by Lee Collins
When they finally reached Annabelle's door, the porter bowed with another smile before taking his leave. Jack stared at the door, listening to the sound of the porter's retreating footsteps. His stomach felt like it was going to jump out of his mouth and go flopping down the hall. Closing his eyes, he gave his head a shake, then turned the knob.
The aroma of perfume and scented candles filled the steamy air, inviting him into the room. He stood in the doorway instead, wishing he'd kept his hat so his hands would have something to do. He let them fidget around his ammo belt for a moment before shoving them in his pockets.
He could hear the sound of splashing coming from the room, and although he couldn't see the bathtub from where he stood, he knew exactly where it was. He could picture Annabelle in that tub, soapy bubbles climbing up to perch on her bare shoulders. Hot blood flooded his cheeks at the thought, and he looked down at his boots.
"Is that you, Jack?" Her voice floated out to greet him.
"Yep, yessir, it's me," he said.
"Well, why don't you come on in?"
"OK, then." Shutting the door behind him, he walked down the short hallway, his boots sounding to his ears like a herd of buffalo. When he came around the corner, his foot caught on the floor, tripping him up. He recovered himself before he fell, but he could feel his cheeks burning. The burn grew hotter when he looked up to find her blue eyes watching him.
A smile played about her full lips. "You might want to take them boots off."
He nodded and sat down in the nearest chair. His feet, still cold from the walk through the snow, throbbed in protest as he wrenched his boots off. The sour tang of his sweat cut through the sweetness in the air. He shoved his feet as far as they would go under the chair, hoping she wouldn't notice.
"Are you going to stop there?" she asked, her smile lingering. "You're welcome to, of course, but you might not enjoy yourself quite the same." She rose to her feet and stepped out of the tub, water running down her white sides. "Come on, let's get you out of them clothes."
Jack's gut lurched in excitement at the suggestion, but he just stood to his feet and walked over to her. Up close, she smelled clean, like fresh water from a mountain stream. He was all too aware of his own stink, but she didn't seem to notice as she began working the buttons of his shirt. She untucked it from his pants, pulled his arms through the sleeves, and tossed it on the floor. She gave him a coy smile as she stepped behind him and reached her arms around his body. Her palms pressed into the coarse hairs on his chest.
"You smell like a man ought to," she said, her fingers tracing tiny circles on his skin. He blushed again, glad she couldn't see.
Soon, he was seated in the bathtub. Annabelle knelt by the edge of the tub, cupping water in her hands and pouring it over his head. The warmth made his skin tingle. He wanted to lean back, close his eyes, and let her keep pouring handfuls of water over him, but the nearness of her naked body made it impossible to relax. He sat in nervous silence, the water running through his hair, into his eyes, and down his mustache.
She reached over to a small stand behind him, picked up a scrubbing brush, and dipped the bristles into the soapy water. Placing a hand on his back, she gently pushed him forward. He bent at the waist, his back stiff as the brush scrubbed his shoulders, his neck, and his back. Annabelle smiled, watching his skin turn from fishbelly white to the rosy pink of sunset.
After a few minutes, she declared him finished and stood up. He splashed his way out of the tub and into a towel she was holding. She rubbed him down with it, stopping a few times to kiss his exposed skin. Her lips were soft, but he still jumped as though she was poking him with a needle. She giggled when he did, a lilting sound that made his knees feel weak.
Grasping his hand in both of hers, she led him through an archway into the bedroom. The smile never left her lips, even as she began kissing him. She lay back on the sheets and pulled him on top of her. The heat of her seemed to set him aflame, and he felt his arms quiver as he held himself above her.
It was over all too quickly. He crawled up next to her and collapsed, still catching his breath. Annabelle's smile widened as she draped an arm over his stomach.
"So tell me about your week," she said.
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Oh, it was pretty normal, I reckon." Pillow talk was one of her services. Most of her clients probably enjoyed talking about themselves and their work, hoping to impress her with stories of strength or riches, but Jack's tongue always tied itself in knots. Her breath on his cheek made him want to best them all, to tell her a tale grand enough to make her eyes shine. His mind raced, searching for something, anything to say.
A thought came to him. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.
"Go on, sugar." Her voice felt like silk on his ears. "Say what you want to say."
"You can keep a secret, can't you?"
"Secrets are my trade," she said, giving him a look that made him want to crawl under the bed.
"Well, then," he said, "I got a secret to say."
"I'm all ears," she murmured, kissing his.
Her kisses sent shivers down to his toes. "Well, me and the marshal went out riding one morning, and we come across this clearing, right? Well, some poor fellers met with a bad end there. Real bad. I don't want to tell you the details, so I'll just say I've never seen worse in my two years of upholding the law."
Her hand traced circles around his belly button. "Did you find out who done those fellers in?"
"Of course I did," he replied, trying to make his voice sound strong. "I tracked him all the way through the woods and up a mountain. Cornered him in a mine and made ready to do what I had to do."
"Did you lick him proper?"
"Well, turns out the culprit wasn't exactly a man or even a gang of them," he said, turning his head to face her.
Her thin eyebrows pulled together. "What was it, then? A grizzly?"
