1870
The sky was dark with a storm that had been building since early afternoon. Lightning flashed across the sky, the crash of thunder rolled across the countryside as the stagecoach came flying along the road, through the driving rain, with Frank Murphy hunched over the reins, his eyes fixed on the road and his team. Because of a broken wheel, they were now in danger of not reaching the way station blockhouse before sunset; if they arrived once the sun had set, the blockhouse would remain closed to them. There were never any exceptions.
At one time all Frank would have had to worry about were bandits and the odd hostile war party. But now creatures of hell walked the earth, ready to prey on anyone out alone in the badlands.
He felt a shudder go through his spine, and he knew that it wasn't caused by the rain that had soaked through his clothes; it was this stretch of the route, called Butcher's Paradise.
Ever since the massacre five years ago when a late-arriving stagecoach had allowed some hellish creatures of the night to attack the blockhouse and slaughter everyone inside stories were told of travellers going missing, and stagecoaches chased by hell's own creatures. Of course—he kept telling himself—he had never met anyone who had known someone that went missing or had seen these creatures first-hand, but that didn't mean that they weren't there. You didn't have to put your hand in a fire to know that it was hot. Also they wouldn't make the rules about no admittance after dark unless there was a threat he argued to himself.
Frank glanced up at the sky and used his whip to urge the horses faster, time was running out for them. Glancing at Greg Lawson, his shotgun guard, he saw his worry mirrored in the man's face; it was going to be a close call.
Suddenly through the veil of rain he saw a man in the road, the wind whipping a long duster around his legs, his hat pulled down over his face, shielding it from the rain. He had a Winchester in one hand pointed towards the ground.
Frank pulled on the reins hard; the horses sank back on their haunches as they came to a halt as Lawson brought his shotgun up to train it on the mystery man.
"Unless you've got a death wish, boy, get out of the way," Frank snapped at him even as his hand dropped to his own gun looking around in case this was a trap.
"I can't do that; we need a ride." The young man's voice had the soft accent of the south. "We can pay," he said as he tilted his head so that for the first time Frank could see his face.
"We?." Frank looked around, and it was only then he saw the smaller man come into view, a Derby hat on his head, looking at odds with his duster. He was blinking at them through his glasses as he tried to wipe the rain from them. He bobbed his head in greeting as he laid a large carpetbag down on the ground with a huffas if he was out of breath.
For a long moment Frank and Greg exchanged a look; their orders were simple—never stop, ride over anyone that got in their way—but they had broken that rule, and these men needed their help. Frank frowned, to leave them behind could be their death sentence so with a sigh Frank jerked a thumb back towards the coach. "Get in boy's, otherwise all of us will be spending the night out here."
The younger man grinned, and the next minute the two of them were climbing on board and even as the door was closing Frank was whipping up the horses as he raced against the setting sun.
The newcomers sat down opposite the couple, the younger man favoring the other passengers with a smile as he touched the brim of his hat to the lady. "I am sorry about delaying your journey Sir, Madam, but our need was great. I am Nicholas Halden and this is Professor Havisham."
"Professor?," the man said; the younger man looked the speaker up and down, his keen eyes picking out the sheriff's badge pinned on the man's shirt even in the half darkness when he leaned forward in his seat.
"He is a Professor of Life, Mister…?" Halden asked.
"Burke, Samuel Burke."
"Of Springfield Flats?"
"Among other places," Samuel said; the younger man gave him a slight knowing smile.
"It's nice to know that we are in such good hands." Halden said thoughfully.
Samuel couldn't work out if the younger man was being sarcastic or truly believed it; also, at the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think that he should know the name of Nicholas Halden, Nicholas … Nick … Nick Halden, but the name remained elusive.
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The coach rocked and rolled over the badly-rutted road the mud making it slide as it took the corners at speed swaying like a ship in a storm. But even as he muttered prayers and oaths, Frank's experienced hands kept the team and the coach on the road. Finally Frank saw the blockhouse appearing out of the growing gloom the yellow of the lamps welcoming him and his passengers. He heard the bell being rung; the coach had been spotted and the stable hands rushed out ready to catch the horses. Looking across at his friend, Frank threw his head back and gave a rebel yell of delight. They were safe.
The two stable hands grabbed the horses, quickly leading them to the blockhouse stable they didn't waste time getting the passengers out of the coach until it was safe behind locked doors. Only now were the passengers allowed out the manager's wife leading them through the connecting door into the main building, leaving the two men caring for the coach and the horses.
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Outside true darkness rolled over the land. Frank paused in mid-sentence to Jess Evans- the manager- as he heard a cry shatter the night. He exchanged a concerned look with him, and Evans shook his head.
