Ghost Mine

by Hunter Shea

  “What do you think, Matthias, Djinn?” I said out of the side of my mouth.

  “Possible. Show them the amulet.”

  I took it from my pocket and flashed it at them, like I used to do with my badge back in New York. They responded the way most criminals did, with utter indifference.

  They were all relatively young, with the exception of Franklin. They stared at us with empty, emotionless eyes.

  “Hello, Selma,” the one in the center said. He was tall and stocky with longish hair and a heavy beard. He didn’t look happy to see her.

  Selma’s hands fluttered by her mouth but she couldn’t say anything.

  “You just couldn’t keep away,” he said. “I told you I’d find riches here. Oh, but it wasn’t gold. It was so much more. Are you here to take it? Do you think you can?”

  “Hank, what happened to you? What are you?”

  Hank smiled, and there was only menace in it. “I’m exactly what I want to be. We all are. And we’re not going to share with you. Do you hear me?” he shouted, his voice exploding in the tunnel and repeating itself.

  “Nobody wants what you have,” I said flatly.

  “Angtha fithool!” Angus bellowed.

  Hank and his brothers flinched, taking a step back. “They’re dead,” Matthias said. “Not Djinn.”

  Selma stiffened.

  To Hank and his kin, Matthias said, “We can offer you peace and eternal rest.” The brothers glared at us.

  Angus opened the chest. Teta said, “Hey, isn’t that going to let the spirits out?”

  “They choose to be there,” Angus replied in his rich baritone. “These spirits won’t. This will be the last time I can open it.”

  Hank and his deceased brothers took a defensive stance. I wasn’t sure how to fight a ghost. I was hoping Angus would have that covered.

  Selma’s voice shook when she said, “Hank, you have to help us. Please, as your wife, I’m begging you. Tell us how to get out of here.”

  Hank laughed. “I don’t have a wife. You’re just a half-breed whore who couldn’t say no.” The muscles in my shoulders tensed. I clenched my fists.

  “There’s no getting out of here,” he said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  Selma looked like she wanted to rush him, and not for a warm embrace. I held her back with a tug on her elbow.

  Teta spoke up. “Oh, we’re getting out of here.”

  He walked to the line of incandescent brothers with a steady stride, as if he planned to pass right through them. The brother to the right of Hank, a squat man with arms like logs, punched Teta in the chest when he got too close. Teta stumbled back, clutching his chest.

  That’s when things went deeper into the shitter.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  When Teta regained his footing, he lashed out with the butt of his gun, swiping it across the man’s face. His cheek caved in and his nose flattened to one side. There was no blood. Teta pistol-whipped him again, this time caving in his eye socket and putting a considerable dent in the side of the man’s head.

  “I’d expect more from Selma,” the brother said.

  Teta hammered at his face, landing blow after blow. It was like his head was made of soft clay and Teta was resculpting it into something too grotesque to look at.

  Hank and his brothers laughed when Teta stopped, winded. All but Franklin. The man’s face was a deformed ball resting atop a thick neck.

  Hank lashed out and smacked Teta to the ground.

  That’s when I leapt into them. They converged on me like it was a game of pile-on. I punched and jabbed and kneed my way out of the pile. At one point, I saw Teta join the fray and we both fought like there was no tomorrow, which seemed a distinct possibility.

  I growled like an animal, taking all of my frustrations out on the solid ghosts. Faces, heads, arms and legs twisted into bizarre shapes. Their punches were very real, and my ribs and face ached. Unlike them, Teta and I were bleeding.

  “Enough!” Matthias shouted.

  We scrabbled, six on two, neither side willing to give in. I spotted Franklin off to the side, looking too old and frail to fight, even though he’d been the youngest. It had turned into a regular saloon brawl, except Teta and I had no chance of winning. How could you hurt someone who was already dead?

  When Angus spoke, the men paused.

  “Angtha fithool!”

  It gave Teta and me a chance to stumble out of the pile. Selma grabbed our collars and pulled us to her. Matthias had his Bible in hand and was reading from it. Angus kept on with his deadspeak. Hank and his brothers looked like they wanted to attack him but were powerless to make a move.

  They also didn’t move toward the chest. From the way Angus was shouting and gesturing, I got the feeling he was ordering them to get in, but they wouldn’t budge.

  “These men are possessed,” Matthias hissed.

  “They’re not men, they’re goddamn spirits,” I said, though the pain radiating throughout my body said otherwise.

  “They died possessed, and their souls have been claimed. I have to cleanse them if we have any hope of getting past.”

  “Hank.” His name fell from Selma’s lips, heavy with sadness. He had been her husband.

  At one time, she had loved him.

  “Hank’s gone,” I said, draping an arm over her. “Believe me, nothing you see down here is real.”

  We all flinched when the crack of gunfire broke whatever stalemate we had achieved. Smoke spiraled from Teta’s pistol. His bullet went through Hank and ricocheted off the wall behind him, pinging from wall to wall and down the tunnel.

  “Well, Matthias, unpossess them!” Teta shouted.

  Hank looked down at where the bullet would have shattered his rib cage and grinned.

