Tales of Magic and Misery: A Collection of Short Stories by Tim Marquitz Read online

  “Where is everybody?”

  “They’re just five minutes behind us. They’ll be here.” He grinned and returned to the van. “Now stay put. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the band, now would ya?”

  A screechy ‘No!’ was his answer.

  “Awesome,” he said, giving a wink while he slipped into the driver’s seat. “Have fun.”

  Before Dave could even process what was happening, the driver slammed the door shut and revved the engine. The van kicked up a cloud of brown dust as it tore away, the harsh red of its taillights dimming quickly with distance until they were swallowed by the desert night.

  “Did he just leave us here?” the blond asked after the van disappeared.

  “Uh, I think so.”

  “With him?”

  Both sets of eyes swiveled to take in Dave, the blond’s index finger wavering in his direction. He waved and gave them a toothy smile. The women sneered and turned away, looking out across the desert.

  “How rude,” Dave muttered under his breath and returned his attention to the clearing—after a short examination of their asses. Yoga pants do a body good.

  Just on the other side of the campfire stood three upside down crosses shoved into the dirt. Dave moseyed over to them, wrinkling his nose as a waft of dark smoke assailed his nose. He yanked a roach from his pocket and sparked it as he approached the crosses.

  “Fight fire with fire,” he sputtered, a quick puff replacing the campfire smoke with a much more pleasant variety. The joint crackled between his fingers, a firefly of ecstasy that warmed his esophagus.

  Made of old wood, the crosses were rotten, dark stains soaked into the cracked and porous surfaces. Satanic symbols had been carved into the wood with what looked like a dull knife or a sharp stick. Dave chuckled. Whoever had done it must have been jonesing hard. The lines were all wiggly and half-assed. He ran his hand along the cross only then noticing the metal clasp that had been attached to the top end and spray painted black. All of them had it.

  “Where the hell is the band?” The blond shouted, stamping her feet behind him.

  “We’re right here,” Vampyria’s distinct voice rang out, pale flesh slithering out of the darkness.

  Dave spun about, and the women gasped as the singer slithered into the clearing. Butt-ass naked. He licked his lips, a shit-eating grin exploding across them like a frag grenade. The women squealed and Dave spouted something about the stars, Venus, and Uranus… That was all he managed to get out.

  He saw the fist an instant before it collided with his chin.

  #

  Awareness came with a price: a throbbing mother of a headache.

  “Oowwwwwwwww.” The word oozed from Dave’s parched lips. He reached up to rub his temples, but the expectant touch never occurred.

  “Ah, the last of our triumvirate awakes.”

  Dave barely heard the words through the horde of cotton balls that infested his skull. His head lolled to the side where he spied the metal clamp that held court around his wrist. He grunted, a vague memory crawling across his brain like a centipede. A glance at his opposite arm showed the same thing there: his wrist bound, rusted steel biting into his skin. A trickle of red floated away.

  “Uhhhhh…?” he muttered, letting his head against the uncomfortable wood, its weight suddenly too much to hold upright.

  A shadow washed over him then, and he blinked his eyes. A pale wraith filled his vision.

  “Welcome back.”

  Dave recognized Vampyria’s voice without hesitation, but the oddness of her appearance threw him for a moment. He wrestled with the idea that he was still unconscious, or just high as fuck, but the strangeness finally sorted itself in his frontal lobe. He was staring at a pair of knees.

  “What the…?” His arms tugged against the restraints as other sounds became apparent, their noise bleeding in through his ears: muffled sobs, the frantic rattle of chains, and the low rumble of cruel laughter. Dave swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat, a morbid image asserting itself. The crosses. He was chained to one of them.

  “Party not what you expected? Vampyria asked from above.

  He let his gaze run up her legs in a bid for orientation. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Despite his admonishments, his eyes stalled at her crotch. Dave sighed…and stared. What little blood hadn’t pooled in his head found another venue to inhabit. Worry and fear slid into neutral.

  “Like what you see?” Vampyria asked.