"It's just a coyote, Frank." He added, looking thoughtfully at him, "You were cutting it fine. What happened?"
"We had to have the wheel replaced at Morgan Creek, and then we picked those two up." He jerked a thumb at the two men walking behind the husband and wife. To stem off Jess's angry words, Frank raised his hand. "I know, Jess, but he was blocking the way and I couldn't ride over the man."
Evans watched the two men thoughtfully, and then said, "Well, what's done is done," but his displeasure showed in his voice.
"I told you…." Frank said quickly, trying to defend himself, but then he broke off as he heard a coyote howling again.
"He better keep quiet if he knows what's good for him," Evans mused, and then in mid-howl the coyote was cut off, and another creature took up the song. Jess gave him a knowing smile that sent Frank cold
The sooner he got away from this place the better. Hell, everyone on the stage line knew that they had to pay double to get drivers for this route. After this run, he was quitting, and to hell with what Greg said; he could find himself a new driver.
"What name did they give you?" Evans asked, bringing Frank back to the present.
"We didn't have time for that. Hell, Jess, we only just made it as it was; if we had stopped to play twenty questions we would be out there playing tag with a band of God knows what."
But Evans just turned on his heels and walked away, leaving a worried Frank to hurry after him.
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Samuel was seated with Abigail at one of the tables in the dining room; now out of the darkness of the coach he studied the two newcomers that had joined them so dramatically. Nicholas Halden was a Southerner, and even though he had fought on the Union side himself, Samuel felt no animosity towards him. He was in his mid to late twenties, dark haired, and good looking. He had removed the long duster, and was dressed in a black coat and pants; his waistcoat was black with silver on it and his shirt had ruffles up the front of it. A professional gambler judging by his dress The smaller man was hunched over his mug of coffee with his derby hat lain on the table. He was losing his hair, the steam of the coffee was misting up his glasses, and he had his knitted scarf pulled up around his ears—he looked like a whiskey drummer. In his job Samuel had to have a good memory for faces and he couldn't get over the feeling that he should know the younger man.
The howling, which until now had been faint, became louder and was right outside the door, There was the sound of clawed feet on the porch of the blockhouse, followed by scratching against the shuttered windows, walls and across the roof.
Nick Halden couldn't help but cast an admiring glance at the woman from the coachShe was scared—who wouldn't be?—but she kept her fear at bay, only showing it in the way she pressed closer to her husband, her hand resting on his, needing reassurance in his touch, but she met his gaze levelly.
Spirit—he liked that in a woman - he could feel himself drawn to her.
But she was already taken by Sheriff Burke, he reminded himself. You only had to see the way the two of them were together to see that he was her world. Nick turned his attention to Burke, the Governor's own pet law enforcer. Burke had a reputation as a good, honest sheriff, two things that made the man dangerous to him. He couldn't help but smile at the way that Mozzie buried his head, like a turtle pulling his head into his shell, as if by doing that it would make him invisible to the sheriff.
The creatures outside began to throw themselves at the door for a heart-stopping moment he thought that the wooden brace of the door was going to give. In that instant, Nick was on his feet, his gun in his hand, as Mozzie grabbed a sawn-off shotgun from his bag and took his place at his side.
Looking across at Burke, he saw that he was putting himself between danger and his wife, but Nick couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he saw the gun in her hand.
It seemed the lady was no wilting violet, but ready to join in. He noticed her looking at him, and he gave her a nod of the head at the gun, as he smiled back at her.
Then his attention was back on the door and shuttered windows as the wood flexed against the weight of the creatures as they threw themselves against it. But again it held, and just as suddenly as it has started they stopped and it went quiet.
Reaching into his pocket Nick pulled out a pocket watch, opening it he checked the time. They had three hours to midnight, and it looked like no one was going to get any sleep.
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Samuel saw Halden pick up his cup and give a slight nod of the head towards the coffeepot; leaning close, Samuel had a quick word with Abigail, then went over to join the young gambler there.
He offered his cup and Halden filled it for him. Samuel gave him a thoughtful look. "I have a feeling that I should know your name." He gave a wry smile. "There wouldn't be a wanted poster out on you, Mr. Halden, would there?"
"Nothing that you need worry about, Sheriff Burke. The threat is outside;. You have my word on that."
Samuel nodded thoughtfully; for some reason he believed him. "So what do you make of it? They're not werewolves. An Alpha would have had that door down in a heartbeat—the protection spells are pretty lame."
"That's what we were thinking," Nick said, then added, "Have you noticed the things in this room?"
