La Tumba
Late 1800's
The criminal, El Papagayo, was dead in the town of Heaven's Gate, Colorado.
His lifeless body lay in the street where it had fallen after the legendary Jonah Hex had slit his throat with his own knife. His blood, which was still trickling from the gaping wound, pooled underneath him and turned the dirt into thick, dark mud.
The town's people, who were all bible-thumping pacifists, ignored the body, instead focusing their attention on Hex, the hero who had saved their town from the notorious bandito and his gang.
Only one soul payed any attention to poor El Papagayo's corpse and that was El Papagayo himself. His blueish-white ghost stood above his own body and looked down on it forlornly.
"Oh, you poor fool. To let yourself be bested by that gringo, Jonah Hex," El Papagayo said to himself. He hung his head in shame.
"Them's the breaks," said a woman's voice, and El Papagayo looked up sharply to see a beautiful senorita in a black, lacy dress standing nearby. She also wore black, velvet gloves and a red rose in her ebony hair. She was inhumanly pale, but not transparent like he was, and under one of her eyes was painted a black swirl, giving her the eye of Horus. She was Death, or as El Papayago knew her, Santa Muerte.
"I know who you are," El Papagayo said to her.
"Good, then you know why I'm here," said Death.
"You mean to take me to the land of the dead, no doubt," said El Papagayo. It was not said in fear, only in fact.
"Yes, to the land of the remembered, specifically," said Death.
El Papagayo laughed a nasty laugh. "Yes, the world will not soon forget El Papagayo, I theenk," he said. "Although the memories will not be so happy."
"Not really my concern," said Death, indifferently. "I'm just the ferryman."
El Papagayo sneered at Death. "Well, puta, you will, unfortunately, not find a passenger in me today."
"If you're thinking of running from me," Death said evenly, "I'd rethink it."
El Papagayo looked Death right in the eye, the Horus eye, and then snapped his fingers. Immediately, as if from thin air, a ghostly horse appeared beside him. It was Hermosa, one of his favorite horses that had died years before during a raid.
"Do not do this," Death said, as El Papagayo mounted his old friend.
"I do not take orders from a woman. Not even Death herself," said El Papagayo, arrogantly. "And I am not quite finished on this Earth yet."
"No escaparás," Death said, almost in a whisper.
"Venir a buscarme, perra," said El Papagayo, smiling, then he took one of his ghostly pistols from its holster and fired a shot at her, which, of course, did nothing. El Papagayo didn't notice, however, as he was too busy giving a loud, high-pitched yell as his horse reared up on it's hind legs. Then it and its rider were off in a flash.
Death just stood there patiently allowing the bandito to escape.
"Here we go," she said to herself, and then started after him on foot.
To Be Continued