Stave 2: The First of Three Spirits
Caleb, frustrated by his encounter with his talking stick voicing the message of doom, crawled back into bed, which invited him with open arms. Comfortable mattress, warm sheets, soft pillow. He didn't even bother taking off his clothes again. Sleep was the only thing on his mind. He looked over to his pocket watch on the nightstand to check the time. One o'clock.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light lit up the room, glaring the clock out of readability. Caleb squinted his eyes from the luminescence and tried to look where it was coming from, holding his hand in front of him as a shield.
At the end of the bed a white gargoyle hovered in the air, keeping aloft by flapping its wings. An ethereal light broadcast itself from its body, augmented by a wreath of fire floating around its head. It was of slightly lesser size than the gargoyle master Cheogh, but still embodied all his grotesque inhuman qualities - the bony membrane wings jutting out of its back, the muscular build on a disproportionate body, two little horns set above two pupilless yellow eyes and an upturned pig nose, and a mouth full of long, pointed, vampiric teeth. What was unusual about this was that whereas the other gargoyle soldiers had skin tones of brown or gray, this one was all white, a sort of cream color. Plus the fact that it had a halo of fire and somehow had gotten into the room without crashing through anything.
Caleb instinctively and slowly reached under his pillow for his Smith & Wesson he kept for safety's sake. "What the hell are you, some kind of albino gargoyle?"
"I am the spirit whose coming was foretold to you, the spirit who beckons the past." The gargoyle spoke in a beautiful melodic voice, like that of a female child, very uncharacteristic of the gargoyles.
"Are you now, dollface? How did you get in here without breaking anything?"
"My spirit transcends the normal plains of existence. We are not limited by the space between."
"Uh-huh. Neat. What's the deal with the ring of fire?"
"Why do you question me so? Is it not enough that I appear to you?" she said in a ghostly echo. "Is it not enough that I come here to your door? Would you so soon turn me out, to put out the flame that lights your way?"
"Yeah. Because that flame is keeping me awake. And what business is my way to you anyway?"
"Your welfare."
"Aw, ain't that cute. It's better for me and my welfare, and yours as a matter of fact, if you get the hell out."
"Your salvation then. Take heed. Come."
Caleb rolled his eyes and concluded that this effeminate monster was not going to leave him alone no matter what. So he pulled off the sheets once again and approached the beast, who was standing near the window.
"Come with me."
"Sorry, whitey. I don't do high-wire acts," Caleb said as he peered down at the ground many mortal feet below. "Hey!"
Suddenly he felt the piercing grip of the talons of the beast taking hold of his shoulders. With a flap of large wings, he was lifted off the ground and through the window. They sped at an enormous velocity through the forsaken wasteland of the earth, speeds so fast everything was but a blur. Caleb shut his eyes from the wind, not seeing the transition taking place before him. They began descending to the ground, still traveling life-threateningly and unnaturally fast.
With an upward flap of the gargoyle's wings, their speed slowed down to a crawl in an instant and she set Caleb gently on the ground and released him. Dusting his pained shoulders off he took the chance to survey his new environment. He looked to be in a grassy field on a hill. One single room building was on that hill.
"Do you know when you were born?"
"Well, I don't remember. I was awful young then," he replied sarcastically.
"Do you remember where you lived?"
"In a house? In Texas? On Earth? Tell me if I'm getting close."
"Do you remember this place?"
"Do we really have to play twenty questions right now?" Caleb hissed.
The peal of the bell rang from the one-room building. Children poured out of the front door and headed into the field. They divided up by sex, females began playing games like jump rope and jacks. Boys played kick-the-can and other competitive games.
"This is... was my school."
"And that lad there. Do you remember him?"
In the middle of the kick-the-can game, one boy tried to get in the middle of the competition, but kept getting shoved out by bigger kids. He had a head of fine silky light brown hair.
"It's me."
Little Caleb kept trying to get into the game, but continued being strategically shut out by kids taller or bulkier than him. One finally shoved him as hard as he could. Caleb fell back into the dirt and skidded across it, covered in dust.
"Little bastard," older Caleb muttered loudly. He pulled out a magnum from his pocket and began approaching the boy.
"These are the shadows of things that have been," the gargoyle spirit warned. "They have no consciousness of us."
"Oh, I'll show him some consciousness." Caleb aimed the gun at the boy who had shoved his younger self and fired its total rounds. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. The bullets passed through his figure harmlessly. No one took any notice of him. No one saw or heard him. They played their game. Caleb stared hard ahead at the boy, gun still held out.
The spirit came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "They have no consciousness of us."
Caleb grunted, "Get your hand off me, you damn dirty gargoyle. You ain't no psychee-atrist." He turned around and walked away from the fracas to stare alone into the vast field. "They were always picking on me," Caleb muttered to no one in particular, though the gargoyle spirit could hear him. "I never knew why. I wasn't any different from the rest of them. I wasn't a runt. I wasn't dumb. I don't... I don't know..."
