The streets are empty.  A few streetlights glow overhead, but most are dark.  A memory, a woman’s voice telling me to ‘play all you want but make sure your home before the streetlights come on.’

So long ago.

I continue to follow the boy, shoulders tense.  I keep my hand near my gun.  My back feels as broad as the street.

Still, I follow.

As he leads, the boy turns and stares, mouth open, bare feet slapping cracked asphalt.  The heat of the day is gone, night has fallen.  With the night comes cooler air.  We are higher now, Coyote and me, climbing our way into the mountains.

I stare into the buildings on either side of the road.  Most have their windows boarded up.  All seem abandoned.

‘Beware!’ the city screams.

The boy enters the center of town.  Banners of cloth hang from overhead.  Trees line either side of Main Street, their branches unruly, untrimmed.

In the distance, the sound of rumbling.

A storm approaches.

“How much further?”

“We’re almost there,” Saul replies.

We turn a corner; I notice light at the far end of the street.

The silhouette of a church rears.

We approach the light.

In front of us, wider than the street, sprawls a large wooden structure, its face full of windows, its front covered in balconies.  Twin doors of light mark the entrance, littering the street with gold.  A large billboard overhead screams ‘Silverheels’. At one time the sign contained lights. Now, only darkness remains.

‘Silverheels.’  The same as the name scrawled on the sign outside of town.  I search the downstairs windows, the shadowed alleyways to either side, and see nothing.

More light and laughter spill from inside, followed by the sound of a piano.

I stand in awe.  Am I hallucinating?  Perhaps I am sleeping- But no.  This is real.  The music and lights are real.

“Something wrong,” Saul asks?  He’s watching me intently. From the looks of him, maybe all of thirteen.

“Not sure,” I say.  Coyote tilts her head, questioning.  “Besides the name,” I point over his head, “what is this place?”

“A gin joint,” he responds.

“Gin Joint?”

“Perhaps a saloon.”  He looks at me like I’m crazy.  “Where you been, mister?  Locked up in one of them mental institutions?”

“Perhaps,” I respond.  I’m not looking at him, eyes and ears taking it all in.

“Ever watch a spaghetti western,” Saul asks.  “Places like this are in all of them.” There hadn’t been ‘spaghetti westerns in years, at least not in his lifetime.

“Why’d you bring me here,” I ask?

“Said you wanted something to eat.  Here’s where you eat.”

We cross the street.  As soon as my foot touches the bottom stair- the stench of rotting meat.

Coyote draws back, teeth bare.

Shrouded in darkness, the boy draws near.  “We have to be careful,” he says.  He sounds conspiratorial.

“Now you tell me this.” The boy’s features remain hidden, even with light spilling. 

“Fearful things happen in here,” he whispers.

Now we get to the meat of it, his real reason for bringing me here.  “Tell me more,” I say, lex talionis in hand.  Shakespeare said it best when he said, ‘something rotten haunts the state of Denmark!’  In this place, Denmark would be Fairplay.  “Tell me of these ‘fearful things.’

Saul shakes his head.

I no longer wish to be here. Why did I follow the boy, and why so willingly? With my lips next to Saul’s ear, “Where is everyone, Saul?  And for the last time, why did you bring me here?”

Saul pushes the tip of my barrel down.  “Mister,” he begins.  His voice sounds shaky.

Everywhere I look, empty-

Empty streets.

Empty buildings.

Empty town.

Fairplay was a tomb!

Motioning to the sign overhead, “Explain.”

Saul licks his lips.  “I need you to kill someone,” he says.

“Kill someone…?”

Saul nods.  “I need you to kill the person who killed my mom!”  He looks around.  “That’s why I brought you here.”

Remember what I said about crazy? If I were smart, I would walk away, right now.  No looking back.

If I was smart- “Tell me about this ‘someone’.”

****

The someone is a ‘she’.

Why wasn’t I surprised?

We were across the street from the saloon, next to a white-washed wooden wall.

“She came in on a stage,” he said.

“As in an actual horse-drawn carriage?  That kind of stage?”

Saul nodded.  “My mom was with me at the time.”  He stops.  “Believe it or not, lots of people used to live here.”  He was motioning towards the town.  “they’re gone now.”  He stopped again, I could see his face, cheeks were wet with tears.  “Mister, you would have loved this town.”

“I’m sure I would have.”

Another pause.  “We were crossing the street, right over there,” he said, pointing in front of us.  “It was noon, and it was September.  That much I remember.  The day was warmer than it should have been.”  Hand once more swinging out, this time over the buildings, towards the mountains.  “A storm was brewing,” he said, “way up high.  We could feel it, the clouds were darkening, the sides of the mountains, steaming.  I could hear hoofbeats approaching.  Mom pushed me out of the way as this jet-black carriage appears.  The carriage is being drawn by twelve horses, each a different color, no two alike.  At first, it looked like no one is driving them, that they were on their own.  The carriage seemed to steer itself towards the saloon.  As soon as it arrived up front, it stopped.”

A moment of nothing as he catches his breath. “By now everyone’s gawking.”

As well they should be.  I would be gawking.

“Mom and I are standing right about there,” he said, “next to the saloon doors when the carriage door opens.  This ‘Lady’ steps out.  She’s dressed all in a black, holding her skirt up, while she steps down.  I remember how she was hard to see.”