  Teta fired off two more shots, this time at Hank’s brothers.

  “Teta, stop wasting bullets,” I snapped. “You can’t kill them with that.”

  Matthias flipped through his Bible. “Oh my,” he croaked.

  “‘Oh my’ what?” I said.

  “I always kept the rites of exorcism tucked into the pages of Ezekiel. They’re missing.

  They could have fallen out anywhere.”

  I grabbed his arm and turned him towards me. Hank and his brothers watched us, I’m sure having a good time seeing that we’d lost the one thing we could use against them. “You can quote chapter and verse from the Bible. You mean to tell me this is the one thing you haven’t committed to memory?”

  “I’ve only had to use the rites twice before. I don’t spend much time reading it when I don’t need it. There’s not much comfort to be drawn from reading the passages, Nat.”

  “I hope you’re nice and comfortable down here, because this is where we’re going to rot.”

  He gazed at me with a look I’d seen many times before. He was sure I was about to hit him and didn’t know whether to defend himself or run. That was good. I wanted him to be afraid. I’d seen fear make a man suddenly remember things he couldn’t recall for the life of him moments before.

  His eyes moved to the top of his head like he was inspecting his brain for the information.

  Come on, Matthias. Think!

  I kept an eye on Hank and his brothers, waiting for them to make a move toward us. If they did, I hoped Angus’s deadspeak could get them back in line. “We’re running out of time, Reverend.”

  “You don’t understand. The rites of exorcism are very specific. One wrong or misplaced word can undo everything. Even if I tried, I could do more harm than good.”

  I let him go.

  “So you’re telling me there’s nothing we can do.”

  “I’m afraid not. Angus could hold them in place for a spell, but they’d only come right back once he stopped.”

  “Nat.” Selma melted into my side.

/>   I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and adjusted the brim of my hat. I pointed at Hank. “I’ve lived a long time, longer than even I expected. A lot longer than you. I’ve seen my share of dumbshits, and I’ve put a few of them where you are right now. Did I regret it? Can’t say that I did. The world needs only so many dumbshits, and I figure I was put here to keep things in balance. You and your greedy, dumbshit family are just another to add to the heap. But the best part is, you already did it to yourselves. So why don’t you come on over here and do your best. But know this. The minute you kill me, I’m coming right back, right here, and we’re going to be even. You’re not going to like what I do to you in a fair fight. No, sir, you’re not going to like it at all. Dumbshits like you, dead or alive, you’re worth about a drop of sweat to men like me.”

  I had them riled up. They seethed with hatred. I’d bet they’d turn down a chance at heaven just to have a go at me. So be it. We’d come pretty far and the Promised Land wasn’t even a given for Moses. And he was someone God liked.

  “Let’s go, boys. Teta and I will have us a real hog-killin’ time making you work hard for the first time in your sorry lives.”

  Angus balled his hands into fists and narrowed his eyes. He would certainly help to even things up. I meant what I said to them. Once I couldn’t fight anymore and took my last breath, I would return to make their eternity a misery. Nothing ever seemed to escape Hecla’s grip. At this point, I was happy to stay.

  Both sides took a step to one another. I turned to Matthias and whispered, “If you can, take Selma and start looking for a way out. We’ll keep them very occupied.”

  The reverend looked like he was about to soil his drawers, but he nodded and moved closer to Selma.

  She’d heard what I said and looked about to protest, but I had something else to tend to. We took another step and were driven to our knees. The tunnel was filled with the overwhelming roar of a massive horn. It was the same sound we’d heard aboveground. Down here, the chest-rattling note was more than any of us could take, dead or alive. We rolled on the floor, our hands clasped over our ears. My head felt like it was going to explode from the inside out. The walls and floor of the tunnel shook. Even Hank was squirming on the ground, his face a mask of distress.

  It was a nice sight to see.

  My vision was going dark. The horn continued to blare, one long, deep, steady blast that sounded like the world was being split in two.

  I fought to stay conscious. I couldn’t let my mind run from the pain. That horn was blowing for a reason, and I wanted to make damn sure I was awake to find out what it was.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  When I was a kid, my mother used to call me the defiant one. She and my father often talked about what I’d done that day or what they hoped my future might entail, considering my stubborn streak. My father agreed that I could be an ornery little cuss, but he said it was the one trait that would serve me well in a world that was dead set against good men trying to scratch out a living.

  Rolling on the tunnel floor, I heard my mother say, “Do you know what your defiant one did today?”

  I answered in place of my father. “Yes, Ma, I do.”

  Phooooooooommmmmmmmm!

  The horn kept on blaring.

  I turned onto my stomach, tucking my knees under me and forcing my head from the dirt and filth. My balance was all off, but I got myself to one knee, then shuffled a bit before getting both boots on solid ground. Standing, the vibration of the horn rattled down my spine like an order to lie down and die.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  Every muscle burned as I struggled to stand, fought to keep my wits.

  Defy the pressure of that horn.

  Matthias thought it was the call to Armageddon. I was beginning to think he was right.

  My heart quivered in my chest, punching the breath from my lungs. Still, I wouldn’t go down. The next time I was on that floor, I’d be too dead to realize it.