Behind him, Little Caleb got up from the dirt, a calm yet terrifying, cold-blooded look on him, one of a boy become a man in an instant. The large kid who had pushed him had his back turned and Caleb tackled him to the ground, knocking aside at least three or four other kids.
Caleb turned back to the scene once the noise was heard. "Oh, now I remember this." A devilish grin morphed onto his face as he started walking toward the more interesting scenario now.
Little Caleb straddled his foe and pounded away at his face like it was meat to be tenderized. Vermillion droplets began to sputter out of the fray. Little Caleb's hands began to grow covered in the crimson ooze. And yet he continued on him like a hammer to a nail, a never-ceasing maelstrom of rage.
One of the girls had gone back to the schoolroom to fetch the teacher and was now coming out with her in hand. When she saw what the state of the playground recess had become she rushed forward to separate the two. Younger Caleb saw this and leapt off the boy's body. He ran off into the field before anyone could catch him or stop him. The teacher went to help the bloodied boy. They all watched Caleb run away, never called out to him, never yelled for him to come back. He ran and ran and ran.
"I never went back," the elder Caleb said, watching the entire incident from a unique perspective. "I never went back. And good riddance to them."
"Let us see another time," the gargoyle said after a long silence. She began walking out into the field, rather unusual she was not using her wings. Caleb followed her, with no clue where he was going, and normally wouldn't have followed anyone without a good explanation. But so far the things he had seen had a purpose behind them. And besides, there was a feeling at the back of his mind this was all just a dream anyway, so it really didn't matter. As they walked, time passed quickly, abnormally quickly. Every step brought the sun closer to the horizon, Caleb could track its movement with sight alone. When it reached the edge of evening, the white gargoyle spirit stopped.
"Now where are we?" Caleb asked.
"Is this familiar?"
"No, never seen a field in my life," Caleb replied impatiently.
"Look," the gargoyle lifted its long muscular arm and pointed down the hill.
Four boys came walking through the fields and tall grass, laughing and making merry in the dusk. They couldn't have been but more than twelve or thirteen. One, the tallest of them with a coonskin cap on, was holding a stick on his shoulder like a rifle. Caleb squinted to see it was in fact a hunting rifle.
"G'wan, shoot it," he said.
"No, my pa'll whup me if I shoot that thing," a blond-haired boy said.
"That's why we came out here."
"How're you ever gonna be a man if you don't shoot a rifle."
"My pa don't want me shootin' no rifles. He-"
"Are you a mama's boy?"
"That one's me," Caleb pointed out the last boy who spoke. "Can't say I remember those others."
"Friends of yours."
"I guess."
The one with the rifle took it down and aimed it along shoulder level. "I bet I could shoot me a jackrabbit at about 200 yards with this thing."
"No, you couldn't."
"I could."
"Quit jawin' y'all's mouth," younger Caleb said.
"Here, Dickie, shoot it," he shoved it in front of the apprehensive boy.
"I told you. I'll git into trouble."
"Oooh, li'l Dickie's scared of a rifle," younger Caleb said.
"I ain't scared."
"Then prove it."
"There's a chipmunk about fifteen yards there." The tall boy pointed ahead to a fallen log in the terrain.
"Go ahead, now's your chance."
Dickie took the rifle and aimed it at the chipmunk. The others waited quietly for the impending shot. After a few seconds he put it back down. "I can't."
"Aw, you are a mama's boy." Caleb whisked the rifle away from him. "Lemme show you how it's done." Caleb quickly aimed it to eyesight and blasted the firearm.
The sound echoed through the valley. A flock of blackbirds escaped from a far-off tree. The boys held their ears from the tremendous noise. Seconds later it still rung in their heads. The squirrel exploded as the brute shot fired, bits of blood and flesh flew outward. No part of it was recognizable as a rodent anymore. The boys turned away as squirrel shrapnel pelleted their skin. Caleb felt bits of bone and blood land on his face. He continued to stare outward as he lowered his rifle, in a state of shock it seemed, until he licked a bit of the blood off his lip.
"Whoa, Caleb. You blew him away," the tall one slapped Caleb on the back.
"Yeah... guess I did..."
From the top of the hill, the elder Caleb watched with much interest. "That was the first time I fired a gun." He paused. "And the first time I killed."
"But it would not be the last," the spirit added.
"No... it would not. It most certainly would not." Caleb stood from his crouching position. "And my taste for blood has made me stronger than anyone else. It's gotten me nothin' but rewards in return." He stood staring the gargoyle down. "Is that what this all is? Just some cheesy version of my life story to get me to change my ways? Well, you're wasting your time."
"One shadow more."
"Are we going to be doing this all night? I forgot my bag lunch."
"My time grows short. Come."
The words of the spirit produced an immediate effect, for in the blink of an eye they appeared in a saloon. And another previous version of himself was here too. Probably around seventeen. No, exactly seventeen. Caleb remembered this part of his past with perfect clarity. His youthful form sat at a table near the wall, across from a very fine looking woman with brunette curls and deep mysterious eyes.