  Dave grinned against his better judgment. Vampyria grinned back, and her serpentine hand lashed out and grabbed his burgeoning erection. Dave gasped at the unexpected contact, aware then he was also naked. The singer’s cool hand felt fantastic wrapped about his shaft. He grunted and wiggled his hips. He’d never done it upside down before.

  “Naughty boy.” Vampyria laughed. She released his manhood and dropped into a crouch in front of him, waggling a finger in his face.

  Dave choked back a disappointed whine when her hand slipped away, but the sudden glory spread out before his eyes was more than a satisfying replacement. He inched his tongue out of his mouth, hoping to close the distance and ring the bell.

  “It seems the master chose well,” the signer purred. “This one is fearless.” Encouraging chuckles rang out behind her.

  Dave puffed his chest out as best he could. “So, uh, whatcha doin’?”

  A sharp screech devoured Vampyria’s answer. It cleaved the night air only to be cut short, the gurgle of a mountain stream taking its place. Dave’s eyes darted in the direction of the sound, but there was nothing to see but the singer. Her exposed flesh was a lighthouse in the darkness, drawing his gaze to her ruby shores in defiance of what was going on behind her back.

  Another scream pierced his ears a moment later before it, too, was silenced. In its wake came realization. It hacked and scraped and clawed and pecked at his brain until it broke through the granite of his skull and burrowed into the soft bits of reason. His eyes widened in disappointment.

  “So you understand now what it means to be chosen, lovey?”

  Dave sighed as she ran her delicate fingers over his lips, tracing the line of his mouth. He nodded, tears welling.

  “I’m so not getting laid.”

  Those words would be his epitaph.

  Vampyria grinned, the sharpened points of her eyeteeth looming. She pulled a curved knife from behind her back, the blade silver in the moonlight. Dave wondered for an instant where she’d hidden it, but a deft slash ended his curiosity. A line of fury was drawn across his throat. The blade sunk deep, stopping with a thunk against his vertebrae. Warmth washed over him, and he took a last, desperate look at Vampyria’s vagina as gravity tugged his head toward the ground, blood washing the sight away.

  It was the closest thing to Heaven Dave would ever see.

  The Great Brain Robbery

  Originally published in To Hell and Back 2014

  High noon.

  Shadows fled the sear of the Bisbee sun as it glared overhead. Muted voices chattered on both sides of the dusty street, anticipation hanging in the air like a warm nutsack. The crowd murmured while the scrape of impatient boots shuffled atop the wooden walks. The news had traveled through town as if it were wildfire, ears catching alight with fiery rumors. The people demanded blood. Come Hell or high water, they’d get it.

  I just hoped it wasn’t mine.

  “You sure you want to do this, nitis?” Mika asked from a safe distance.

  I glanced over at my newly acquired Indian friend and grinned, which I did pretty much every time I looked at him. Both of his eyes were sunken into their sockets with dark rings of bruises encircling them. He looked every bit the raccoon his parents had named him after. I wondered just how young he’d been when he earned that distinction, but I could picture him throwing punches as he oozed out of his mother’s womb. He was a scrapper, that one. Mika had earned a deeper coloring of his rings the night before after the little misunderstanding that had me wait
ing in the street.

  “Don’t figure I have much choice.”

  Mika shrugged, his reddened shoulder rippling. “You could run.”

  That wasn’t gonna happen. Uncle Lou was very insistent that I remain in Bisbee until I met with his informant. He didn’t, however, specify whether I needed to be alive or not, but that really wasn’t a loophole I wanted to exploit. I kind of enjoyed breathing.

  A hush washed over the crowd as I pondered my options, and I knew it was time. He’d arrived. I glanced down the way to see Reverend Ansell strolling casually across the hardened dirt road, spurs clinking at every assured step. Whispers hissed at my ears like I’d hunkered down in a nest of serpents, the townsfolk offering up their opinions and betting their Sunday tithes on the man of God. Ansell came to a halt in the middle of the street. His second, a grizzled young man I’d come to learn was his son, Jeremiah, stood at his side. He had as much malice in his gaze as his father. They were like two hawks ready to swoop on a mouse. Well-worn pistols hung heavy at their hips. Out of instinct, my hands went in search of the borrowed revolver hanging on my own belt.

