"THE PHANTOM GUNFIGHTERS OF RED RIVER CEMETERY."1. UNHAPPY SPIRITS.
John ‘Chicken Feet’ Tokes scratched his arse and pushed his greasy old hat back; then spat with some strength, muttering to himself with plenty of profanities thrown in. Standing before him was a freshly placed billboard announcing the development of Red River’s new shopping mall, right on top of John’s home for the last century, Red River Cemetery!
He turned and shouted to young Jeddah ‘Privy’ Parker and gestured towards the poster board with some anger; “God damn it ‘Privy’, those living bastards are about to rip up our homes for some Lilly-livered storekeepers to sell stinking dry goods and that new electrical shit!”
Young ‘Privy’ Parker wiped his face with a well soiled hankie and nodded; “So ‘Nervous’ Norman was right, the entire damn time, ‘bout the Town Council and their evil plans to tear up the old bone-yard!” The two earth bound spirits watched in disgust as the Bill Poster drove away in a battered old pickup. ‘Chicken feet’ cussed some more, then calmed a little; “Do you know that old man is the spawn of ‘Three hats’ McGee, who was the damn Sherriff here when they strung me up!” Young ‘Privy’ nodded again - he knew old John’s story - he had heard it for nearly a hundred years by now.
John Tokes was a gambler, womanizer, thief, robber, murderer and cattle rustler – when he was alive - but a good friend if he took a liking to you. John had killed a man for his pocket watch and five silver dollars in old Ma Taylors brothel on the edge of town and fled the scene, forgetting to collect his boots from under the bed of the ugly young whore ‘Gertie’.
When the Sherriff and two Deputies appeared on the scene, the only decent description the young whore could give was the murderer had ‘feet like a damn chicken' and had told her to 'squeal like a pig' when he fucked her in a very unnatural way. "You get the bastard Sheriff! I won't be able to sit right for a bloody week now." She shouted after the posse, whilst clutching her abused backside and walking slowly to the brothels 'Thunder box'.
Old Ma Taylor sighed and remembered that she hadn't been able to sit straight for a few days after Toke's last visit. Still, he always paid in silver coin, removed his hat and said 'thank you' when he finished; normally very quickly, much to her relief. She had worked various brothels since she was thirteen and very few clients surprised her with their strange desires. Well, except - maybe - that old Mexican who always stripped naked and hid under the bed shouting out various verses from the 'Koran' in French, whilst she lay fully dressed on the bed reading aloud from 'The Scarlet Letter'. He paid well and never touched her. She still had that copy of the damn book and actually remembered the strange old man with some affection, if she was really honest with herself.
Sherriff McGee and the posse caught John by the Reader’s farm on the South Road – he would have shot it out with them - but his damn pistol misfired and took off a finger. He was captured and returned to the town where a quick trial was held, and John was strung up for Murder two days later. Still lacking his boots, the strange, shaped feet drew a crowd around his body, when the Undertaker Silas Broadstreet, dropped him into a rough wooden box for his final journey to Red River cemetery.
The Sherriff: ‘Three hats’ McGee was congratulated by the town’s people for the apprehension of the killer ‘John Chicken Feet Tokes’ and his subsequent hanging. Strangely enough, John wasn’t too happy with his hanging and refused to go anywhere with the strange young man who appeared and wanted to take him to the bright light. That was over a hundred years ago and now in the year 1979; ‘Three hat’s’ great-grandson had also pissed on John’s future happiness, and he wasn’t pleased about that either.
John turned to ‘Privy’ Parker and slapped him on the shoulder, then smiled; "I have a little idea about this crap; let’s get the gang together.” ‘Privy’ Parker sighed and wished his short time amongst the living had turned out better. Young Jeddah Parker had arrived in Red River to sell farming tools to the locals from a catalogue provided by his employers. But an urgent need for a call of nature had finished his time on Earth. Sitting on the ‘Thunder box’ [toilet] at the rear of the appropriately named ‘Destiny Saloon’ and struggling with the piles that plagued his young life; Jeddah had been killed by two drunks taking pot shots with their rifles at some Prairie chickens running about the yard. The two escaped the hangman because no-one knew or cared about the young stranger and; besides, everyone could see it was just a damn accident!
The Sherriff did make the dumb pair pay for the boy’s funeral and that was considered an end to the matter. The catalogue he was clutching when shot, was hung up in the ‘Privy’ and his company received several enquiries about some of the equipment displayed, but most commented on how soft the paper was and were sad when it finally ran out. No one could recall how it got in the ‘Thunder box’....But like John; ‘Privy’ told the Collector to ‘piss-off’ and was now stuck in the cemetery with a strange collection of spirits – and regretted his actions deeply – but never mentioned that fact to the other ghosts.
2. TALES FROM THE GRAVEYARD.
They walked back towards
the rear of the derelict cemetery with John still cussing and young ‘Privy’
nodding his constant agreement. Sitting upon his now unreadable tombstone,
which lay at an angle in the dirt, was Big Tom Hall. He raised his hat and
scratched his thick beard; “So ‘nervous Norman’ was right all the time; the
bastards are going to dump a pile of God damn stores on us!”
Big Tom had been the
Blacksmith here in the 1890’s – a very well-respected man who was nick-named
the ‘gentle giant’ – but Tom had married badly; Patricia Cox had been a saloon girl of dubious
character, but he adored her long legs and bright green eyes. Two children
later; young Patricia had enough of the ‘quiet life’ and conspired with her
lover to end the marriage, then run away to San Francisco and open a nice
little brothel.
Her skinny lover [but
well equipped in a certain department] was too afraid to go up against Big Tom;
So, Patricia resorted to a proper woman’s weapon: Poison. Rather cleverly, she
poisoned Big Tom over several weeks and each time the ailing big man saw Dr.
Joshua Boone, the drunken Doctor became more convinced that Tom was suffering
from ulcers. So, the night he coughed up blood and died in agony upon the floor
of the bedroom, Dr. Boone was happy to declare that Tom had died of a burst
ulcer. The grieving widow ensured that the good Doctor’s glass was kept well
filled with whisky, when he told the Sherriff of poor Tom’s death.
Now dead, Tom knew what
really happened and wasn’t about to join that pleasant young lady in the bright
light; he would stay and see justice done to his murdering, unfaithful wife.
Nearly a hundred years later; he was still waiting and pretty well pissed off
by it all.
Patricia had moved to San
Francisco, and after her lover’s mysterious disappearance
[well, it wasn't that 'mysterious'] - he had fallen into the freshly laid
concrete floor of their new barn – after being struck over
the head with a spade] and she opened a fine brothel with a
retired sea captain, who liked to dress as a Geisha Girl on the weekends – they
made a fortune together - until the 1906 earthquake flattened their
establishment. The captain was killed, and Patricia buried him, resplendent in
his favourite ball gown clutching a photo of Oscar Wilde.
Patricia left for new adventures in the Californian Goldfields with her
daughter Caroline; they made a fortune from the woman hungry prospectors and
finally retired to Washington D.C. where they became prominent Republicans and
charity workers. They both died in their beds; wealthy and happy. Big
Tom’s son; Alistair, became a Music Hall turn, alcoholic and depressive maniac;
he shot himself in front of a shocked audience one summer night and wasn’t
happy about being sent to hell [quarantine] for his trouble. He did look for
his mother and sister in that particular establishment and was further shocked
to find neither was in residence!
“Death’s a strange old game.” He muttered as the pleasant young demon Simon,
escorted him to purgatory, to serve a century in quarantine before being
allowed back into the human lifecycle. Big Tom was oblivious to all this,
but still was very unhappy about his murder, and now nearly a century later he
knew that his case was long forgotten, even unknown, like the name on his
headstone. He joined ‘Privy’ and ‘Chicken feet’ by the remains of the old
Chapel which had burnt down in 1905 after being struck by lightning.
