Just Another Day and Night In The Wild West?

July 3, 2011 at 1:44 pm (Horror, Short stories, Short Story, The Supernatural) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

Sheriff Cecil Cartwell proudly looked over the graves of the Boot Hill Cemetery.

The Boot Hill Cemetery wasn’t where they planted regular folk like the townspeople might say.

Regular folk were planted in the town cemetery.

No, Boot Hill was reserved for outlaw gunslingers, ne’er do wells, the tough guy bandits of the Wild West.

And Sheriff Cecil Cartwell had shot and killed them all.

All 32 of them.

That now lay dead and buried in the cemetery.

At Boot Hill.

Given the boot by Sheriff Cecil Cartwell.

Sheriff Cartwell got on top of his Pinto horse Kiss My Grass and rode on back into town.

He stopped off at The Wild Horse Saloon and had himself a whisky.

Then he went back to the sheriff’s office and slept the rest of the day.

At 6 P.M. he went to Kate’s Dining Hall and had something to eat.

When he left Kate’s Dining Hall at 7 P.M. a stage coach rode into town.

A well-dressed black man got out of the coach.

Sheriff Cartwell wondered if he was one of the freed slaves from the Civil War that had been over some 11 years now and was coming to make his home in the American West.

But Sheriff Cartwell heard the man speaking perfect French.

He reckoned not many of the slaves in the American South could speak perfect French.

Sheriff Cartwell walked on down the street.

A defiant looking 16-year-old blonde girl in a long blue dress blocked the street in front of him.

“One of these nights, you’re going to get yours for shooting my pa dead,” the girl spat at him.

It was Daisy Durkins- the daughter of Dukehart Durkins one of the West’s most notorious outlaws- and one of the 32 who now lay dead and buried in Boot Hill Cemetery- shot and killed by yours truly- Sheriff Cecil Cartwell.

Sheriff Cartwell grabbed the bratty blonde, threw her across his knee and spanked her. Fifty good whacks across her backside with his firm powerful hands.

He left her in the dusty street and continued home.

At midnight, the deputy came pounding on his door.

“Sheriff Cartwell, Sheriff Cartwell,” the deputy screamed, “there’s some sort of trouble going on up at Boot Hill Cemetery”.

Sheriff Cartwell ran to the town livery stable, got on top of his horse Kiss My Grass and rode off in the direction of Boot Hill.

He noticed a group of people standing around.

“Disperse in the name of the law,” Sheriff Cartwell commanded.

The people turned.

They were all men.

Dead men.


With vacant eyes and soulless expressions, the corpses raised their arms and headed in Cartwell’s direction.

Watching the spectacle was the well-dressed black man who spoke perfect French.

Standing alongside him was the beautiful blue eyed blonde haired Daisy Durkins in her pretty turquoise blue dress still rubbing her sore and well-spanked bottom from the spanking she had received at Sheriff Cartwell’s hands earlier this evening.

The corpses pulled Sheriff Cartwell off his horse Kiss My Grass and then tore him to pieces eating what was left of him.

All that was left of Sheriff Cartwell was a single ear.

Daisy Durkins picked up the ear and buried it in a grave.

Grave #33 of Boot Hill.

The black man who spoke perfect French handed her his card and addressed her in perfect English, “Should you need me again, my lady.”

The card read, BARON SAMEDI Voodoo Practitioner, Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

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Lord of The Flies

July 2, 2011 at 9:43 pm (Vampire novel) (, )

Set Enterprises’ chief scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher was sitting on the outside patio of The Black Knight Pub enjoying the warm sunny weather.

As he drank his glass of dark ale, the mood was somewhat tempered by the amount of flies buzzing around.

They kept trying to land in his beer.

Obviously must have a taste for dark ale.

Finally one fly ticked him off so much, he managed to quickly hit it with his hand and kill it.

The fly although dead had not been thoroughly squished however.

Dr. Rocher decided to dissect the fly using his pen knife.

As he did so, something caught his attention.

The fly was indeed real as far as he could tell.

It wasn’t a synthetic fly or a robotic fly and yet the fly seemed to have a tiny minature camera attached to its eye.

Curious, he grabbed a fly swatter and started killing flies all over the patio.

He then brought the flies over to his table and started dissecting them.

More cameras attached to their eyes.

Dr. Rocher started text messaging his colleagues all over the world with his findings.

Some of them started text messaging him back saying they had killed flies and then dissected them and they too were discovering tiny minature cameras behind the left eyes of the flies.

What was up with this? Dr. Rocher wondered to himself.

In a distant spacecraft on the edge of the Milky Way galaxy, the entity inside the ship spoke to its compatriots.

“It looks like we’ve been discovered,” said the dark reptilian like entity.

“What should we do?” asked one of his subordinates.

“This ship while far from earth spatially speaking is not that far from the interdimensional gateway portal where we can reach Earth in one-sextillionth of a second,” said the entity, “so it’s too late for this abomination called humanity to do anything about us anyways.”

And the reptilian entity whose name was Beelzebub- the lord of the flies- smiled.

To be continued.

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