"Nope, not that, neither." He swallowed and looked her in the eyes. "It was some sort of monster. A monster that used to be a man."
"I don't follow," she said.
"Can't say for sure my own self," he said. "It had a man's shape, see, but its legs and arms was all stretched out like a spider's." Jack could see her interest growing, and his heart started beating faster. "Anyway, like I said, I got it cornered in a mine, but it lashed out and knocked my gun right out of my hand. Took a leap at me, so I had to roll to get clear and nearly bashed my brains out on a big old rock. I picked myself up and pulled my other gun. The monster was coming back at me pell-mell, its big arms reaching to tear off my head. I stood stock still, waiting for my shot. When it came, I took it. Hit the thing square between the eyes, but even that didn't put it down. It howled something awful and lit out down the mine tunnel. I tried to run it down, but it gave me the slip on account of the darkness."
"My heart," Annabelle whispered. She gazed at him in disbelief for a moment, then a thought came to her. "You best not be pulling my leg, or so help me, I will end you right here."
He could see that she was impressed, and for the first time that night, a smile spread beneath his mustache. "On my word," he said, then tried out a new word, "darling."
"So you really faced down a monster?" She curled a long white leg around both of his and leaned in to him. "They should make you the marshal and run out that old drunkard Duggan."
Jack swallowed, uneasy. "You think so, do you?"
"Why, sure," she replied. "Ain't much of a feat to toss drunk miners in jail for a night, but running off a mankilling monster? That ain't nothing to sneeze at."
"I reckon so," Jack replied. His thoughts jumped back to that morning, when Mart Duggan had whipped over a hundred miners without firing a single shot. Jack himself had been scared spitless, sure that the mob would tear the entire station apart and him with it. He'd been making his peace with the Lord when the marshal marched past his desk and into the morning sun. In the space of a few minutes, Duggan had called every mother'
s son of them a coward and watched them slink away in shame. Jack Evans had never seen anything like it, and Annabelle's casual scorn for the marshal didn't sit right with him.
He could feel the heat from her body as she pressed into his side. Maybe she was right, though. Sure, Duggan could whip a crowd of miners, but he hadn't done much by way of whipping that thing in the forest. Now that Jack thought on it, the marshal had seemed downright scared that morning in the clearing, looking over his shoulder like the trees themselves were going to grow teeth and eat him. Jack had felt the same chill but stayed calm. He'd been the marshal's eyes that day, and if he hadn't kept a sharp eye, they could've both been eaten. That was almost the same as saving Mart Duggan's life, yet the marshal never said a word of thanks. If Jack was marshal, he'd be sure to give his deputies a hearty thank-you if they did something as thoughtful as saving his own life. He'd also make sure no man-killing creatures were welcome in his town, even if that meant chasing them up a mountain and into an old mine. If that crazy Cora Oglesby could do it, there wasn't any reason why he couldn't, either.
Jack's grin returned. He could make a fine marshal if given the chance. The first thing he'd do would be to take this beautiful woman as his bride and move her out of the brothel. He looked into her deep-blue eyes, eyes that reminded him of the sky, and she smiled back. Maybe she really could come to love him if he became marshal.
Jack pulled Annabelle closer. She came willingly, lowering her lips to his. The soft skin of her back felt warm on his cold hand. Her fingers combed through his hair, sending thrills skittering down his spine. Waves of goosebumps rolled over his skin, and he shivered.
A scream echoed from the street outside. Startled, the lovers turned toward the window. Annabelle pulled the bedsheets over her body as a second scream rattled the glass. Jack scrambled to his feet and ran into the other room. He fumbled with his pants, nearly falling over as he pulled them on. He threaded his arms through his shirt sleeves, grabbed the pistol from his belt, and ran to the window. All he could see was a steamy outline of his reflection. Several gunshots cracked in the darkness, followed by another scream.
The deputy pulled on his boots, gave Annabelle a quick nod, and ran downstairs. He crashed through the Purdy's front door into the night. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face. Blinded by the darkness, he could hear shouts and shots coming from somewhere on his left. A few heartbeats later, his vision cleared, and he could make out several figures down the street, outlined by the Pioneer's glowing windows. Imagining Annabelle's big blue eyes watching him from her window, he ran toward them, revolver at the ready.
As Jack ran, he saw several flashes as the figures fired into the shadows across the street. He looked where they were firing, but couldn't see anything except a row of lights winking in the darkness. When he reached the other men, he crouched down next to them and pointed his pistol in the same direction.
"Glad you could join us, deputy." The voice belonged to Mart Duggan.
"What's going on, marshal?" Jack asked, winded from the sprint.
"Seems that crazy bitch was right. Murray and me got the thing cornered, but–"
Duggan fell silent as a shadow lurched into view across the street. It stood on two legs like a man, but it was far too tall. Long arms hung down from a ten-foot height, brushing across the thing's knees as its fingers curled and flexed. Jack squeezed the trigger, adding the crack of his Schofield to the roaring of Duggan's Colt. On the other side of the marshal, he could hear the clap of a Winchester rifle in the hands of Deputy George Murray.
The creature reeled from the impact of the bullets, but it kept its feet even after Jack's revolver was empty. Shells skittered across the snow as he snapped the gun open. He reached down to pull more bullets from his belt, then cursed at his own stupidity. His ammo belt still lay on the floor in Annabelle's room.
The marshal's fingers reloaded his own gun with practiced ease. Across the street, the shadow crouched, its knees and elbows rising above its back as it lowered itself toward the snow. It watched them for a moment, swaying like a giant spider. Then, as the marshal slammed the Colt's cylinder back into place, the creature sprang toward them with a piercing screech. Jack flinched at the sound, his gun falling from his hand. He heard Duggan fire once before a long white arm slammed into him, knocking the lawman backward into the saloon's wall. Pain exploded in Jack's head, followed by a wave of nausea. Through the ringing in his head, he heard a choking scream and looked up.
Black fingers curled around Deputy Murray's neck as a pale arm lifted him off his feet. The marshal's gun roared in Jack's ears. Every one of Duggan's shots found its mark, but the creature didn't flinch. Instead, it turned a death grin at them, its teeth clacking between bloodless black lips.
Duggan fired again, and sparks flashed in the creature's face as the bullet ricocheted off its fangs. The monster answered with a sharp hiss. Jack heard the distinct click of an empty gun followed by Duggan's curse. Murray's boots dangled in midair as he clawed at the dead hand around his throat, desperate for a breath. Paralyzed, Jack watched the helpless deputy struggle for a moment before he felt something clamp onto his leg. He only had a moment to register the long black fingers gripping his boot before the creature hoisted him into the air. Hollering in panic, he twisted in the powerful grip, arms flailing. His fingers caught the cold, clammy skin hanging from the creature's ribs. It stretched like rubber, pulling away from the frozen bones, but it didn't tear.
The monster reared to its full height, releasing Jack's leg as it did. He fell headfirst onto the packed snow and lay dazed, his stomach reeling and his head foggy. Shadows danced across his vision. He lifted his head and squinted upward through the pulsing in his eyes.
The long arms cradled Deputy Murray like a child. Murray wrestled against the black fingers and kicked at the creature's ribs, but it held him fast. A stream of prayers poured from his lips. The creature hissed in reply, black lips pulled back. Long teeth sank into the deputy's neck, and his prayers ended in a gurgling scream. Jack felt something warm splash against his face, blinding him, but he didn't turn away. The sounds of crunching bone and grinding teeth filled his ears.
Only when the creature turned its eyes to him did Jack awake from his stupor. He rolled onto his stomach and scrambled to his feet. Before he could take two steps, icy fingers clamped around his stomach, bringing him up short. Hoisted skyward, he came face-to-face with those wicked teeth, now covered in fresh blood and bits of flesh. The creature seemed to grin at him, its yellow eyes alight with savage hunger. A wave of frigid air covered him as the jaws opened, revealing a pit as black as Hell itself.
Jack screamed.
A flash of orange light caught the monster's attention, and its eyes left the deputy's frightened face. In that moment, Jack heard the most welcome sound he could have imagined: the roar of Mart Duggan's voice.
"Back, you devil, or I'll set a fire in your hide!"
The black fingers let go of Jack's leg, and the deputy landed head-first on the packed snow. Stunned, he lay still as the world pitched around him in a swirl of black and orange.
Mart Duggan stepped over the fallen form of his deputy, a burning branch in each hand. He waved them in the creature's face, the flames brilliant against the night. The monster reeled backward with a loud wail. It beat at the fire with its long hands, but the marshal kept the branches just out of its reach. Duggan advanced, flames crackling, and pressed it back into the night. Finally, the creature turned and loped down the street, its long legs disappearing into the shadows.
Duggan stared after it for a moment, branches held high. With a final shout of triumph, he lowered the flames and turned back to his fallen deputy. The marshal prodded Jack with a boot until he rose to his feet.
"Where's Murray?" Duggan asked.
Jack opened his mouth, but the words didn't come. He could only look at the splattered blood and crushed bones that had once belonged to Deputy Murray. Duggan followed his gaze, then lowered his e
yes to his boots. Only a handful of decent men called Leadville home, and George Murray had been one of them. The marshal swallowed the hard lump in his throat and whispered a prayer for his fallen man.
"Well, can't be helped now," he said aloud. "At least he don't have a wife or kids to give the bad news to."
Jack nodded. A man had just been eaten before his eyes, and he'd have followed in like kind had the marshal not returned when he did. His hands trembled, but he didn't have the wits to put them on his hips. Instead, he just looked at the bloody snow around them, thinking back to the clearing and wondering what those wolfers had felt in their last minutes.
"Well, come on, son," Duggan said, handing him a flaming branch. "We best make sure that thing has run off for good."
Jack took the branch from the marshal. It shook in his hand as he stared into the flames. That woman had said the creature was scared of silver and fire, but he'd forgotten. If the marshal hadn't remembered, it would have torn both of them apart. He could still see that gaping mouth and feel the icy breath on his face. Taking a deep breath, he tried to pull himself together enough to meet Duggan's eyes. "What in God's creation was that, sir?"