The Reverend Theodore
Bass-Stokes ushered them into the building and listened patiently to what
‘Chicken feet’ had in mind. The Reverend had died in his Chapel that stormy
night, praying hard and clutching the Bible, seeking God’s eternal mercy; he
received none and burnt to death. The only piece of luck that night was that
Lupe, the little Mexican girl he had been abusing, had gone home early to
her mother; suffering with toothache.
The Reverend had carefully avoided the nice young Collector and his generous
invitation to enter the light; Theodore knew where he was headed after death
and decided to take his chances amongst the still living – after all - the
Almighty had given humans the wonderful gift
of ‘free will’ and the Reverend didn’t have to the will for a trip to Hell and
so elected to stay here for free. The four spirits
waited in the gathering gloom of nightfall for the fifth member of their
little gang; ‘Nervous’ King Norman who had predicted the terrible fate that
awaited their little cemetery. King Norman was a very small, be-speckled little
man; often mistaken for a Store Clerk or Lawyer when he was breathing. He
suffered from shaking hands and had a pronounced stutter – sometimes his left
eye would also twitch - normally just before he killed his latest assignment.
King Norman was a first class hired killer and had dispatched nearly twenty
souls over the years he followed his profession.
Like his now best friend the Reverend; he too had chosen to remain amongst the
living as a ghost. He was still a little upset about his own death on the Red
River ‘Flyer’ – he never saw it coming - and was very surprised to die in the
sparely populated carriage, as the train pulled into Red River Station
that winter evening in 1929. He was travelling to the city of Houston to dispatch a certain mob bookkeeper
for having ‘sticky fingers’, but had imbibed too much whisky and feeling
hungry, started to eat a bag of peanuts. That was the finish of the small man
and he choked to death in front of his astonished [and medically challenged]
fellow passengers.
‘Nervous’ had the dubious honour of being the last person buried in the old
cemetery – from the following day - the new graveyard was open for business. He
had no family to claim his body and thus the little man - but big killer -
became a resident spirit of old Red River Cemetery.
3. A STRANGER IN THE CEMETERY.
Fifty years since that
burial, the Town council could now use the land for another purpose and was
drawing up plans for a new shopping mall; they had advertised in both local and
state papers the demise of the old cemetery; but no living relatives of anyone buried there, came
forward to object. It appeared that the cemetery was now vulnerable to
re-development.
There was one glimmer of
hope for the dead residents; a local History teacher was trying to raise a
petition to stop the development and have the cemetery declared a site of
national heritage; but she wasn’t, so far, having much luck because no one of
any real importance was interned there. Probably the most important and well
know resident was Mrs. Fanny Pickwick [1848 – 1899] who was famous for being the
only woman - in the entire history of the Continental United States of America
- to die after being savaged by a house mouse!
Apparently, a mouse bit her finger as she moved a bowl in her pantry; the wound
became septic and she died slowly of blood poisoning. Ms. Lisa Sands [the good
teacher] did acknowledge that the story probably wouldn’t have hordes of
tourists flocking to Red River cemetery, but it was a start. She had some great
ideas about 'souvenirs' for the tourists; little china mice with blood-stained
fangs, miniature hanging trees, complete with dangling outlaws and certificates
allowing you to sponsor a grave for just a few dollars. It was all still in the
planning stage, but Lisa believed it showed promise!
The five spirits talked all night about the impending destruction of their home
and it was ‘Chicken feet’ that came up with a possible solution; threaten the
Town Council with supernatural fear and violence!
Young ‘Privy’, with a
large sigh and very little enthusiasm, asked how they [the ghosts] could affect
the living enough to get the bastards to drop their plans for the old Red River
cemetery. That’s when ‘Chicken feet’ dropped a little bombshell into the
conversations. He reminded them of the visitor that had appeared after the
‘Collectors’ had departed; he offered them help with adjusting to being dead –
including a little poltergeist action - if they required or needed it. They all
nodded their remembrance of the stranger, who had appeared to each one in turn
as they died and refused their ‘Collector’. But he had certainly promised to
help out if needed and would send someone to aid them.
John Tokes smiled broadly
and slowly removed the small whistle from his top pocket where it had lain
since the day of his quick and impromptu hanging.
“If I blow this whistle the stranger will appear and we can strike a deal with
him; give us just 24 hours back in the land of the living and we’ll teach those
bastards that they can’t mess with us; are we all agreed?”
There was silence amongst
the group for some seconds, then Tom Hall sighed loudly and raised his right
hand; “This is all we have, all that’s left of us; those bastards are not
taking it.” He said quietly and looked at each fellow spirit in turn, adding;
“We must do it.” There was a murmur of agreement and John Tokes lifted the
whistle to his lips, taking a deep breath, he blew hard with no sound emitted.
“Its fucking broke!”
Declared young ‘Privy’ with real bitter disappointment in his voice and
everyone gathered about ‘Chicken Feet’ and started talking about the useless
whistle and what to do next. That’s when the Reverend called for silence and
whispered quietly; “There’s a stranger in the cemetery!”
All eyes turned to the gateway and the lone figure on horseback, Privy Parker
gasped; "It's the Stoned Ranger!" And it was, he's real name was
Winston Halfpenny, when he still breathed, but now he was known simply as the
'Stoned Ranger' due to love and constant use of Cannabis. He smoked more
than a coal fired power station.
The little group approached quietly; Winston was also famous and well known for
one other habit; he was really quick with his pistol and rarely missed: the
nervous reverend waved a hand and shouted; "Winston!" The bullet
passed through his hat, and he used words that would make a Turkish brothel
keeper blush, never mind a man of God. He slowly picked up his hat and poked a
long skinny finger into the hole and shuddered. The reverend had unlawfully acquired
the expensive bonnet from the casket of John Bateman, after the undertaker had
left the newly departed in the Chapel overnight for burial the next day.
Theodore had made a good
deal of money robbing the dead - just before their interments - and then
reclosing the coffins. Nobody in the
then small town knew or even suspected that the 'good reverend' was a grave
robber; as well as a child molester, drunk and general arsehole [as his late
mother always called him.] "Sorry about that reverend." Winston
muttered, sliding from his horse [who was called Bronze because of his colour] and fell into an
undignified heap upon the dirt; a large reefer clutched between his teeth.
Winston lifted the brim of his 'twenty gallon' hat [he never did anything by
half] and waved a hand about; "God damn it boys, you could have whistled
at a better time. I was just about to poke little Mary, that ugly Indian whore
that lives by the old mine shaft." He grunted and wiped his face;
"Now it’s a fucking Bowling Alley and Indian Museum. You have to be quick
fucking that bitch; otherwise, you get a fucking bowling ball up your
arse!" He giggled and tried to stand and failed. He wished his loyal
friend 'Pronto' the Apache Indian Scout was about to help out.
But Pronto was still in
his Tee-pee finishing yet another meal. The overweight Indian had acquired his
nickname because he never did anything in a hurry. He was also a terrible
scout; once, whilst scouting for a Union Army Calvary troop chasing a renegade
band of Apaches, who were raiding local farmsteads, he followed the tracks for
two weeks and the Calvary attacked a heard of Bison. He just escaped with his
life over that little 'mistake', but the boot marks on his arse stayed for some
time. Wisely, he didn't work for the army after that.
He was - uniquely - for a
supposed Apache warrior, the only one who had to tie up his horse when he
wasn't actually sitting on it. Otherwise 'Bow Back' [his unfaithful and very
disloyal little pony] would simply disappear. The damn horse had decamped so
many times that Pronto had resorted to tying both its front and back legs
together when he dismounted. But like most Indian 'braves', he loved his horse.
But 'Bow back' hated his guts and would bite him at any opportunity. If the
horse took any more mouthfuls of the large Indian; it would be the first horse
in history to become a carnivore!
"Pronto may join us
when he's finished his dinner, you know the fat bastard loves his food."