  “Keep an eye on the boy,” I said to Mika out of the side of my mouth. If daddy didn’t take care of business, I could count on his son to try to put a bullet in me. The Indian nodded.

  A third man sauntered into the road between us with a crooked smirk. I’d learned last night he was the sheriff. Earl Conroy was his name and shit-eating grins were his game. His star glistened in the sunlight, but it was the only thing bright about the sheriff. He gave the Reverend a solemn nod, his smirk vacating his lips for just a moment before slithering back as he turned to look my way. The sheriff snorted as he appraised me.

  “You know damn well why you’re here, boy, so let’s just get the formalities out of the way,” he said with a disappointed shake of his head. “The good Reverend here claims you pilfered his daughter’s innocence, and then, after he come out to investigate his child’s terrified screeches, you killed his prized heifer while making your escape.”

  I sighed. How the hell was I supposed to know the girl’s daddy was a preacher? She’d lifted her skirts easy enough, and the only fear she’d displayed was that I’d finish before her. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the “Oh Gods” she’d been screaming into the hay pile. She must have meant them differently than I recall.

  “Better to have deflowered his daughter and stabbed his cow than the other way around, me thinks, nitis.”

  “Probably woulda caused me less grief,” I muttered under my breath.

  “The Reverend here, being the generous and benevolent man he is, has offered you this generous clemency, the opportunity for you to confess your sins to these gathered souls,” he swept his arms wide to encompass the wide-eyed folks hovering about the horse rails, “and ask redemption so you might one day see the glory of Heaven with a clear conscience…”

  Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

  “Or you can take your chances against Mister Ansell’s vengeful hand and burn in the fiery pits of Hell when he shoots your defiling ass down here in the middle of the street.” The sheriff chuckled like there was a hunk of jerky caught in his throat. “What’s it going to be?”

  Defiling? That field had been plowed barren before I got there.

  No amount of restraint could hold back the grin that slid onto my lips as I thought that. I did manage to keep my mouth shut, though. You didn’t go badmouthing a preacher’s daughter right there on Main Street without consequence. I was in it deep enough already. My spade hands were tuckered out from all the digging.

  Then again, given how hot it was in Arizona, I was half tempted to let the bastard gun me down. Hell wasn’t all fire and brimstone, except on Thai Fridays. That’s not a day you want to visit. But anyway, old Lou might be pissed if he had to resurrect me, but I’d be back on Earth before the sun set over Fissure Peak. His disposable minions’ plates were full so there wasn’t anyone else to do his grunt work. It was me or no one. I was a valuable commodity.

  “Is that smile your confession, boy?” the sheriff asked, spitting out a glob of brownness that trailed sour rainbows.

  Just passing through, there wasn’t anyone in town who’d risk their standing with the Reverend to defend me, so wasn’t much point in delaying the obvious conclusion to our little Pow Wow. Someone was getting shot.

  “Let’s get this bosh over with.”

  A gasp rose up from the spectators, followed by muted applause. The people were gonna get their show. Even I knew how good a gunslinger the old man of God was and I’d only been in town a few days. He’d been mowing down heathens for years if you could believe the gossip floating around the saloon. In fact, the cemetery right outside of town had been named after him considering he’d apparently put about half those bodies in the ground himself. Too bad for him he wouldn’t be adding another one today.

  The sheriff grinned, the worm of his mustache wriggling as he hurried to get out the way. I was half tempted to shoot it off his lip just to wipe the stupid grin of his hound dog face. Probably didn’t matter, though, seeing how, if things went as planned, I’d end up having to kill him anyway. Wasn’t like he was gonna let me mow down the town’s patriarch without getting involved. Him and the kid were gonna be trouble. I made sure to note where the boy was before things got hectic.

  “On my mark,” the sheriff called out once he was safely on the sidewalk. The air stilled as his voice wafted over the assembly. “Get ready.”

