In the deep south of America in the arid state of Arizona lies the great scar of the earth - the Grand Canyon. Somewhere off the western tail can be found a little-known offshoot of the vast chasm called Polecat Valley. Someplace in Southern Polecat valley, in older times of cowboys and gunslingers, there once sat the town of Moonbrook. While the town was small and rather isolated, it was self-sustaining; Although the valley's soil was kept fertile by the Ewestail River and grass and other wild foliage grew bountifully the ground was rocky and untillable. Instead, the people operated dozens of dairy farms, making the place famous for their delectable cheese: also their staple diet. Moonbrook was the kind of town where secrets were nigh impossible to keep, where everyone knew everyone else and their business. While this generally kept the townsfolk in line, it meant that it was the kind of place where gossip could get you hanged, drawn and quartered. It was the kind of place where great stories were born, and that little town is where this one begins.
"Pour me another," ordered Marshall Charlie Boles, slamming his glass down on the bar.
"Alright, but I can't give you no more after this one," replied the barkeep, obliging him.
"You keep me sane, Bobbie," thanked the Marshall, and downed the glass of whiskey. It was late. They were the only two in the deserted saloon. The sounds of horsehooves and cartwheels and drunken rabble had died down not long ago and the town was asleep.
"Another."
"Suit yourself. Last one, Marshall." The lawman drank up. "Pray tell, sir, why do you always take your recreation time so late after the rest of the townsfolk?"
Boles snorted. "Drink with those good-for-nothin' fools? I think not. I'd sooner steer clear of the likes of Heathers McNulty and that drunk deadbeat Tom Parker. The people of this town leave much to be desired. Hell, my own deputee won't even leave his home after dark. Yeller belly fool." He slammed his drink. "Another."
Bobbie shook his head, "I'd feel irresponsible pourin' you another." He filled the glass anyway. "You ought to give the people of this town a chance, Marshall. Some of them are folk to ride the river with. Like that feller Chuck Williamson. Now there's a man with whom I'm mighty pleased to be aquainted."
"Don't you get me started on that Stick, Williamson," grunted the Marshall, gulping half his drink down, "Prancin' around these parts like he owns em'. This is my town, he'd do good to learn that."
As if on cue, the saloon doors flapped open and in walked Chuck Williamson himself. Bobbie did a double-take. Boles kept his eyes lowered. Williamson sauntered to the bar.
"Trouble ye for a whiskey, barkeep?" requested Williamson in a gruff voice.
"Certainly sir," replied Bobbie, trying to cover his excitement.
"How are you this fine evenin', Marshall?" he inquired, turning to Boles.
"Go jump in the river, Williamson," spat Boles.
"Cool your heels friend, I ain't tryin' to cause trouble," reasoned Williamson.
"I ain't your friend."
"Now, now Gentlemen, I don't want no rabble rousin' in my bar. Keep it civil. Here, have another drink on the house. I swear, this is the last drop I take from this bottle this night," moderated Bobbie.
"I apologise, Mr Dupree. Much obliged," thanked Williamson.
Bobbie began topping up the men's glasses, but before he'd filled them, a man's screams rang out and two gunshots sounded outside. Bobbie started and spilt whiskey all over the bar.
"What in blue blazes?" muttered Boles. Both he and Williamson set off outside and around the corner where the noise had originated from. The alley was dimly lit, but even in the bad light they could both make out the dark ruby stain trailing down into the distance. They walked slowly to the start of the dark ribbon and crouched to inspect it. Williamson wiped his finger on the soggy dirt and sniffed it.
"Yerp, that's blood alright," he confirmed.
"Damn. Who the heck went and done this?" wondered the Marshall.
"Vampires, I reckon," Williamson responded grimly. Boles gave him an incredulous look.
"Vampires? Have you gone soggy in the head, boy?"
"I have not, sir. Believe what you will, but this here is the work of bloodsuckin' fiends. Ain't nothin' worse," said Williamson, shaking his head. Boles continued to stare at him in awestruck disbelief.
"You heard the gunshots good as I did, some poor fool got shot here tonight, nothin' more," argued Boles.
"I have to disagree with you there, sir. I see no blood spatter consistant with that of a shootin'. I reckon the gun was an attempt at self defense" rebutted Williamson.
"And where's the gun now?"
"Taken, I reckon."
Boles glared at him. "Alright," said the Marshall slowly, "lets say I trust in this notion of creatures of the night. What makes you think this here is the work of one of em'?"
Williamson pointed to the spot where the blood began. "No poolin'. Had this been any other killin' the poor soul woulda been spurtin' before he got dragged off. If this was a vampire, which I believe it was, all that initial bloodloss would've gone directly to the creature's gut," he explained.
"Alright then, why the trail? Why would the beast drag a man away? Why not just leave him here to rot?" challenged Boles.
Williamson took off his hat and sighed. "Well sir, that's the worst part. Usually that's exactly what a vampire would do. Unless it intends on turnin' its victim."
"...Into 'nother vampire?"
"Yessir."
Boles stared at Williamson in shock for another few moments and then stood up. "Boy, you must be doped up or somethin' cause you ain't makin' no sense. G'wan home and get some rest afore someone tosses you in the river on suspicion of bein' posessed."
Williamson looked away and rung his hands around the brim of his hat. "If you don't mind sir, I'd like to patrol the streets, awhile longer, lest anybody else fall victim to the... killer," mumbled Williamson.
"Suit yerself," said Boles, and set off in the direction of the blood trail. Williamson stood up and watched the Marshall walk away. "Damn fool," he whispered, replaced his hat and left in the other direction.
))~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~((
I lost count of how many times I wrote "Boobie" instead of "Bobbie" there.
Anyway. Someone was turned into a vampire. Voting tiems.
[0] Char
[0] Vorrik
[0] IfEweWantBlood
[0] Knight of Arboria
[0] Tyme
[0] Ricky
[0] Engesa
[0] therealnancyr
[0] Chaos
[0] Gesh
[0] mhart29
[0] Zang
[0] Benyamin
[0] kreacherxluver
[0] redkneehighsocks
[0] frazzledog
[0] Robert
[0] Click
[0] zoethedotted
[0] bestusernameevar
[0] Norwegian
[0] Picnic
[0] Tiffany
[0] awsomeness
[0] Cooltiger