Winston grinned and staggered to his feet, pulling his cock out and pissing
against the cemetery wall. His steaming urine turned the grumbling red
brickwork a strange but wonderful pale white; it could make him a fortune as a
rust remover, if he could get the damn stuff bottled!
"I hear you fella's
are having problems with the damn living?" He wiped his hands on the
reverend's frock coat and re-lit his giant reefer. "Well, let’s head for
the damn church, drink some whisky, smoke some more shit and sort those
bastards out."
Everyone agreed with
that, and the ramshackle little group headed for the church, where the reverend
kept a good store of cheap whisky - so bad
that if you were still alive - it would probably kill you! This stuff wasn’t
just ‘Frontier whisky’ – the sort that was sold in really cheap saloons – this
‘whisky’ was used to light lamps and reluctant fires, it could remove rust from
almost anything and was poured down toilets when bleach was in short supply. To
be honest, you were probably better off drinking the damn weak bleach of these
times. ‘Sipping whiskies’ were popular in these times and this whisky was known
as ‘burying whisky’ amongst it’s devotees.
4. 'THE GRAVEYARD GANG STRIKE!'
The first 'lesson' for
the living took place in the local Junior School. The boys from the cemetery
were now called the 'Graveyard Gang' [not very original; but they thought it
was appropriate and funny: to them] Privy Parker had suggested they all wear
t-shirts emblazoned with the catchy logo; SAVE THE FUCKING CEMETERY! But he was
out voted by everyone else. John Tokes told his friend that the idea was
'absolute crap'. Privy also objected to scaring young children but was outvoted
yet again; the 'Graveyard Gang' really believed in democracy as long as you
agreed with them, or they would shoot you. So on that faithful morning, with
the help of the 'Stoned Ranger' they crossed back over into the land of the
living. They headed up Main Street to the old school, passing Ambrose Snorkel
laying on the bench outside the Post Office – he was the town drunk and had
been since returning from the Korean War in 1953 – he watched the spirits go
past with some amazement and a little puzzlement: he raised his bottle of
‘Burying Whisky’ and shouted “Hooray from…for… the sprang starred
bladder!”
Then pissed himself and
fell back to sleep oblivious to the angry, mischievous spirits and well,
reality in general: old Ambrose was a rare army veteran in that he had his
‘Purple Heart’ medal revoked by act of Congress. It had been decided that being
shot in the arse whilst running – drunk as a brewery rat - away didn’t count as
a wound suffered in combat!
Ms Lisa Sands stood in
the front of the chalkboard and tried to interest her small group of eight
years olds in the American Constitution and wasn't having much success. When
she asked her class, who was the first President, of the newly formed United States of America,
little John Hardball stuck up his hand. She smiled and told him to tell the
class. He stood, wiped his nose, and stated, "Elvis Presley Ma'am."
Somewhat disappointed, she went around the class; the replies varied from 'John
Wayne to Roy Rogers'. It was a Western town after all.
One little girl - Nancy
Carter - was absolutely convinced that 'Cinderella' had been the first
president. Ms Lisa didn't even try and bother to change her mind. She slumped
behind her large desk and just sighed; she now believed her mother had been
right about teaching. She wanted her daughter to be a waitress and dancer in a
'Tits bar' [like she had been] the money and hours were much better, and you
didn't have a pack of moronic kids to deal with every day.
The Graveyard Gang stood
at the back of the class and just stared at each other; none of the children
could see them [neither could the teacher] John Tokes spat the words out -
somewhat frustrated - "What fucking good is this? How the fuck can we
scare them?" The 'Stoned Ranger' just grinned and walked up behind the
despondent teacher and pulled her chair away. Ms Lisa bounced on the floor,
legs kicking in the air. Her skirt flew up displaying
her bright red panties, emblazoned with the logo; 'BLACKS ONLY.' Strange what respectable
teachers actually liked to wear? She jumped to her feet, pulling down her skirt
and stared at the laughing class; they were all still sitting in their
seats.
The 'Stoned Ranger' had
not finished just yet. He lifted a pile of books and carried them to the window
and threw them against it. Glass and books crashed to the floor. Now that did
get a proper reaction; all the children ran from the classroom screaming; but
Ms Lisa was first out the door, pushing some very fast brats out the way.
Several minutes later old George Cobb - the school caretaker - appeared with a
broom and started to clear the mess up. The 'Stoned Ranger' grabbed the broom
off him and shoved it somewhere very unpleasant. The old man ran from the room;
quite awkwardly it must be said, and the spirits left the building laughing.
They hit the local
supermarket next. The 'Stoned Ranger' stood behind the checkout girl who was
young, bored and totally disinterested in her job; he tapped away at her cash
register keys and old Granny Rose Coleman fainted when the dopey girl told her; "That'll
be twenty-two thousand dollars and sixteen cents please." The old woman
had only bought bread, milk and cat food. She hadn't seen the enormous total
building up on the cash register because she had forgotten her bloody glasses -
again. Tom Hall tried out his new 'powers' and threw cans of beans down the
'Bargain's Alley', catching the store manager running to assist the old woman;
he flew across the floor and brought down the pyramid of washing powder. John
Tokes smashed the glass on the fire switch and the sprinklers came on. The
store manager disappeared in a cloud of foam.
They returned to the
cemetery in high spirits [pun unintended! - well sort of....] While the town
council was summoned to an emergency meeting; the last one was, on the evening
of President Kennedy's assassination. They got together to vote on sending
a wreath; the vote was lost by 9 to 1. The town was mainly Republican. The
small chamber was in absolute uproar and chaos. Mayor Mac McGee [yes, he was a
descendent of the sheriff who strung up John Tokes] actually fired
his pistol - out the window - to bring order in his council chamber. He sent
Sheriff Harold Goat to collect the unfortunate pigeon that landed with a splat
on police car parked outside. Deputy Sheriff Roy Glands stepped out and
stared at the dead bird that had shattered his windscreen, with some amazement
and surprise.
After three hours of
talking and shouting [lots of shouting] it was decided that the town needed expert
assistance to deal with the 'poltergeist' problem that now infected the small
town. Everyone was talking and shouting at each other when the awful sound
of nails being scratched down the mayors chalk board silenced the
unruly crowd. They all turned and saw the figure by the chalk board; he
pushed back his hat and loosed his long dark frock coat. They could see the
bright red waistcoat and fob watch chain. He stared about the room and sighed,
speaking softly, but with great authority. "It appears you have
poltergeist problem people. I'll deal with it, but it will cost you. Cost you
lots." He walked slowly through the silent crowd and sat on the mayor’s
desk. He rubbed a hand over his chin; "My team will deal with your little
problem - alone - and with no interference from anyone." He stared at the
Mayor and Sheriff - who was clutching a dead pigeon - "We do this my way
or no way." He added and waved to the door. "This is my gang. They
are the best. I don't hire anyone but the best. The big fella is ‘Ghoulie’
Wilson; they don't come much meaner; he'll floor a shape shifting spirit in seconds. Don't mess with
him; he's mean as a prairie dog with dysentery and nowhere to crap." He
gestured to the young man, who raised his hat, but didn't smile; "Don't be
fooled by his kid looks people; ‘Ouija' Board Jones' has sent more bad boy
demons back to hell, than most of you have chewed corn on the cob at the County
Fair. Naughty spirits wet their spectral shorts when he's on their
case." He finally pointed to the young woman, standing hand on hip and
clutching a well worn 'Gladstone' bag. She did actually smile; a little.
"The broad is 'Doc' Alex. She can surgically remove a troublesome ghost
with ease. She's also good at giving the odd demon a good kicking, if the treatment
calls for it. That's my team people. The best." He eased off the desk and
folded his arms, nodding at the mayor who just stared at him.
Alex sighed;
"Broad?" and folded her arms quite unhappy with that description. The
mayor banged his gavel down several times and shouted; "Now what the hell
are we going to do about these damn ghosts?" Everyone went back to
shouting and finger pointing, pushing past Jericho and grouping around the mayor’s
big desk. The team stood in the corridor outside and Owen just had to laugh.
