
It's giving you a headache? Ever since I met you, I've had nothing but headaches.
Patrick suddenly walked ahead of him, both of them stopping at a small patch ground with trees surrounding the patch like a circle.
Patrick's eyes scanned the ground, as if looking at every patch of dirt for a lost item he dropped in the leaves. The boy stopped and pointed the revolver towards a section of dirt that was off to the left of Erron.
"I'm here. Start digging," Patrick said with a nod. Black just stared at the boy, fighting to stay calm and refusing to put up with his games anymore. Patrick must have noticed his discontent because suddenly his face twisted in rage.
"I said— DIG," Patrick growled, his teeth bared.
Black felt his arms spring alive, the shovel head suddenly planted in the ground. As if he had no command of his body, Erron started to pull dirt from the ground and fling it over his shoulder; the blade sinking in with determination that wasn't propelled by Erron's desire to disturb the earth.
Erron felt his veins light with fire, the headache pounding against his skull like a series of punches from the Kahn himself.
"How are you makin' me do this?" Erron inquired with a poisonous tone.
"You still can't figure it out can you Scooby Doo?" Patrick said, rolling his eyes with a sigh.
Black, his own movements feeling foreign and unwilling, planted his foot on the top of the shovel head and pushed it in before gathering more dirt and flinging it over his shoulder.
"Enlighten me then, you little bastard," Black hissed, digging deeper into the ground; he was already at a few feet. Patrick came to walk alongside him, making sure Erron could see him and his revolver pointed at him where he stood.
"I'm in your head, stupid," Patrick chillingly informed him. "I can make you do whatever I want. I have been since you got here."
Black felt his veins run cold, the headache almost blinding now. "Nobody get's in my head."
Erron tried to stop shoveling, but couldn't, the task feeling impossible. He had to dig, he needed to dig, digging was all he wanted to do...
No! Stop digging, goddamit!
He couldn't, his limbs wouldn't obey him. Black wanted nothing more than to get the shovel as far away from him as he could.
Still, the head of the shovel kept sinking deeper into the ground and Erron couldn't stop it; his hands felt forever glued to the wooden shaft as if he was holding the hand of a lover he didn't want to release.
"How did I know your name then? How did I know you were watching Susie and her parents. Why did you even bother to dress up for Halloween? Why did you even walk with me? That was all me."
Erron felt anger bristle through him at Patrick's questions.
"I made you do all those things and made it look like it was you because I knew you wouldn't like me at first," the boy continued. "All I did was give you a front row seat to your very own movie— you're The Man With No Name and I'm Clint Eastwood acting the part."
"Bull. I don't buy what you're sellin'," Black argued, "Beside's all those people saw you plug that old man. They'll be comin' after you to watch you swing from a rope."
"Actually... they'll be coming after you," Patrick simply said. "Everyone saw you kill that, that... MONSTER!"
Black could sense the intense animosity in Patrick's voice. The boy breathed out a shaky exhale as if trying to calm his nerves. "I just borrowed you and your guns to do it."
Erron felt something clank against his shovel and he felt himself halt.
As if there was a hand on his back, he felt himself fall forward towards the ground. He clawed at the dirt like a dog trying to find his bone.
Stop it, idiot! What the hell are you doing?!
"Monster, huh? The old man seemed pretty harmless to me," Black objected. Patrick didn't say anything. Instead he watched as Erron continued to claw at the dirt.
Erron felt something, like a large root, and as he pulled the layers of dirt back, his eyes widened minutely at what he picked up in his hand.
In his hand, he held a broken femur, the size of a child's, and as he gazed down at the soil, he noticed a very familiar sight decorated among the skeleton.
There was a green, dirty poncho that smelled awful from decay along with the blue pants, white sneakers and a recognizable black hat with a deteriorated turkey feather.
He saw the tiny skull, lying on its side in the dirt with bits of the skull missing. Erron knew instantly it was from a gunshot to the head, and the bullet casing and mangled bullet itself only solidified the assumption.
Black felt a breath at his ear, "That's what I thought about him too. Until he killed me and to answer your question from before— yes I have seen the inside of a gun."
Patrick stood behind him, Erron's gun pressed into his back as the Outworld gunslinger understood that everything that Patrick had been telling him had actually been the truth.
It dropped on the marksman like a massive crash of a hurricane wave as the final proof Erron needed that the boy that had been holding him hostage was dead...
And was inside his head...
"You're meanin' to tell me you're possessing me?" Black breathed, his tone angered at the realization.
"Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner," Patrick mocked with a flat tone. "Pick up my bones. We have to get them to the cemetery while I still can use you."
Black fought, mentally trying to pull his limbs back under his control, but instead he saw them scoop up every disgusting article of soiled clothing, bones and hold them like a babe in his arms. He wanted to fling them from him, get them as far away as he possibly could.
He hated the way the clothes melted around his fingers, staining them with the remnants of Patrick's decomposition. The bones felt clammy and hard, like touching the shell of a crab, as Black walked followed Patrick to where he was taking him next; his feet moving like a marionette's wooden feet with Patrick tugging them forward like a puppeteer.
"So what did you mean while I can still use you?" the statement hadn't escaped Erron's notice.
"I can only leave the woods on Halloween. Otherwise, I'm stuck in the woods all year long," Patrick answered.
"When did you die?"
"1989..." was Patrick's reply. "On Halloween."
"So you been waitin' 50 years to take your revenge?" Erron asked bitterly, his body still refusing to listen to him despite his efforts; the headache kept hindering him.
Patrick whirled around, stopping Erron's stride as he addressed him. The boy's face was infuriated. "Do you know what he did to me?!"
Black watched as the boy's chest fell and rose with each fiery breath, the revolver shaking by his side in his tiny hand as he trembled with indescribable hatred. "He took me to these woods and ripped me apart— and it hurt so bad—and told me I was the sweetest treat he had on Halloween in a long time."
Erron knew what Patrick meant, and for the only time that night felt a flicker of sympathy for him. Patrick took a step forward towards Erron.
"Then, for his trick, he promised to take me back to my mom and dad if I didn't say anything. He shot me in the head instead. Nobody knows what happened to me, just that I went missing one night. Nobody knows what he did to me and he was able to move out with his parents the next year. I knew it was him when he came back to town, but I couldn't find a body in time before Halloween was over and I ended up back here."
Erron listened in silence, Patrick's face streaming with hot tears.
"I waited 51 years for him to come back," Patrick corrected with a critical tone. "After shooting him, it was worth all the waiting."
Patrick turned his back to Erron, continued to lead him through the woods and letting the gunslinger absorb the knowledge.
"I'm glad you showed up when you did," the ghost suddenly expressed with a happy tone, his hands moving to wipe the tears from his eyes. "I was planning on jumping in the Sheriff until you showed up in that portal thing. Do they really have dinosaurs in Outworld?"
Black's face contorted with rage, "You got in my skin after I came through the portal?!"
Patrick shrugged his shoulders, "Ya. You don't remember because I won't let you, but you came through that purple portal not too far from here. I saw you had guns so I got you while I could. Not my fault you just happen to show up there."
Black's temper ignited at the comment, his teeth bared in malice at the back of Patrick's head. The boy must have sensed his anger, because Patrick turned around, making Erron stop where he was.
"I promise after we put my bones in the cemetery, I'll let you go. I just want to be free—"
Patrick suddenly let out a pained scream, dropping to his knees as the guns fell from his hands to cover his ears. Erron felt the bones fall from his grasp, finally able to fight the hold the boy had on his consciousness.
"STOP IT! GO AWAY! PLEASE! I NEED HIM!"
Black moved his fingers experimentally as Patrick yelled in agony, making sure that he did have authority over his body before he looked at his revolvers that lay by Patrick discarded on the forest ground.
Fight him! cried a familiar voice that seemed to echo through the woods as if spoken into a tin can.
Erron's face pulled into a quizzical look at whose voice rang through the night.
"Takahashi?"
Cassie and Kung Jin held each arm of the gunslinger who fought wildly, the glacial blue eyes not belonging to Black furious at telepath that was digging into his head; both of his hands on each side of his head and trying to weaken the parasitic specter within Erron Black.
"Why don't we just beat it out of him?!" Kung Jin offered, refusing to admit Black's abnormal strength was unnerving as he did his best to hold his arm at bay; Cassie looking as if she was having trouble as well.
A pile of bones lay in front of Black, the ones that the gunslinger had dug up only moments ago, lay scattered on the ground after the three had jumped him.
"Get off me! I need him! I need to go to the cemetary!" shouted the possessed Erron Black, the eyes brightening with an evil and lighter azure hue and his voice as deep as it could go.
Takeda kept trying to extract the presence, not even sure if anything he was doing was helping Black's consciousness to fight the demon at all, but hey he was trying at least.
The spirit of the boy was fighting back hard, both of them at a tug of war inside Erron Black's mind and Takeda started to feel pain in his hands and head from the strain.
"Fight him!" Takeda yelled, hoping Black could hear him somehow.
Fight him!
It was Takahashi, alright. Black let out a scowl at the fact the telepath, the kid he was supposed to kill before his night was interrupted, was aiding him.
You got to help to get him out!
Black looked at the golden metallic firearms, the only thing he could think of to use even if this was some sort of lucid dream he was in. Erron ran for the guns, Patrick still distracted by his pain.
Patrick's eyes opened for a moment, just in time to see Black dive for his guns, roll onto his back and slide past him on the forest floor. He didn't even know if it would work, but he squeezed off the triggers of his revolvers without hesitation.
The bullets blasted the boy, causing him to fly backwards to his feet from his kneeled position and stagger back with each bullet that entered him. Erron didn't stop firing until he heard both revolvers click.
Patrick looked down at the multiple rounds in his torso, all seeping with a black ooze that poured out of each hole.
Patrick's gave Erron a slack jaw expression, as completely flabbergasted as Erron that the bullets worked. He was still on his feet though.