  I reached for my pistol, my hand quivering like a drunk in the dry, head-splitting morning. The tunnel stretched into infinite darkness. A gust of wind, kicked up by the bleating of the horn, hammered my face. It was down there. He was down there, hiding like a coward. My elbow felt like it would pop as I got the pistol from my holster, holding it up so it pointed straight into the black.

  My heart jumped and I choked, desperate to find my next breath. The pistol almost slipped from my fingers. I eased the grip into my palm and raised it as far as I could, which was about hip high. My finger felt like it was crippled with arthritis. The trigger was an immovable object, no matter how hard I pulled.

  Something tugged at my ankle. I rolled my eyes to look down. If I moved my neck even an inch, I knew the rest of me would collapse.

  It was Teta. His face was twisted with pain, but he had dragged himself to my side. He had his pistol out, his arm straight along the tunnel floor. He struggled with the trigger too. His hand twitched, but he didn’t have the strength to pull it back.

  I wanted to say something to him, some last words before our souls were swallowed up by the mines. There was no way to be heard over the constant thrumming of the horn. Our guns would have to be our final say.

  Concentrating with what little strength I had left, I directed all of my energy into my trigger finger. The hammer moved back as the trigger gave way. It went off with a sharp crack at the exact same moment as Teta’s pistol.

  Our bullets sailed into the unknown. And just like that, the horn stopped.

  The pain and the humming in our ears went away just as fast. It was as if it had never happened.

  “Did we hit it?” Teta asked.

  I turned and helped Selma to her feet. “I’ll be damned if I know.”

  A man’s voice came from the darkness. “That’s a curious choice of words, Nat Blackburn.” Everyone had recovered, the living and the dead. We all faced the unfathomable tunnel, waiting for the owner of the voice to emerge.

  How did he know my name?

  He continued, his voice thick with a Southern drawl that would have been just as out of place aboveground in Wyoming’s towns as it was in the shafts beneath the mines. “You’re about as close to damned as one can be, but I have to give you credit. No one has lasted this long, or gone this far before. You should be proud of yourselves. But we all know how pride goeth before the fall.”

  The torches that had been burning to their quick flared up and we were bathed in harsh, golden light.

  We could see the man walking toward us. He was tall, dressed in a black vest and jacket, with a shine on his ebony boots that reflected the firelight. His hair was long and dark, like an Indian woman’s, swept off his high forehead and trailing down his back. A dark, wiry beard dangled off his chin, but the rest of his face was clean-shaven. The closer he came, the more I could see the sharp contours of his face and the almost catlike tilt of his eyes.

  This was the he Lucille had spoken about.

  The big question was who he was exactly, and what he planned to do with us.

  “That’s far enough,” I said, aiming my pistol at his chest.

  He stopped, raised his hands to show he wasn’t heeled and laughed. “I have to say, I’ve enjoyed every second of you.”

  “If you’ve been responsible for everything down here, I can’t say the same about you,” I replied. I positioned myself so most of my body blocked Selma. There was no telling what our host could do and I wanted to keep her from his direct line of sight. Matthias and Angus were alongside me. We ignored Hank and his brothers, who regarded the stranger with doglike obedience.

  Matthias whispered to Angus, “Can you get the name of this demon?” Angus remained silent.

  The man tucked his fingers into the lapels of his vest and raised his chin. He said, “Probe all you want, Angus. You won’t find what you’re looking for.”

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nbsp; Angus grunted and slammed his eyes shut. Sweat poured off his head in buckets. His body shook. His breath exploded from his mouth and he panted. “I can’t,” he said.

  “That’s right, you can’t,” the man said. “But if you truly want to know, all you need to do is ask.”

  For the first time since I’d met him, Matthias looked unsure and afraid. “All right, who are you?” I asked.

  His lips curled into a perverse smile. “I have more names than you can count.”

  “I’m not a banker, so one will suffice.”

  He laughed, loudly and wickedly. “You really can’t know how much you’ve entertained me. You may call me Belial.”

  Matthias gasped, pulling his Bible to his chest.

  “I see it rings a bell with one of you. How about Abaddon? No? Somebody didn’t go to church like a good boy.”

  Matthias leaned in to me and said, “Nat, that…man, is the—”

  “Devil!” the man shouted. “In the flesh. This is quite the honor...for you, I mean.”

  Teta spit on the ground. “I don’t think so. I think you’re trying to make us afraid of you. Everything we’ve seen so far has been an illusion, and you’re just another part of it.”

  The devil, or whoever he was, stared at Teta with steely eyes. Hard. Uncompromising. “I merely assumed a form that I thought would be more suitable for you. A mortal mind can bear witness to just so much, and then it breaks as easily as a freshly laid egg. You’ve trespassed into my home, created havoc with my sycophants. I would expect a little more gratitude. I can be so much worse, if that’s what you wish.”

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  “I thought as much. Breaking you has been the most fun I’ve had in ages. So much more rewarding than, say, the children.”

  He must have been talking about the kids with the black eyes. I didn’t want to think that they had once been happy, innocent, living children. But they had, and he’d taken that away from them.