"I guess none of them have watched 'Jaws'."
Jericho sighed;
"Let's find a hotel and book in." was all he said. They walked to the
door and a strange looking young man appeared next to them - he had just come
out the gents - he smiled. "I heard what you said mister; those dumb fucks
have no idea who the hell they're dealing with. I can tell you now that
murdering robber John 'Chicken feet' Tokes is behind this. His got the other
spirits all worked up about the new shopping mall and they're getting help from
a real dark character called the 'Stoned Ranger'. I think he's direct from
Hell."
Jericho stared at
the young man and smiled, but didn't shake the damp hand offered; "And you
are?" Owen stood behind Wilson checking his mirror. He had to laugh and
whispered to Alex; "That's Gilda Cockermouth - The local Undertaker and
town historian - he's a 'passer'. He can communicate with the dead." Alex
just grunted; "I do know what a bloody 'passer' is." Wilson folded
his arms; "Well, he could prove useful. He works and chats with the dead -
a bit like us really - and he knows which earth-bound spirits are involved
here." Alex nodded, then grimaced; "Yeah, but he's called Gilda, for
Christ sake, who the hell calls their son Gilda?"
Owen shrugged his shoulders;
"Someone who desperately wanted a daughter?" Alex just sighed; she
needed a drink and patted her old 'Gladstone' bag. It rattled a little; filled
with the team’s emergency supply of brandy. "I think we're going to need
another bloody bag full before this lark is over." She whispered to Wilson
who could only agree. Owen rubbed his chin, thinking. “That must be really
handy – being a passer – if you’re an undertaker; at least you’ll know exactly
what your clients want.” Wilson grunted; “Or a big bloody nuisance if they want
to bloody complain.” Owen shrugged his shoulders; he hadn’t thought of that.
5. THE UNDERTAKER.
They left the town
meeting - all still shouts and loads of cussing - and followed young 'Gilda'
into the quiet street. Deputy Ray sat on the hood of his Dodge reading
'Playboy' - the guns and giant tits Easter Special - He smiled at Alex.
"Nice piece of skirt you got there Miss Giddy. I bet you'd love to see her
laid out on your slab in just a flimsy
shroud." He chuckled and went back to reading his magazine. The
young woman with size 36DD's had caught his eye; she was holding the new Magnum
Colt Python 357 without using her
hands: he whistled and turned the page, adjusting his crotch.
Gilda showed the team
into his Funeral parlour and offered whisky all round; now that was really
gratefully accepted. He eased himself down on the coffin against the wall;
after quickly slamming down the lid on old Mrs. Norah Parker - a late widow of
the town who strongly disproved of alcohol, laughing, sex and happiness
generally - and sipped his whisky. "There are several earth-bound spirits
infesting the old graveyard. Five have formed a little gang - the graveyard
gang - and are being assisted by a spirit from outside. I think he's the big troublemaker
here and he appears to have the power to manifest spirits into the real world
of the living. He’s probably a bloody poltergeist. He's usually
accompanied by a large Indian spirit who, rather strangely, rides a pony that
has its legs tied up."
Owen sighed; "The
bloody graveyard gang. Now that shows real imagination." Wilson had to
chuckle at that. Alex looked about the modest parlour and immediately noticed
the 'Naked Teen Cheerleader Calendar of 1979' on the opposite wall, next to an
array of the latest coffins available. There was even one that boasted a phone and fax
machine. She rubbed her chin and wondered about that; who the hell would have
use for that after they died? Owen saw where she was looking and said softly;
"Look at the name of that particular coffin; it’s called the 'Optimist'
model and its nearly fifty dollars more than the rest." Alex really had to
smile at that. Bloody living humans she thought and sighed.
"I guess you’re the
experts, but I would love to help. So would Miss Sands - the school ma'am -
she's trying to save the old cemetery from redevelopment. She would love to
meet you all." Gilda smiled at Wilson when he spoke about Ms Sands; it was
a small town after all and Ms Sands was well known, regarding what she liked in
men; they had to be big and black. Well; big in one particular part anyway.
Jericho nodded and
grimaced; 'Frontier whisky' tasted like paint stripper but was better than no
whisky. Alex had taken a few sips and placed the glass down; she whispered to
Wilson that the stuff appears to have loosened some of her teeth. Wilson tipped his glass into the giant
Asphirstdaisa plant by the door and checked his own teeth. Owen swallowed the
whisky down and looked for more. His
three bemused colleagues all stared at him.
Owen shrugged his
shoulders and refilled his glass; "You should have tried the beer the
Monastery brewed. It was nicknamed - by the locals - 'Lazarus's Piss'. It was
so potent that it could revive the dead." He sipped the dreadful stuff and
added; "We also used it to fuel our lamps when candles were in short
supply." Wilson had to admire the Monks fortitude and thrift in such
matters.
"I'll take you over
to old Ma Sanders boarding house; she always has empty rooms. Her late husband
was a Colonel. I buried him myself."
Gilda finished his 'whisky' and jumped from the coffin lid. He slapped a
hand against the photo of the 'Optimist Coffin' and grinned, adding: "He's
the only one to buy that damn model and there's a frigging hilarious story
about that." Owen looked a little impressed; "Did her husband run
restaurants? You know, was he THAT Colonel Sanders?"
Gilda shrugged his
shoulders; "No." was all he said and opened the door. He almost
jumped from his ill-fitting suit. Young Nancy Carter was in the doorway, scratching
her fanny. She grinned; "You got a customer Miss Giddy; old man Parish has
croaked it; finally." She chuckled and walked off, singing a little song
about a chain gang and whipping
Negro convicts. Her father was head of the local KKK chapter. Wilson stopped in
the doorway and stared at the big Asphirstdaisa plant; it had curled up and
turned a little brown. He gulped and wiped his brow. He wouldn't mention that
to Owen or Jericho.
Gilda also wiped his
face; "Old man Parish has been dying for years and he's fully paid
up." He actually rubbed his hands together. "Come on, let’s get to Ma
Sanders. Old Parish can wait for a few more hours; he isn’t going anywhere, is
he?" The team had to nod at that statement. They passed the
Collector - little Ali - and the unhappy looking Mr. Parish as they slowly
walked to the boarding house.
Parish nodded to Gilda
and told him to bury himself in just his underpants. Apparently, his best suit
still had lots of wear left and his wife could get a few dollars for it.
Gilda nodded and wished him a fond farewell. They stood outside the boarding
house - a big dilapidated, rambling old house - and Gilda hid behind the old
horse trough, while Jericho banged on the door.
Owen stared at the young
man - on all fours - behind the trough and just had to ask why.
"What are you doing
Gilda?" Owen said and Gilda looked up and didn't smile. "I set the
fax machine in old Sanders coffin to activate a week after he was put under. It
went to his wife's machine in her office. It was really funny; I had it say
that he had been sent to hell for molesting children and shooting her old dog
years ago. She had a major stroke and now walks with a limp. She doesn't like
me very much. Every time I go near her to apologise, she pulls out her old
scatter gun [shotgun] and tries to blow my fucking head off."
Owen nodded; "I'm sure she'll see the funny side in time." Gilda
shook his head; "That was five years ago, when my late mum still ran the
parlour. I ain't holding my fucking breath."
Owen looked up to see the
limping, angry looking Ma Sanders standing in the doorway, talking to Jericho,
scatter gun slung over her shoulder. Owen turned back to speak to Gilda, but he
was crawling away on all fours. Jericho gestured for the team to enter; they
had a room each and dinner would be about an hour. Owen rubbed his hands
together and said to Alex; "Bloody excellent. I could eat a
Prairie dogs arse." Alex sighed, staring at the old house with its
peeling paint and upstairs windows were boarded up. "I would
suggest that you have probably got what’s on the bloody menu right." Was
all she said, and they followed Jericho and Wilson in.