  I smiled as Conroy looked my way. His precious preacher might have the experience advantage with pistols, but he’d never drawn down on a demon before.

  “Draw!”

  While I was probably the slowest kid in the demonic school house, the preacher was human. I was the quick one here, and I don’t just mean with his daughter.

  The gun was in my hands in an instant, my finger caressing the trigger as the palm of my other hand fanned the hammer. Black smoke roiled around me as I emptied the gun, its reports devouring every other sound in town. The Reverend stood hunched and cowering as the last bullet zipped down the street. I grinned and pulled the pistol to my lips to blow the barrel clean.

  The Reverend straightened. The wisp of a smile on his lips grew wider and wider until a deep-throated chuckle burst out. My eyes surveyed him as he laughed. He’d a dark crease across his left arm where a bullet had grazed his coat, but there wasn’t a single hole in the man. I’d missed every shot.

  He raised his gun and aimed as I scrambled with mine, staring down the barrel. My stomach churned as I spied the twisted angle of the sight for the first time. I went to reload but the cylinder fell out the gun and landed with a dusty thump in the dirt. It bumped heavily against my boot.

  “Where the hell did you get this thing,” I asked Mika as I stared at the defective pistol.

  “Some drunken Apache traded me it for peyote.”

  I sighed and met the Reverend’s steely gaze.

  “It would appear God has sided with the righteous today, stranger,” Ansell told me as sighted his pistol on my chest. “I’m guessing you might want to take a moment to think of something to say to the Devil when you see him.”

  Sorry, Uncle Lou. Some God-fearing cowboy shot me for diddling his daughter. Yeah, somehow I couldn’t see Lucifer appreciating the irony of the situation. So rather than have to explain it, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I’d just have to do it right this time.

  I ducked as the Reverend’s first shot burst from his pistol. Come to find out, I wasn’t faster than a bullet. It slammed into my right shoulder like I’d been kicked by a mule but it didn’t stop me.

  Arm already in motion, I threw the defective revolver at Ansell. It looped through the air. He saw it and tried to dodge, but it was too late. The grip thudded into his forehead, and his eyes rolled back until all that was visible were orbs of white. The Reverend crumpled to the ground, a boneless sack of meat. A small gray cloud fluttered around him. The crowd went silent, th
e last echoes of gunfire fading against the hills.

  Jeremiah screamed and went to draw, but Mika was on him before the gun even cleared the holster. A quick one-two dropped the boy in the dirt alongside his pa. The rest of the assembly stood in awe, wide eyes taking everything in but doing nothing. Only the sheriff had the coal to act. He just didn’t have the time.

  I snatched the gun from his hand and thumbed back the hammer while I leveled it at his eye.

  “Settle your britches, duk-shaaaa…”

  “Duk-shan-ee,” Mika corrected.

  “Yeah, what he said, asshole.” I nudged the sheriff backward with the gun. “Now me and my red-skinned pal there are gonna shin out, and none of you all better follow us.” My eyes scanned the townsfolk. “You hear me?” I shouted.

  A wave of nodding heads responded.

  “Good. Now have a pleasant evening.” I pulled the gun back and pistoned the barrel into the sheriff’s solar plexus.

  He whuffed and collapsed, trying to catch his breath. I didn’t wait for that to happen. My boots got to gettin’. The crowd watched as Mika and I ran down the street and leapt onto a pair of horses, which had been conveniently left unattended at a trough outside the saloon.

  “You sure about this?” Mika asked.

  I nodded. “What’s a stolen horse after you’ve assaulted the sheriff and the richest family in town?” The Sioux grunted and went along without another word. I might have been making a mistake by running, but I had a plan. Sort of.

  A swift kick to the flanks and we were on our way out of town.

  #

  We rode east, headed toward the nearby smelter town of Douglas. Mika had told me the men we were supposed to meet would ride in from that direction…maybe…most likely. He wasn’t the most decisive of guides. Anyway, it was worth a shot as there was no way we’d be able to stay in Bisbee without catching a bullet. I’d shed the last one a ways back without my companion noticing I’d even been shot.