The state of New Austin: 1894
I was riding solo at this point. My gang had left me a long time ago. I was riding alongside the overpowering shadow of Gaptooth Ridge when I saw it. Tumbleweed, the sign said. A town consumed by the desert, scorched black by the sun. I'm not a man of superstition or ghost stories, but as I entered this dead town, listening to the sound of my own footsteps echo throughout it I knew I was not alone.
My eyes were drawn to a single light, resting upon a windowsill on the mansion in the center of town. Someone had lit a candle. Any sensible man wold have turned around and went back into town for a cold drink, but my damned curiosity had gotten the better of me yet again.
The front door was locked, so I searched the perimeter for an alternate entrance. On the side of the house there was a hatch leading to the cellar. The dank and dusty underground sheltered a pungent smell that I had grown accustomed to over the years. The smell of death. And with this smell comes the instinct to draw my weapon, something to ease my nerves.
The upper level held the source of the smell, a pile of bodies stacked to my gut, and not a drop of blood on them. I made my way over to the candle and put it out. A wisp of smoke rose through the air.
The contents of the house haunted the back of my mind for weeks. I could no longer resist my impulse to go back, even though every shred of common sense in my body told me to do otherwise. But I was on my horse galloping through the dessert, my mind was focused on nothing but the road that lie ahead of me. Tumbleweed was now in my sight. I dismounted my horse and began to walk the remainder of the distance.
I arrived at the mansion, and hesitated for the slightest second before kicking down the door in one swift motion. It took my eyes a fraction of a second to adjust to the dark interior, but once they did I saw a man in a gritty white shirt sitting down on an armchair, using the pile of bodies as a footrest. A length of red rope licorice was being chewed in his mouth.
"Now what the fuck are you doing in my house?" He said with an eerie friendliness.
"Ah, my mistake sir, didn't know people lived here" My hand inched towards my revolver.
"Have you ever heard what happened to the kind citizens of this town?"
"I can't say I have"
"What a coincidence, they don't either"
He lifted up his hat to reveal a pair of glowing red eyes. Claws shot out of his fingers and his mouth opened to show me a deadly pair of fangs. He leaped across the room to meet me, but my burning lead met him first. He didn't stop like I had anticipated, and I lost my only hope of escaping when his body came in contact with mine. My gun was flung across the room. His claws tore at my face. I felt my innards being torn apart. I had to get free, and my only weapon was gone. I groped my surroundings for any sort of weapon to slow my imminent death. There it was, the leg of a char had been broken as I fell on it. I brought it up and lodged it in his chest. he stopped, I felt the hot burning of his blood connect with mine. He fell backwards and began to run away. I dragged myself to the door and called for my horse. I slumped onto its back and began to return to Armadillo.