They sat at the dining
table and poked at their plates. No one could work out what the meat was. It
seemed to take refuge under the hard potato's and soggy carrots. Finally,
Wilson put his fork down and folded his arms; "Well at the least the damn
whisky comes in a bottle." He muttered, remembering Gilda had poured
theirs from a small bucket, after carefully lifting the lid and peering in.
"It disappears pretty quickly if you leave the damn lid off for more than
a few minutes." He had informed them, smiling a little.
After apologising to the
grumpy old lady about their lack of appetite, the team headed for the local bar
and diner. They stood outside and Alex just folded her arms and said loudly;
"Really? We're going into a 'naked bar and grill' for
dinner?" Jericho shrugged his shoulders; "Do you want some steak
and fries? Proper brandy in a glass?" Was all he said, and Alex just
sighed; they trooped in. "Big Bill's Bouncing Hooters Bar and Grill' had several customers inside
and they found an empty table. There was, indeed, steak and French fries on the
menu. They all stared at the waitress. She must
have been about sixty, wearing fishnet stockings, short black
skirt and dirty apron. She was also topless. Alex actually ran a hand over her
face. Owen just groaned and Wilson chuckled. Jericho showed no emotion
whatsoever and ordered steak and fries all round with plenty of brandies.
Big Lil smiled broadly at
Wilson and leaned right over him; her huge saggy breasts almost slapping
against his face. "I'll get you some extra big boy. Lil looks after big
men like you. You can walk me home when I get off shift. My daughter Lisa would
love to meet you." She grinned and walked off, leaving Wilson wiping his
sweaty forehead. Alex tapped the table; "That's odd, she's called
Sands too: must be a common name around here." Alex had read her name
badge; 'Lillian Sands'. Jericho ignored her and called the briefing to order
and outlined his plan. They were quickly interrupted by two 'cowboys'.
6. FRONTIER JUSTICE STINKS!
The two men stood by
their table - unsmiling - and swigged bottles of beer. The tall, but fat one
pushed his hat back and gestured to Alex with his
bottle. He asked her what the fuck was she doing, sitting drinking with a
fucking N [he used the N word several times] and two queer boys, when there were
'real' men - like him and his friend - in the fucking place. The team didn't
say anything. Then the cowboy placed a hand on Alex's shoulder, informing her
that he would fuck her brains out in the back of his pickup. The other idiot
laughed like a hyena and shouted; "Hee-Haw!" several times. Alex
smiled at the tall fat man and punched him hard in the bollocks - Mike Tyson
would have been proud of that low flying right hook - and he collapsed on the floor,
saying something about fetching his mum between gritted teeth and watery eyes.
His friend swung his
bottle at Wilson, who simply grabbed him by his belt and threw him hard against
the jukebox which flared into life and played' Dixie Land' by Elvis Presley.
The fight started proper when all the other customers joined in. Bottles,
glasses, tables and chairs flew about the place. The bar owner: Big Bill Davis
fired his scatter gun into the ceiling; bringing down plaster and lights. Lil
laid out one man with a single punch and kicked him in the testicles for good
measure. The brawl was stopped by the arrival of Sheriff Harold Goat and his
deputies. Everyone agreed - except the team
[and big Lil] - that the four strangers had started it. The team was dragged
off - protesting loudly about the injustice of it - in handcuffs to the local
police station.
Deputy Ray, pushing Alex
into the back of his car, took quite a liberty with her magnificent heaving
breasts and received her knee swiftly and violently in his crotch. He hadn't
handcuffed her legs. Another deputy had to drive his car back to the jail. The
boys were thrown into one big cell with the town drunk that stank of alcohol
and urine. Ambrose raised his head off the urine stained floor and waved an arm
about; “Hooray from…for… the fucking sprang starred bladder!” Then flopped back down: in all the excitement
of having visitors; he had shit himself. Now that was really appreciated by the
boys…….[I’m being sarcastic there!]
Alex was pushed into a
small cell opposite, still in handcuffs. The sheriff rubbed his chin and smiled
at the boys; "You’re going before Judge Tyler Davis in the morning. He
takes a dim view of strangers causing trouble in our peaceful little town. It
was his brother’s place that you broke up. You'll probably do a few years in
the county jail for this." He turned to Alex and smiled broadly;
"Where you’re going, my nasty little hellcat, you damn won't be damaging decent men's
wedding tackle for some time. I hope you like licking pussy;
you'll be doing a lot of that in the County women's jail for some time to
come." Alex just stuck up a single finger and sat on the bed. The sheriff
disappeared down the dimly lit corridor, laughing. Jericho stepped over the
smelly drunk - who was laid on the floor, sleeping in a puddle of his own piss
and excrement - and sat on his bunk and sighed; "The bastards have taken
everything off us, including our mirrors, so we're stuck here: if anyone has
any good ideas; now's the time to speak up."
Wilson slumped on his
bunk and rubbed his face; "Maybe Gilda can post bail for us?" He said
with no real belief in the idea. Owen sat on his bunk and examined his arm;
some bastard had actually bit him, while he was squeezing the fucker's
testicles, fighting under the table [where they had both hid!]
The boys all grimaced and
held hands over their faces; the smell from the drunk was quite overpowering.
Owen coughed loudly; "Jericho, we really need one of your brilliant plans
and I mean right now." Wilson waved a hand across his face and agreed with
that statement. They sat in silence thinking and drew a blank. Then a young
deputy appeared and actually counted the prisoners, whilst consulting a piece
of paper. He nodded to himself and said, "Four males, that's right."
He turned to the 'woman's cell' and really smiled at Alex; "One female.
That's all correct."
Alex rose from the bench
and stood close to the bars and held out her handcuffed hands.
"These are really starting to hurt Sir. You couldn't take them off please.
I would be ever so grateful." The young man stood gripping his piece of
paper and said quietly; "Now, how grateful is that Miss?" He grinned,
eyes wide - brain obviously turned off - and his erecting dick was doing all
the thinking. Alex really smiled and played with the buttons on her blouse. Her
huge pert breasts moving up and down with her deep breaths; she was really
smiling.
"Really grateful
sir." She said quietly and slowly licked her moist lips. The young deputy
had his keys out in an instant and pulled open the cell door; he had forgotten
that Alex's legs weren't handcuffed [like dumb Deputy Ray earlier]. He lay on
the floor gasping, folded up in agony as Alex used his keys to release the
others. "I wonder how many are on duty tonight." Muttered Jericho to Wilson as they
dragged the groaning deputy into Alex's cell and locked the door.
Wilson carefully placed the officer’s service revolver on the small table by
the barred window. He shrugged his shoulders; he didn't know.
They peered through the
corridor door and saw a huge fat sergeant, feet up on his desk, snoring loudly.
There was no one else around. Alex pointed to a big, clear plastic bag on the
desk; marked 'Prisoners property'. They could see their mirrors and other
personal stuff inside.
Jericho held a finger up
to his lips and they sneaked in. He grinned broadly and tied the sleeping man's
bootlaces together and then grabbed the bag; they ran for it. The big sergeant
woke from his sleep to see his prisoners disappearing out the doors; he yelled
and jumped from the chair, falling flat on his fat face. The team made their
way quickly to the town hall - where their van was parked - and noticed that
the place was ablaze with lights.
They could hear the
shouting in the quiet street; the town council still hadn't decided what to do
about the bloody 'Graveyard Gang'. They could also hear police sirens; the
local coppers were now out in force. They had three dangerous villains to
apprehend and one very dangerous 'Ma Baker' to find; every officer told to make
sure to handcuff both her wrists and ankles, when they did capture her.