Samuel looked around casually but before he could answer, Nick added, "It's like a magpie's nest. A box of children's toys, but no children; a woman's coat that's too small for the lady of the house. More shovels that you could use in a year, yet they're all rusty and blunt."
Seeing that Samuel had caught on, he continued, "Exactly what man buys all this…? And what settlers would leave their spades and forks behind them?"
Samuel noticing Jess Evans looking at them from the kitchen door; there was something about the man that was getting Samuel on edge. He put his cup down and refilled it, pausing only to rub at his fingers;. There seemed to be an aching in all his joints and his nails seemed to throb, as if they were trying to burst out of his fingers.
What the hell was happening to him?
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From his position at the kitchen door, Jess Evans watched as the four passengers got together around one of the tables. He turned on his heels and went back in to his wife, who was dishing up a pile of steaming stew to Frank and Greg. It was a pity about them; he actually liked them, but every five years if there wasn't a blood sacrifice, his children of the night would be unable to take human form. Only the flesh of the living eaten at midnight during the Blood Moon could give them the ability to take human form as they absorbed the human life force. Soon the time would be here; his children would burst into the blockhouse. Those that survived the fight with the humans to claim their prize would be worthy to change to the higher form.
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Mozzie didn't waste time. "Badge." He nodded to Samuel. "Mrs. Badge." A nod to Abigail. "Stopping your coach was no accident; the reason that we are here is because tonight is the Blood Moon, and on this night the Ghoul that masquerades as the manager here will try to sacrifice us—just as he did the other passengers five years ago—to his children. This place is a flytrap, Badge, and we are the flies. So I think if I told you that we are on the menu, I don't think that I would be far wrong."
Mozzie nodded to Nick. "A good friend of ours travelled to Lucky Strike, and never made it back;. It took us a while to put the pieces together, but we finally located this place and discovered its link with the Ghoul pack up in the hills. Other than trying to track the pack down and destroy them in hills, which was virtually impossible as there are too many places to hide. The only other way is to wait until the Blood Moon and then deprive them of their sacrifice. We decided that it be best if we arrived with the other passengers; trouble was we missed the stagecoach and had to ride like Hades to get ahead of you."
He lapsed in silence as Mrs. Evans came over with a tray full of steaming stew. Once she was gone, Mozzie waved a hand over it; the small crystal he held in it glowed, and he shook his head.
Puzzled, Samuel said, "What's wrong with it?"
"There's long pork in there," he paused when he saw the puzzled look of Mrs. Burke, "human flesh, the Manager and his wife are preparing the way for their brood. Their young must chase after humans, kill them, and consume their flesh for it's only on the night of the Blood Moon that they can absorb our life force and use it to shape shift into human form. You have seen the stable hands here have grey skin and blood shot eyes… they have been poisoned by the bite of a Ghoul, changing them into creatures of the Elder. He needs them to make sure that the station runs smoothly to avoid any one looking too closely at whatis happening here. . They are no more than human husks."
Abigail looked shocked, but her voice was steady, as she asked "Professor Havisham, why is it so important to them that we eat this long pork."
"Many people have answers for that question, but all are different., I personally believe that it is connected with the Wendigo legend. A Wendigo is a creature that was once a man, but for some reason they eat human flesh normally as a last to extreme starvation or desperation , such as with the Donner Party of 1846 and in time became a Wendigo, human meat making them they stronger, faster and almost impossible to kill. I believe that the ghouls need us to eat the long pork so that our bodies are tainted by it in some way, and when they take our life force, it also takes the seeds of the Wendigo and that allows them to change into a superior into human form. But not all of them can do that, and as Herbert Spencer said it is the survival of the fittest. Any of the ghoul young that is unable to claim one of us will be destroyed by the first ray of dawn tomorrow. Only a successful ghoul will survive to leave here and start their own packs. Mr Charles Darwin's, origins of the species in its purest form."
He reached for the cup of coffee that Nick pushed towards him, and heaped sugar into it, and continued.
"Only by working together can we defeat them; the Elder and his wife will not normally interfere once the Blood Moon rites begin. Ghouls believe that their young should fight for themselves. Only the strongest will be able to claim our life force. If they are successful they will be able to shift into human form, and go west to create their own packs while the others are destroyed by the dawn light . We have until Midnight to prepare for them, if… no.., when we're successful ..we will then have to kill the Elder and his wife…., and the stable hands of course,… none of them can be allowed to leave here alive."
Seeing the look on Samuel's face, Mozzie added, "They are the Elder's creatures, bound to him, unable to die unless he releases them., Kill him and their souls are free. That is the only thing we can do for them now."