"Sara..." Caleb whispered. "Fair Sara..."
Caleb whipped around to the white spirit. "No, you are not gonna show me this. You are not-"
"I told you these were the shadows of things that have been. That they are what they are, do not blame me."
The passive look of the gargoyle stopped him. She stared right past him, watching the scene unfold. Caleb turned back to watch too.
Younger Caleb had a dark colored glass of bourbon in front of him. Sara looked like she had a sarsaparilla or some fizzy drink. The way the two looked into each other's eyes rang true of the puppy love all teenagers experience. Aside from themselves, there were only a few people in the bar tonight. But even if there were more people, the pair wouldn't have noticed them.
The younger Caleb set down his glass after a sip. "So what does it matter?" he said.
"It matters a great deal," Sara replied. "My parents would sooner want me to live an old maid than to marry a roughneck."
Caleb leaned into Sara in a quick, uncoordinated movement. "So run away with me."
"I can't. They want me to get an education."
"We can mine. I can mine. Ev'ry one of 'em who goes out west sez the gold gets brighter and brighter the farther you go."
"And what would I do?"
"You could..." Caleb trailed off.
"I won't sit idle, you know."
"I know."
"And those mines are dangerous."
"Aaah," Caleb dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.
"You'll get coal miner's lung or die in a cavern. I won't have you do such risk-taking work."
"Then we can farm. We can start our own farm. Out west. All th' land we could ever want."
She shook her head as he was speaking, "My parents've already made plans for me to attend finishing school in New York. They don't want me to be a farmer's wife, working all day and night, supporting more children than I can feed."
"So forget them!"
"And I don't either."
Caleb sat back stunned and exasperated.
"Caleb, I want to get an education. I want to get out of this ghost town. I want to be a journalist or a writer. I want to see the world."
"I- we-," Caleb struggled to find words, showing both his ineptitude and inebriation. "Sara, I love you."
The elder Caleb winced when he heard these words.
"I know," Sara said, "But I... I can't do anything-"
"Goddammit, Sara," he slammed his hand on the table, "Why d' you have to be so high-class. Yer always flauntin' yer money around."
"I do not flaunt my money around," Sara countered.
Caleb flastered back in his chair, almost upsetting it. "You talkin' about how you're going to New York City with all them carpet-baggers. It's nothing but horseshit."
"Hey." A rather brutish man with a black beard and a ten-gallon hat put a hand on Caleb's shoulder. "Aroun' here we don't talk to women like that," he slurred quite drunkenly. "And we don't take the name ovva Lord 'n vain."
"Mind your own beeswax, stranger. When I want your opinion I'll give it t' you."
"Caleb!" Sara gasped.
"Hey... nobody talks to Black Bart like that, eh, boys?" His boys across the tavern cheered obsequiously.
"What am I? Flypaper for freaks?"
"That's it, buddy," Bart poked him painfully in the shoulder behind him. "Let's go."
"Don't waste my time."
"C'mon, a showdown, you and me."
"You two stop it," Sara commanded. "You've had too much to drink, Caleb," she gestured to Bart, "And you've had way too much to drink."
"I can handle myself," Caleb said.
"Any time."
Caleb and Black Bart exited the saloon through the swinging doors and walked into the dirt road. "Caleb, no, you're going to get hurt." Everyone in the saloon had come outside to watch now.
"Quit tellin' me what t' do, Sara," Caleb cocked his head to his girlfriend, never taking his eyes off his enemy. "Your way is your way, and my way is my way."
"Guns at ten paces," Back Bart instructed.
"All right." They stood back to back in the middle of the dirt road. "Ready?"
"Ready."
"Go. One, two, ten." Caleb turned and fired his revolver in one smooth movement. The brute fell back into the dirt.
"It's all in the reflexes."
The watchers ran over to Caleb's antagonist to see his condition. Caleb walked slowly up to him, still holding the pistol in hand.
The man was holding his gut, which was bleeding profusely, trickling down his sides and through the cracks in his fingers. The bullet had gone completely through his body. He looked up with a pleading innocent face.
"Please..." he whispered. "Please... help..."
Caleb lifted his gun and shot him once in the chest, directly through his heart. A flawless hit. The man fell limp.
"Relax. You're dead."
Sara shrieked in horror in disgust. She ran out into the night frantically running, no purpose or destination.
"Sara, wait!" Caleb called out. "Sara! Wait! I'm sorry!"
"Stop this," elder Caleb demanded. He was standing beside the tavern crowd. "Stop this now."
"When was the last time you told someone that you love them?" the gargoyle spirit behind him said.
"Stop-"
"When was the last time you thought about what you did-"
"I said stop this NOW!" Caleb whipped around to strike the gargoyle, but it had disappeared.
And he was in his bed again, sitting up, still in the position of striking at the air.