That's when they saw
Gilda, hiding behind a large black hearse parked opposite and gesturing for
them to come. They quickly joined him and squeezed
into the hearse. It could seat four, so Wilson [being the biggest] sprawled in
the back, next to the coffin. Gilda closed the
black curtains all round and told Jericho to hit the floor if a police
car passed. They wouldn't stop a hearse on its way to the morgue. Owen sat
behind Gilda as he pulled away. "I take it that's old man Parish in
there?" He said quietly. Gilda nodded; "Just made the pickup. You can
help me get him out, at my private morgue. I'm burying old Norah in the late morning;
most of the town will attend her funeral. She was very popular around here when
she was younger."
Owen nodded; "Nice
lady then." Gilda nodded again; "Yeah, she was the local hooker in
her younger days and apparently was good and very cheap." Alex just sighed
and folded her arms; she really could use a brandy now.
7. GILDA'S MORGUE AND ARTISTS
STUDIO.
The private morgue was
located in a beautiful old house, sitting in its own grounds. Gilda drove
through the ornate gates and then stopped; jumping out to close and lock them
behind the hearse. He pulled up outside and gestured to the house - which was
much admired by the team - and told them; they could hide out in the flat
above. They decamped from the hearse and Wilson volunteered to help Gilda move
the coffin into the morgue. Gilda grinned; "I have a special cart stored
around the back; it allows me to move the boxes about single handed. But a
little help would be great. Thanks man."
The team trooped in and
was further impressed; the inside looked like a Victorian French brothel. The
centre piece was a painting of a young woman - stark naked - holding up a
wreath, to a crying angel, who for some reason; was also a naked young woman.
Jericho stared at the picture in amazement. "Now that is unusual in a
morgue." He muttered and shook his head.
Owen stared hard at the
picture and smiled; "I wonder who the models were." Gilda appeared
behind him and slapped his back; "That's my mum and the angel was my aunt
Sophie. My old grandfather painted it. He was always painting young women
naked. This place used to be his funeral parlour, office and studio." He
gestured up the grand staircase; "The living apartments are up there.
You'll find a good stock of booze in the kitchen...." He never finished
his sentence; the team had disappeared up the stairs!
Gilda shrugged his
shoulders and headed for the morgue - at the rear - to fetch his
trolley. The team settled in the large reception room with a bottle of
brandy - which was very good quality - and sprawled on the vivid red sofa and
chairs. There was another painting above the fireplace; a group of naked young
girls, apparently mourning the Christ, outside his cave tomb. Owen was puzzled
by that; "Didn't women wear more clothes than that, in those days?"
Alex sipped her most welcome brandy and muttered; "Artistic license I
expect." She stared at the picture and added; "And a dirty, perverted
old painter of course."
Jericho slapped his feet
upon the footstool and checked his mirror. "The angel - a real one that
does actually wear clothes - has ordered us to put an end to the naughty
poltergeist activity around here. It gives
decent dead people a bad name. She wants it stopped."
"And how do we do
that with the local police chasing our butts?" Wilson stood in the doorway
and smiled; accepting a glass of brandy from Owen. He slumped in an armchair by
the fireplace and stared at the painting and just sighed. He jerked a thumb
towards the picture; "Gilda says his old grandfather used the attics as
his studio and it’s full of paintings like this. Gilda apparently, has
inherited the old man's talent and does some painting himself."
Alex smiled; "That's
nice. What's his subject?" Wilson sighed; "He paints dead people."
and slowly drained his glass. Alex just rolled her eyes and finished her
brandy. "There's one in the upstairs loo; the Christ raising the dead in
front of a group of naked young women." She grimaced; "He's naked too
and the dead isn't the only bloody thing that's been raised up."
Owen refilled her glass
and Alex almost smiled; "If Christ was that well equipped, he wouldn't
have needed a bloody wooden cross to hang from." That puzzled Owen and he
was about to say something, when Alex held up a hand; "Don't ask. Just
don't ask. Bloody monastery." Was all she said, and Owen sat down; none
the wiser, but Wilson did smirk to himself. "Well, at least, he was a
religious old pervert."
Gilda wandered in and sat
on the sofa with Owen; "I've been listening to my CB in the hearse, the
police are out in force and have even asked for State
trooper assistance. You had better lay low for a few days until
you can get out the County." Jericho nodded and thanked him
for his assistance. That's when the doorbell sounded and
Gilda leapt up muttering that he wasn't expecting anyone. It was just a few
minutes before he returned with Lisa Sands in tow. She really smiled at Wilson
and even pulled a chair over, sitting next to him. He groaned to himself and
poured another brandy. Alex and Owen just chuckled.
"Those bloody
troublesome spirits have raided the old cinema. It was showing 'Blythe Spirits'
- again - and they caused mayhem. Throwing ice cream about and causing the
projector to run backwards. Good job its only customers were drunks and young
courting couples. No one really noticed until they [the spirits] set the fire
alarm off. Even then, one young couple had to be prised apart and shown the
exit," Lisa explained, accepting lemonade from Gilda. "They're really
unhappy about the old cemetery being bulldozed and turned into a shopping
mall." She added; smiling at Wilson and crossing her legs several times -
slowly - so that he got the message about what's on offer. Owen sighed and quietly
grunted; "Unhappy? No shit Sherlock."
Alex turned to Jericho;
"How are we going to tackle the buggers when the local police are all over
the place, looking for us?" Jericho rubbed his chin; "That's a
very good question Alexandra. We need to disguise ourselves somehow."
Gilda smiled and walked to some louver doors - painted bright orange [come
on, it is the 1970's!] - And threw them open; it was large walk-in
wardrobe. He gestured inside; "I also supply the costumes for our annual
Founder's Day Pageant and Fourth of July Parade. There's lots of good stuff in
here."
Jericho nodded and
muttered; "Why not?" He wandered over and started
rummaging amongst the costumes. Wilson joined him - with Lisa very close
behind - followed by Owen and Alex. They both smiled at each other; they had
noticed that Lisa's dress - which was knee length when she came in - was now
barely covering her thighs! Alex grunted; "Why doesn't she just pull
her knickers down and wave them under his bloody nose?" Owen chuckled at
that.
8. GUNFIGHT AT THE 'KO' CARPARK.
The hearse pulled into 'King Oliver's'
hardware store's car park and Gilda
switched off the lights. He smiled to himself over his choice of costume; he was
dressed as a Victorian Undertaker!
Jericho adjusted his
small bowler hat and checked himself out in the wing mirror; he was dressed as
Sheriff Wyatt Earp [of course he would be...] and was well pleased. Owen,
rather strangely, had chosen to dress up as a bloody Monk! Everyone had just
stared at him, but he didn't care. Alex smoothed down her culottes and straightened
her pistol belt. "Bloody Annie Oakley; fantastic." She said quietly
and really did smile at Lisa, who was dressed as a 'Saloon Bar tart'. Her dress
was so short, that it left nothing to the imagination. But Lisa sighed; she
wasn't happy that Wilson couldn't see it.
He was in the coffin! A
big black man in the small town would have stuck out like a skyscraper in a
desert, so he was in the coffin. He thought it a
wise decision, considering a lot of white policemen were after him. No one had
seen his costume yet.
"It’s almost
midnight. I told 'Privy' Parker that he must get the buggers here at
midnight." Gilda informed everyone and took a swig from a coke bottle
filled with 'whisky' and gasped a couple of times. He rubbed his mouth; for
some strange reason his teeth felt a little loose. Jericho snapped open his fob
watch and happily nodded; "Midnight. Brilliant Gilda, now we just
have to wait for the cavalry." The 'cavalry' Jericho was talking about was
- of course - Oscar the Guardian, who had the authority to compel reluctant
spirits into the light. Herbie the Collector would also be in attendance.
Jericho had told the pair to dress for the party - sorry; shootout - and they
did.
Alex slapped a hand over
her face and actually groaned a little. The pair was walking over to the
hearse and for reasons only known to himself, Herbie was dressed as
Julius Caesar. Little Oscar was fitted out as King Kong! But he still had
his Staff of Moses gripped in one paw.