“Hard to see?”  The entire time I’m keeping a sharp eye out, waiting for something to come tumbling out of the night- “Go on.”

The boy places a hand over his face.  “She’s wearing one of those veil things,” he says.  “I remember how long the cloth was.  By this time mom’s grabbing my arm and pulling me.”  He leans close, “she thinks the lady is a witch.”  He makes a sign of Warding. “At first everyone calls her the “Fancy Lady.  We found out later that she calles herself Silverheels.”

I glance across the street to the sign overhead.  The name of the saloon has become the name of a town.  “I don’t understand?”

“Neither did we… at first.  There’s some legend ‘round here called ‘Silverheels,’ happened way back during the Silver Rush, or something.  I’m talking way back, mister.  There’s even a tombstone in the town cemetery with the name Silverheels on it.”  He took a moment to wipe a tear from his eyes.  “For a while, things went along as always.  Folks continued to mine the hills for silver, farmers continued to raise crops and cattle.  Pretty much the same thing that’s been happening around here since forever- at least that’s what mom said.” He looked at me. “We moved here when I was little so she could make a new start.  My dad was dead, I never met him.”  He paused.  “I was little then.”

You’re still little.

“At first the Fancy Lady kept out of sight, only coming out rarely, and always wearing her veil.  There was this one time though, ‘bout a month ago, when I got to see her up close.  Mom sent me for eggs at the General Store.  I’m almost done, getting ready to leave, when ‘she’ comes walking in.  The Fancy Lady slides right up next to me at the checkout counter. I can remember thinking she smelled so good, like peach or something.  Anyways, I didn’t catch what she was asking for, but old man Calderson- he’s the store owner- excuses himself and rushes off to fetch it, leaving me there waiting to pay.  While he’s gone, she looks down at me.  I can see her eyes through the veil, they are as blue as the open sky, and she’s got yellow hair.  She asks me my name, and I tell her it’s ‘Samuel mam, but you can call me-

“Saul,” I add. The boy shrugs as I’ve embarrassed him.

“Anyway, I remember her voice.  It was like mom’s, kind of soft, made me feel like home.  And when she spoke it made me feel important, know what I mean?”

“I do.”  I knew exactly what he meant.  Most adults don’t see kids.

“About that time Calderson’s back.  I get my eggs, pay the bill, and leave.”  His voice trails.  “That’s the only time I ever remember seeing her,” he says.  “Isn’t that funny?”

“What’s this have to do with killing,” I ask.

“I’m getting to it,” he says, “don’t rush me.  Now, where was I… oh yes.  The killing!  The Fancy Lady likes to put on shows in the saloon- you know, adult-type shows.”  He stops to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively.

“Go on.”  I can feel myself aging- he’s taking too long to get to the point!

“Word gets out.  The town preacher, by the name of Reynolds, gets all bent out of shape- says she’s a sinner that needs to ‘come to God.’  So does my mom,” he adds, “and most of the other ladies in town as well.  Someone paints the sign outside the city limits.  Folks get riled up.”  He looks at me, eyes glittering.  “It’s like a terrible storm has done blown into town, mister.

“After that, things happen fast, dogs start disappearing, then people.  It starts with a girl named Blanch, she’s from the class beneath me, she just come up missing one day.  Not a sign nor hair, they say.  Blackbirds start appearing, big murderous crows that take over the town square.  Something bad happens at the church.  No one says what, but overnight they board up all the doors and windows.  The Preacher disappears.”

He’s almost there, I can feel it.

“A couple of weeks ago this group gets together, my mom is one of them.  They arm themselves with pitchforks and shovels.  Some have guns.  They march into the saloon,” he says, eyes turned across the street.  “That’s the last I seen of them.”

“You’re telling me your mom’s been gone for two weeks?”

“Yep.”  Hard swallow.  “Everyone else, too.”

“And it’s only just you.”

“Seems so.”  Saul shrugs.

And why am I still here listening?  Why haven’t I gone? “What have you been doing all this time?”

“Hiding,” he says.  “I come out from time to time to get food, stuff like that, but mainly I hide…”

“In the building, where I was staying?”

He nods.

I think for a moment, formulate a plan, “Tell me more about the church,” I say.  Everything else seemed to make sense- at least as much as it could.  The church, however, …

“What about it?”

“Tell me what happened that night.”

“Told you, mister, I don’t know.”

“That’s not what you said.  You said, ‘no one said what happened,’ you never said you didn’t know.”

Something crosses his face, I can see it, even in the dark.  Fear, anger, something more.  “I think the Preacher tried to do something,” he blurts, “I think the Preacher tried to confront the Fancy Lady.”

“The same preacher that disappeared.”

“Uh-huh.  The same night the storm hit.”

“Storm.”

“Yep.  The one I was telling you about. Big’un.  Blew in from up north.  One enormous wall of darkness.  Tore everything up.  Folks around here called it a ‘derecho’, or something like that!  I’m telling you, mister, it wasn’t a storm, it was her.”  He’s pointing towards the saloon.  “She’s an evil spirit, mister.  She did something to my mom and everyone else.”

I turned away, not wanting to see the look in Saul’s eyes.  Revenge! I’d seen that look before, in my own eyes.  The belief that this ‘Fancy lady’ was the root of all his problems.

My mind drifted back to the sign, to when I first arrived.

Part Three to follow: