Young Writers Society

The streets of the town were lonely, save for the dust that the breeze stirred up on occasion; forming into tiny vortexes that waltzed down the abandoned thoroughfares until the wind that formed them dissipated, and the dust returned to the ground.

Draper got off of his horse and looked around. The weathered storefronts and dry watering troughs told him that the people who built this place had moved on. How long they had been gone was uncertain. A week, a month, who knew? This land had the habit of fast reclaiming what mankind had taken from it.

The horse shook its head, nervous. Perhaps it caught the scent of death, or even the hostile abandonment that lurked here. Draper led it over to the hitching post in front of the empty saloon and tied it up. A sharp gust of wind spooked it and it whinnied in sudden fear. Draper caught it by the bridle and pulled it to him, whispering soft words to calm the animal.

Something across the street caught his eye. He saw it for only a moment, a fleeting shadow of a glimpse. But he saw it all the same. A hand, fingers stretched out wide, had been pressed against a window.

Draper walked across the dirt street, left hand at his gun butt. He was not about to trust anyone who dwelt in a deserted place like this. Folks who took up habitation in such empty dwellings tended to be empty themselves.

There was nothing in the window now. Draper wiped away the dust and peered inside. It was dark, too dark to tell if anyone was lying in wait for him. He heard a soft click as the necklace around his neck slipped from beneath his shirt and hit the glass. With gentle hands he cradled it and put it back. It was a memento of another precious time, something to be kept safe against the hardships of this current one. It was the Rose of Avalon.

Something yipped down the street. Draper turned; the sound caught him by surprise. A coyote sat in the doorway of a store across the street. It cocked it’s head in slight perplexment, as if wondering what lapse of intelligence might have possessed a man to come here.

Draper shook his head and pushed the door open. Dust swirled into the blackness within. The footfalls of his boots echoed in the silence of the empty building. He squinted, peering through the dust cloud and the darkness, trying to see if he had missed something.

In a corner near the window, he saw something. A girl, her whimpers barely audible against the wind’s whine, was curled up on the floor. Her eyes were like twin moons, staring out of the shadows at Draper. He got down on his haunches, looking the girl in the face.

“You okay?” he asked. He didn’t know what kind of condition the girl was in. Who knew how long she had been here?

“Pa?” came the broken question.

Draper shook his head. “No, sweetie, I ain’t your pa. Name’s Draper. You feeling well?”

“Pa? What’s happened Pa? What’s happened to me Pa?”

“Kid, I ain’t your pa,” Draper said.

The girl shrank back into the shadows. Draper reached out a hand to her. At first, a pale thin hand reached for his in return. But the hand passed through Draper’s like insubstantial silk. He fell backwards, kicking and cursing in sudden surprise.

The shadows that the girl had hidden in began to grow, like black smoke. Curling outwards in dark tendrils, it reached for Draper. He drew his colt and fired into the mass. The bullets did nothing to halt the dark thing’s advance. it curled around Draper’s boots. His feet turned to ice and he could no longer move. He yelled out in fright as he was engulfed by the chilling darkness. It went over his head and everything was blacker than a starless night.

“What is this?” Draper called out to the void.

“So cold. So cold, so dark, no light. The coyote had light. Where’s the coyote?”

Draper looked around, though he didn’t really feel his body move. The ghost girl stood there, pale form framed against the darkness.

“Kid, what’s happened?” Draper called out.

But the girl was drawn away. In her place there was a presence; a heavy heat that seemed to breath in the blackness.

“Who’s there? Speak!”

Loud laugher echoed in Draper’s ears; the laughter of the grave, pushed out of a tombstone throat. A chill drew across his heart at the sound. The feeling of dry claws scuttling about filled his head, picking apart his mind. Draper grew cold and nauseous at this.

“What ails you, Lord Leadenforth?” asked the cultured voice of a young woman. She materialized out of the void; short brown hair, pale skin, and a demeanor that spoke of many hours of verbal navigation through the currents of high society.

Draper was frozen. Many years had passed since he had last been referred to by that title. When he had last been addressed as thus, it had been on the green hills of Pemblecrye. Now, here in the dust choked relics of a foreign land, he heard that name again.

“You look pale,” the woman said to him. She walked towards Draper on ethereal legs, flowing through the darkness. A perfect woman, well groomed, well dressed, and well remembered. Lady Emily of Nothernsdowns, a pursuit of a fool hardy youth.

“Em-Lady Emily?” Draper asked, his voice ascending from the rough tone it had known for twenty years back to something that befitted his former station.

She nodded. “It is I. And you are here, though your sojourning in this dry wasteland has changed you from the callow boy I once knew.”

“Joanna, what is going on?” Draper asked.

“I do not understand why you chose to come here,” Lady Emily said, continuing on as though Draper had not spoken. “You could have gone anywhere on the Continent, yet you’re here in the dust of the world.”

“I’m where I want to be,” Draper said. “But why are you here?”

“Many paths and many doors connect us all,” she replied as she laid a hand on his shoulder. A cold jolt went through his body, but he did little more than flinch. Lady Emily pulled him in front of her.

“What is this?” Draper asked, his mind racing with the impossibility of what was unfolding here in the deepest dark. She put a cold finger on his lips.

“This is inevitability,” she said.

She leaned up to kiss Draper. He saw her as she had been back in England. Hair filled with uplifting light, her very being composed of a glow as though it was the victory candescence of love incarnate. Desire long untouched sprang forth once again. His hands ran down her back and he leaned down.

A cold wind swept over Draper. he felt the Rose of Avalon burn against his chest, almost as if it was responding to that chilly breeze. The cold tore into him, malicious, evil in its attack.

Draper looked down at Lady Emily. Something about her had changed. Her eyes were black, bleeding ichor; like two punctured orbs of squid ink. The skin of her body, once white and pure, was now sickly blue, bearing the fruits of some ghastly corruption. He pushed her away, holding his arms out as though she had injured him.

“What is this?” Draper demanded.

The thing that had worn the appearance of Lady Emily smiled. “This is inevitability,” it said again, licking its lips with a cold black tongue.

Thin clawed hands outstretched, the abomination came towards Draper. He recoiled, flailing back into the void, the Rose of Avalon burning brighter at his chest.

Draper’s hand went to his gun. It seemed to weigh a ton, but he pulled it out of the holster and aimed it at the abhorrent monster before him. The long, pallid claws brushed against his skin, chilling him down to the bone. Aiming the gun was a struggle; he had to use both hands to keep it steady. For a single moment, the iron sights lined up on the pale thing’s head. He pulled the trigger, and the void was filled with light.