Jericho just sighed;
"Somehow the message must have been mixed up. I did say it was a shootout
in the Wild West." He wound the window down and greeted the strange
looking pair. Being diplomatic; he didn't mention the cock-up on the costume
front. Everyone decamped from the hearse and Owen climbed in the back and
banged on the coffin; "Come on big man! It's Showdown time!" He
received loud snoring in reply.
"I didn't think they
would be that comfortable." He muttered to a giggling Alex who just
smiled; "The big man can sleep anywhere. I think he could snooze
through bloody Krakatau erupting." She whispered. Oscar was chatting
with Lisa - very happily - he was really interested in her costume and really
interested in what it contained. She was showing everything that a young dwarf
could want; after being dead for over two hundred years!
Gilda suddenly pointed to
the closed store; "Their here." He said simply. The 'Stoned Ranger'
led his boys into the car park in silence. They were all there; John 'Chicken
Feet' Tokes, Big Tom Hall, the perverted reverend, 'Privy' Parker, King Norman
the Killer and of course; Pronto the Indian Scout, eating a large family
sized pizza. His horse was tied up - literally tied up - next to the 'Stoned
Ranger's' faithful mount.
Oscar lifted his ape mask
and sighed; "Bloody Kevin. He's a Tier three demon, normally disguises
himself as a woman. No wonder, no one could fathom out who the bloody 'Stoned
Ranger' really was." Jericho grunted and pulled up his gun belt, pushing
back his hat. "Let me do the jawing." He spat on the tarmac and
adjusted his silver star. "Saddle up people." He added and pushed his
long black frock coat back; revealing a pair of truly
magnificent pearl handled Colt 45's.
Gilda stared at them and
said softly to Lisa; "I don't remember them coming with that costume...or
any costume." Lisa nodded and asked Oscar if dwarfs were as well equipped.
The little man grinned and whispered into her ear. Lisa broke into a huge
smile; "Really, like Sea Biscuit...." She didn't finish because the strange
'shootout' had started after Jericho and the 'Stoned Ranger' traded the
customary insults.
Kevin - the real name of
the 'Stoned Ranger' - called Jericho a pansy and Easterner. Jericho retorted
with 'Your mother slept with her hair in curlers'. Kevin stuck up two fingers
and called Jericho a 'a bloody store clerk; who probably arranges flowers in
his spare time. Jericho informed Kevin, that he probably worked in a
library in HIS spare time. Owen folded his arms and said quietly to Alex;
"I really don't think much of the bloody insults. Did they really talk
like this before shootouts?" Alex shrugged her shoulders; she didn't know.
Strangely enough, she wasn't a bloody expert on Wild West insults or shootouts!
Jericho drew first and
fired off both pistols.
The infamous 'Gunfight
at the KO car park' was underway. It lasted less than a human
minute. Oscar grabbed Kevin with his Staff and cast him back to his master; the
Dark Prince'. 'Privy' Parker almost cried with happiness when Herbie collected
his soul. Tom Hall was the same; he had enough of being a spirit, stuck in
the old cemetery and went with Herbie quite willingly. The reverend ran
screaming back to the cemetery and was followed by King Norman; they both knew
where they were headed if they were collected. The old cemetery now seemed a
great place to be.
John Toke's cussed and
tried to kick Oscar in the testicles, but was soon thrown back and disappeared
with Herbie, shouting that he had been bloody 'railroaded'. The fat Indian
finished his pizza and stared about
the car park; "What the fuck just happened?" Was all he said as Oscar
cast him back to his master. "That was Gerald. Another tier three demon:
he and Kevin usually work together, he normally dresses up as a schoolgirl and
Kevin would play his mother. A real strange pair." Oscar said, gripping
his staff with both paws. Lisa patted his arm and whispered; "My little
big hero." Gilda looked at the little group and muttered;
"THEIR Strange?" He sighed and headed back to the hearse.
Gilda almost became his
own customer. He opened the door of the hearse and the coffin lid lifted up and
Wilson yawned; "Are we there yet?" Gilda gripped the door with his
legs shaking. "Yeah, it all done." He said between chattering teeth.
In all the excitement, he had forgotten that the big man was in the coffin. He
would need an urgent change of underwear, upon his return to the Funeral
Parlour.
Wilson pushed the lid
back and jumped out. Everyone stared at him, and Alex just had to ask;
"Wilson, why the hell are you dressed as a Southern Minstrel Player?
That's just so wrong." He shrugged his shoulders and waved his straw hat
about; "White folks are always culturally appropriating the black people’s
stuff, so this is a sort of revenge." He grinned and slapped his thigh;
"See y'all folks!" And did a little jig about the car park and waited
for applause. He didn't get any. The team just sighed collectively, and Jericho
operated his mirror, and they were gone.
Gilda sat in the hearse
[quite awkwardly, it should be said] with Lisa and they shared the bottle of
coke between them. She was too polite to mention the
strange smell coming from Gilda. She handed the bottle back to him and rubbed
her mouth; strangely enough, her teeth felt a little loose. She also scratched
her head and finally, after a full minute's silence said; "Gilda, who the
fuck were those people?"
HE END
EPILOGUE:
"The
mission was deemed a success, with all but two, earth bound spirits rounded up
and achieving an ending to the poltergeist activity, in the small western town.
The only mystery that remains is why the hell did his parents call him
Gilda?"
SJW.
CHARACTERS:
John ‘Chicken Feet’ Tokes finally turned up for judgment after the infamous gunfight at KO
carpark. Angel Ruth quarantined him until 2350 and he protested most strongly
about the sentence; he claimed he had been 'railroaded' into turning up for judgment.
He was right actually, but Angels can pretty much do what they want....
Jeddah ‘Privy’ Parker went with Herbie the Collector quite willingly; he had enough of the
cemetery and the other spirits. He received no quarantine because he hadn't
done anything wrong in his short, tragic life. He re-joined the Human Life
Cycle and is now a member of the Zulu tribe in South Africa: she performs
traditional bare breasted dances for tourist dollars.
Ma Taylor [Caroline] ran the brothel until her death in 1882 and was much mourned by her
'staff' and customers. The establishment was taken over by her 'head' girl and
the brothel - under various madams - survived until 1902, when it was finally
closed. Old Ma Taylors soul was collected and processed. She was buried with
her most treasured possession, a well-thumbed copy of ‘The Scarlet letter’.
Gertrude Fitzherbert - Gertie the young whore - worked for Ma Taylor for a couple of
years and suddenly ran off to marry a stranger that came to
town. She had chosen her new husband badly; he was a gambler and a drunk.
Within a couple of months he had enough of his
young wife and strangled her; in a cheap hotel in yet another western town,
they had tried to settle in. He quickly disappeared into the night and a
collection raised by the sympathetic town, just covered her funeral. He was
never caught and Gertie’s soul was collected and processed: she hadn't turned
twenty yet.
Sherriff McGee was always known as 'Three hats' because he was one the few men, in the
town, who owned more than one hat. Unfortunately, he was killed in 1887 when
his horse collided with the Red River Flyer on a very foggy night. He was very
drunk. His soul was collected and processed. The horse escaped with minor
injuries....
Silas Broadstreet - the Undertaker - was also the local dentist, photographer, Editor and
publisher of the local paper. He was a very popular figure in
the small town and his son - also called Silas - ended up as mayor. Old Silas
died in 1891 from influenza and received a free funeral from his son, who had
taken over the family business. His soul was collected and processed.
Tom Hall, who had been murdered by his very unfaithful wife, was more than happy
to accompany Herbie the Collector into the light; he had enough of the old
cemetery and the other spirits. He received no quarantine and re-joined the
Human Life Cycle immediately. He now lives in Spain, working in a soup canning
factory and performing a drag act on the weekends. 'He' likes to be called by
his stage name: 'Stella the fella'.
Reverend Theodore Bass-Stokes fled from the 'gunfight' and hid in the remains of the old church, with little
nervous Norman the big killer. They both knew where they would end up; Hell.
