Somethin' Unique

 Pittman sat in his old rocking chair on his deck. He combed his fingers through his flaming red hair, screwing up his freckled cheeks as he strained his eyes into the sunset; he fumbled the small mahogany box on his lap. The box in question bore many markings, circular lines and patterns entwining themselves with squares and dots of an ancient language Pittman couldn’t read. He dropped the box back onto his lap with a heavy sigh. He reached over to his oil lamp and twisted the dial to increase the flame. The blackness of night had hit Pittman’s shack. His home made of wood and nail barely stood by the railway in the middle of the plains. The nearest town was three days horse ride away; privacy was how Seamus Pittman liked to live his life.

 

 Pittman pulled out his long, clay pipe, opened the small glass door to his lantern and lit the tobacco using a splint. He sucked in the tobacco’s smoke and felt it warm his heart. He picked up the small puzzle box and stood up; he stretched his back allowing his spine to pop several times before relaxing. The chill had crept up on him. Urgh, gettin’ old eh? With his pipe bit between his teeth, he picked up his lucky, navy blue Stetson and, after twisting the dial back to extinguish his lantern, went inside.

 

 The middle aged man walked into his shack lit by the dancing fire, he took off his duster coat before he reached his desk. He sat down in his winged armchair and pulled out a small shot glass and a bottle of whiskey.

 

 The room went dark. Pittman sighed once again whilst pouring a shot of the warming liquor.

 

 “I know you’re in 'ere,” he croaked.

 

 “Haven’t lost your touch eh, Seamus?” a soft voice cooed from the shadows.

 

 “Whatchu wan’, Correll?”

 

 “Now, now, Seamus, let’s not rush things. Just douse that fire of yours and we’ll talk business, hmm?” Correll didn’t move. His boots stood still beyond the line of light.

 

 “You wanna talk, we talk my way.”

 

 “Fine,” Correll hissed.

 

 “Now, again, watchu wan’?”

 

 “You know damn well what I want.”

 

 “Haven’ we talked about this, Correll? No.”

 

 “And last time I believe I proposed an ultimatum of some kind. Hand it over or I will let Mutt deal with you.” Correll walked over to Pittman’s door. He turned the knob and slowly opened it. Outside, the moonlight silhouetted a small figure, hunched over and yet it’s back pulsated. It’s breathing rapid and short, saliva dripped from it’s mouth. “Mutt is such a good boy, but, I cannot deny him forever.”

 

 Pittman pulled open a drawer and grasped his revolver which he placed on the desk in front of him.

 

 “Release him, Correll, release your hound.”

 

 Correll hadn’t moved. His boots still stood on the line of light. Pittman couldn’t see but felt Correll’s sick smile amongst the shadows.

 

 “Come on in Mutt.” Mutt took a step forward, his bare foot pressed onto the wooden floorboards of Pittman’s shack. He crossed into the light of Pittman’s small fire and finally Pittman could see the animal for all he was. Mutt was indeed small but he was muscular, his shoulders were broad and lined with sinew. His back was hunched over from a lifetime of living and growing in a cage. Mutt’s teeth were filed to a point; he had no lips so saliva constantly gushed from his hungry jaws. His eyes were pale and washed of colour and his hair wild and shaggy. He walked, not only on his feet but his knuckles also.

 

 Pittman was taken aback; this creature in front of him was rare but not unheard of. Rumours of Correll’s pet had reached Pittman’s ears though, and so he had prepared.

 

 Mutt leapt into the air, his arms out wide and his teeth began gnashing more violently. Saliva flew in an arc through the air in the creatures wake.

 Pittman grabbed his revolver and leant back in his chair. He pulled the trigger; the hammer hit the silver bullet in the chamber firing the only thing that could kill a creature like Mutt. The animal that was once flying through the air toward Pittman landed in a heap at the foot of his desk. Pittman barked what was construed as a laugh.

 

 “Anythin’ else you wanna talk about, Correll?”

 

 “You b*****d,” for the first time Correll stepped into Pittman’s light, his face held no features; instead it was a stretch of smooth skin. He opened his mouth to reveal rows of teeth, as long as a small knives and each just as sharp. His ears were pointed and wide and his nose was two slits just above his mouth. He had no eyes. Correll tried to walk forward but his foot burned, smoke erupted from his boot. He recoiled immediately.

 

 “Holy water, the floorboards are soaked in it, and on the underside, Latin inscriptions written in pure man’s blood. I know how you guy’s love that.” Pittman smiled. “I may be retired Correll but I’m no fool. Now, this puzzle stays with me. Understand?”

 

 “I’ll have it Pittman, I’ll be back.”

 

 “I’ll be gone by then, Correll. Train come’s in the mornin’, it’s gonna take me somewhere far away.”

 

 “Then I’ll follow.”

 

 “In the day? Really? You're a dream walker, a sleep creep. Though you can try, by all means please do,” Pittman opened his drawer once more and pulled out a sharpened piece of wood stained with the crimson red of yet more pure man's blood, “This has your name on it.”

 

 “Why do you want that box anyway? You can’t even read the inscription.”

 

 “Whatever is inside this,” he held up the small box lined with carvings, “Is obviously important to you, an’ that can’t be good. So, for now, it stays with me. Once I figure out how to open it without damagin’ the contents, I’ll decide what to do with it. Unless, you wanna tell me what’s in it?”

 

 “If I tell you, will you give it to me?”

 

 “Perhaps, bit desperate thought, don’t ya think?”

 

 “Desperate times, I can’t go back to the boss without it.”

 

 “Tell me then and we’ll see.”

 

 “It contains the blood of the First, of Lilu. Now, give it to me.”

 

 “Whatchu wan' with it?” Pittman inspected the box closely once again.

 

 “There was a prophecy, by a child somewhere in Romania, unfortunately the child had to be captured and tortured for all information as a consequence. He said someone drinks it, and whoever drinks it, becomes something unique.”

 

 Pittman nodded and frowned at the same time as if satisfied by Correll’s answer. Correll merely prowled the forbidden floorboards.

 

 “Leave.” Pittman demanded. He placed the box on his desk and leaned back in his chair; he picked up his pipe and lit the tobacco again.

 

 “What?”

 

 “Leave.”

 

 “Give it to me.”

 

 Pittman glared at the fiend from across the room. “Listen to me Incubus, your devil is dead; you cannot bring him back no matter what lengths you go to. This blood will not bring Lilu back nor will it create something new, now be gone.” Pittman threw the mahogany box into the fire. “Leave my dreams.”

 

 Correll screamed a high screech. He dived in after the blood, screaming in agony as he burned.

 

 

 Pittman woke up on his rocking chair; the mahogany box lay on his lap still. He picked it up and examined it closely, his eyes alight with curiosity.

 

Reviews

[Wendy Seames Garner]

Intriguing, I want to know what was in the box! Nice story.

[AK]

Wow! Really good piece! Kept me hooked on until the very end. Great write!