Erron jumped to his feet, grabbed a single bullet from his belt and placed it in the chamber.
He clicked it closed and aimed for the spot between Patrick's eyes.
"Get out of my head."
He fired and the bullet hit its mark in the ghost boy's head. A small stream of black blood poured down his nose, washing over his lips before Patrick collapsed in a bloody heap face down on the forest and didn't get up...
Whatever it was, perhaps because it was what killed him in life, but Patrick vanished and Erron found his arms being held to his sides by Cage and Kung shook his head, the headache he had the entire night gone as if it had never existed.
Erron felt weak, his body aching with muscle soreness and his eyes stung painfully as the form of Takahashi Takeda came into view as he removed his hands from Black's head. By the looks of it, he was out of his fever dream and back in the real world... and being detained by the people he was supposed to be killing.
"Looks like you've exorcised the demon Zelda Rubinstein," Cage jested to Takeda.
Erron felt his strength regain and not liking the current position he was in, pulled Cage with his arm, crashing her into Kung Jin and causing the Shaolin to release him as well. They hadn't expected it and before Erron could jump to his feet, Takahashi gave Black a knee to the chin, sending the mercenary on his back.
Takeda went to withdraw his whips, but Erron pulled his guns and fired. Takahashi rolled out of the way, hiding behind a tree. Erron noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his guns in the direction of Cage and Kung Jin.
Black barely managed to avoid the two arrows that whizzed by his ears when he rolled forward, as well as the gunshot from Cassie's gun that hit the tree behind him. He fired his revolvers, only managing to hit the trees the kids ducked behind.
A whip slammed into his ankle and snaked around it, pulling him to his back. Erron let out a groan as his back hit and rolled to the side as Takeda's other whip came thudding down where he once lay.
He felt the metal whip loosen from around his ankle and regretfully knew he had one round left in the chamber (he would have had two if Patrick hadn't used it.)
After all that had happened tonight, now that his cover was blown, he decided to pick this up another day.
Erron fired his last shot at Takahashi, a poor shot that buried itself in Takeda's shoulder; it was non fatal unfortunately. The telepath cried out in pain, a geyser of small blood erupting from his shoulder as his hand immediately covered it.
"Takeda!" Kung Jin called out from behind the tree with worry.
As expected, their attention was drawn on Takahashi and allowed Erron to escape. He ran through the woods, dodging the bullets as he weaved in and out between trees as Cage unloaded her weapon and missed him with each shot.
"Thanks for the help," the Outworld gunslinger mused to himself. He threw off the coat, making sure to grab his poncho, mask and hat bandolier that he had pocketed in the long leather coat.
He dug in his pants pocket and pulled out the portal stone he used to get here; given to him by the Kahn for his assignment.
He activated it and with a bitter smirk, he looked towards the direction the kids were at: "I'll kill you another day."
With that, he ran through the purple portal and disappeared.
It took a month for the ugly truth to emerge and the skeleton of the boy was only one of many that ended up being dug up.
There were five bodies of boys found in the patch of land that Erron Black had disturbed. Takeda and Jacqui had followed the story since that Halloween night, also telling Cassie and Kung Jin about new findings that were coming to the surface.
From 1984 to 1989, five boys between the ages of 11 and 13 went missing— all of them on Halloween. Only one boy was local to the area, but the other boys were from neighboring towns next to Harvest County.
After the police had come to Mr. Thompson's home, it didn't take long for them to figure out what had happened to all those boys. Mr. Thompson the deceptively friendly recluse that had just moved back to his hometown, was a photographer among other things. What was most disturbing, was that there was fresh photos of a boy he was planning to abduct; reverting back to his old ways.
It was only five victims, though. The pictures of the boys he murdered were all perverse and gruesome in nature. It angered Takeda that the sick bastard had never been caught and convicted of his crime.
Takeda visited each grave marker for each child that had went missing, the farthest drive being 2 hours away. He paid his respects to each. He could never explain to Jacqui why he felt the need, he had told her it was just something he needed to do.
Actually, it was because he was so disgusted by what he saw inside the boy's mind, his painful memory of what Thompson had done to him, he felt compelled to show how sympathetic he was. He saw every moment that happened to Patrick vividly in his mind when he was trying to free Black as if it was going on right in front of him. Knowing that he wasn't the only child to suffer, he made sure to pay the others victim's his condolences as well.
Takeda approached the final gravestone, the last one he needed to visit and the only victim of Harvest County.
Patrick James Bolton
Born 1978 -
Never missing from our hearts.
A/N: A couple of inspirations from Halloween movies came from this fic: The Exorcist and Trick 'r' Treat. The inspiration for Patrick came from reading about the murder of 2 year old James Bulger. If you want to know how graphic Patrick's murder was, just read about James and you'll get the idea about how much the poor kid actually suffered.
I was rushing to get this done on Halloween so please forgive any grammar and spelling mistakes - I procrastinated and paid the price.
Hope you enjoyed the fic and Happy Halloween.