The reverend remains there to this day; except the old cemetery is long gone.
You can normally find him hanging about the woman's clothing department of the
new shopping mall. He seems happy enough.
Mrs. Norah Parker [no relation to 'privy' Parker] had passed over at the grand old age of
97. She put her longevity down to 'frontier' whisky [strangely enough, she had
no teeth after she turned thirty-five...] strong lesbian sex - and most other
kinds, she was the town Hooker after all - and riding her pony stark naked in the desert,
every morning. That's what finally finished her; her pony [Rose; named after
her late ‘husband’] had been scared by a rattlesnake
and threw the old woman and galloped off. She survived the fall with no serious
injuries, but the damn snake bit her bare arse and she died some days later.
Gilda followed her funeral instructions and buried Norah in a Tuxedo, gripping
a giant black dildo, affectionately called; 'Gentleman Jack'. Her soul was
collected and processed.
Ambrose Snorkel – the town drunk – was found dead in the big skip behind the new
supermarket in the new shopping mall one Sunday morning. He had laid there for
almost a week in the summer heat and no-one really noticed. The skip lorry driver
found him and called the sheriff, in between bouts of puking. He had never
married but had one daughter by a South Korean woman he encountered in the
war. Quite reluctantly Mayor McGee had
to fund his funeral out of Town Hall funds [basically out of his pocket since
he regarded the town hall funds as his money……] and demanded a
discount off Gilda: he didn’t get it. Ambrose’s soul was collected and
processed.
King Norman remains with the Reverend at Red River City Shopping Mall and is not a
happy spirit [but he never was a happy one!] and can normally be found haunting
the 'Dixie Chicken' takeaway in the mall. He and the reverend have been joined
by a new Earth-bound spirit. A cankerous old woman called Joyce, who had been a
'bag lady' [vagrant] when breathing. She had been found dead in the toilets and
her spirit never left the place. The three really don't get on. After
several years Norman and the reverend are beginning to believe that Hell
couldn't be that bad....
Miss Lisa Sands married Gilda Cockermouth in 1981 and they ran the funeral business
together. They had four children and despite not saving the old cemetery from
developers, Lisa continued to find new causes to champion. She died in 2021 and
her soul was collected and processed.
Winston Halfpenny/the 'Stoned
Ranger'/the demon 'Kevin', was an odd little demon and was returned to
his master by Oscar. He still likes to smoke dope and hang around with the many
earth-bound spirits that infest the living human's world. He was last reported
in Hull, England in 1997. Masquerading as a hairdresser, with his 'friend'
Gerald [the other demon] working as one his girls. Oscar was right; they are a
strange pair of demons!
Pronto/the demon Gerald was also returned to his master by Oscar and now works as a hairdresser
called 'Kate' in Hull, England with his 'friend' Kevin. They live together over
the small shop and don't really seem to be up to anything evil. Well, except -
maybe - the hairstyles they persuade dumb customers to have done; under the
guise of a 'latest trend'. Several women have left the saloon looking like
Albert Einstein; after he plugged himself into an electrical socket!
Nancy Carter dropped out of college and became a nude model for men's magazines. She
ended up appearing in porn films and married her African co-star; Yewah
Umbungunga [Native for 'Three legs']. Her father
had to resign from the KKK. She had three children and died in 2032. Her soul
was collected and processed.
George Cobb, the old caretaker/janitor never really recovered from his encounter with
the 'Graveyard Gang' and lived in fear of ghosts and spirits. He took to
wearing garlic and carrying crucifixes. He died three years later and was found
in a locked room, in bed, in the middle of a Pentagram. His soul was collected
and processed.
Mayor Alistair 'Mac' McGee was elected town mayor on several occasions and when he finally
retired in 1996, he moved to Alaska and ran a small bar. He died in 1999 at his
own 'Millennium Party'. He got drunk and wandered outside the bar and
froze to death. At least his funeral was
‘free’. A large Polar bear scavenged his corpse and all that was left to bury
was a boot [with foot] and his hat. His
soul was collected and duly processed: it was quarantined for the rape and
murder of two young female hitchhikers in 1969 for which he was never charged
or even suspected. But Francis [the Duty Death Angel] knew all about
it……
Sheriff Harold Goat remained the sheriff of the small town until his retirement in 1991 and
moved to California, to live with his daughter, despite hating his son-in-law.
It didn't end happily; his daughter and her husband murdered him on Christmas
Eve and buried his body in the local woods. They continued to spend his money
until it ran out. They were never caught, and his body has never been
discovered. His soul was collected and processed: he really wasn’t a happy dead
person!
Deputy Sheriff Roy Glands couldn't keep his hands off young women prisoners and was arrested
for serious sexual assault on a college girl, he had arrested for driving under
the influence. He had fucked up with her; her father was a US Senator. He
served several years in the County Prison and was known by inmates - of a
certain persuasion - as 'Rosemary'. He died in 1998 and his soul was collected
and processed. It was quarantined until 2300. Assaulting young girls wasn't his
only little vice....
Gilda Cockermouth had inherited the family business through his mother; her father had
been Jeddah Broadstreet [the talented painter of naked young women] and so the family
still runs the business today. Gilda's two sons’ are in charge: Leroy and
Jeddah. Leroy is a big strapping dark skinned lad and Jeddah is white as a
shroud and skinny. Gilda died in 2037 and his soul was collected and
processed. Keeping with tradition: he was given a free funeral. He
now works as a Collector and he's very good at his job, dealing with the newly
dead. [No bloody surprise there....] He often has
dinner at the lighthouse and Owen has become a good friend. There's a strong
rumour that he has applied to join the Temporal Investigation Department.
Granny Rose Coleman became a customer of Gilda's the following spring. She walked under the cross-town
bus; on that faithful morning, she had forgotten her bloody glasses again. Her
soul was collected and processed.
John Hardball grew into a big strapping lad and joined the USMC. He served all around
the world; well, wherever there was gas and oil....[enough political 'jokes -'
Ha bloody Ha...] He returned to his hometown and joined the local Sheriff's
Office, becoming town sheriff after Harold Goat retired. He married and had
three children - at least one of them was his - but his young wife really liked
men - any men - and he caught her one evening [he was supposed to be on Night
Shift] and shot dead all three participants playing in his bed. He was found
guilty of triple homicide and sentenced to death. He still awaits execution on
Death Row to this day.
Ma [Alice] Sanders never did get revenge on Gilda for his awful prank. She died during
the harsh winter of 1986 and was buried next to her husband. Her Niece -
Margret - inherited the house and business. She made quite a success of
it. One strange thing did happen; the morning she and her family moved in;
she found a fax on her mother's old machine. It was apparently from the
'Colonel' moaning about his late wife moving in with him! Gilda was suspected,
but always vehemently denied it was him. Ma Sanders soul was collected and
processed.
Big Bill Davis, the bar owner, made some dodgy deals with the wrong people and
didn't pay his debts. He was found dead, behind his bar, from several gunshots.
The bent Coroner ruled it as 'Accidental Death!' Apparently - it was
claimed - that he's collection of guns all went off as he cleaned them. The
family - including his brother; now a High Court Judge - didn't want any
scandal! His soul was collected and processed: it was quarantined for a whole
human century for two murders committed at various times in his life. He really
thought he had ‘cot away’ with them and smiled broadly at Margret the
Duty Death Angel……….
Mrs. Lillian Sands finally retired from the 'tits' bar and worked in the local Animal
Charity shop. She spent most of her time watching over her
grandchildren, whilst her daughter and son-in- law worked the funeral
business. She died in 2001 and was a given a free funeral. She was much loved
and missed by her daughter and
grandchildren. Her soul was collected and duly processed: strangely enough, she
is now a huge porn star who lives in a fabulous town house in California with
three well endowed lads from the war torn Sudan…….
NOTE: Some
names have been changed to protect the innocent!
Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
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