Ghosts of Texas

While transporting goods from New Mexico to Texas, Pinkerton James G. Washburn encounters something unexpected.

            There was legend of men who had sold their souls to the Devil for whatever reason. Money, fame, and glory maybe.

            James G. Washburn was a Pinkerton Agent in 1892. He was assigned to transport a chest of goods from New Mexico to Texas. Riding in the wagon attached to two horses, he gazed at the sun setting on the horizon. Washburn was a rough and rugged kind of man. His mustache told the tale of many years behind him in the agency.

Beside him sat Pat Carol. Carol was a younger man, mid-thirties, and had a clean shaven face that all the women loved.

            In the back, they hauled a large chest with unidentified goods inside.

            “When do you suppose we’ll make it there?” Carol asked his partner, Washburn.

            “Think by sun up if we keep at this rate.”

            “Bandits?” he asked with eyebrows raised and a grin plastered on his face.

            The deserts were infamous for bandits, thieves, and just your basic outlaws to hide in. Not taking any chances, they each carried a revolver and a rifle. Washburn also had a double-barrel shotgun by his side.

            They were on their way to San Antonio, just a few miles out when the younger of the two heard the hooves of horses coming up just yards behind them.

            Pat Carol looked back and saw nothing.

            “Did you hear that?”he asked.

            “Didn’t hear a thing,” Washburn replied holding onto the reigns. His partner kept looking over his shoulder for the next two miles insisting that he had heard horses behind them. “You’re just hearing things. It’s been hot out. You need water.”

            “Need some of that jerky in the back,” Carol said then laughed. His chuckle was immediately hushed by the neigh of a horse that wasn’t their own.

            Washburn looked over to Carol with dim eyes then slapped the reigns on the horse’s backside; they responded and galloped faster.

            “Whoever it is, we don’t want them catching up to us before we hit town,” Washburn said. Carol took up his rifle.

            A neigh of a horse close behind seemed to only grow closer the faster their horses galloped.

            Carol looked back and saw glowing blue figures that were transparent. He could see the scenery behind them through their bodies.

            “What in the hell?”

            “What is it? What do we got?”

            Carol sat back down. “I … I don’t know.”

            “Take the reins!” Washburn hollered over the galloping of the horses. Once Carol did, he stood with his shotgun and looked over the stagecoach. What he saw, he couldn’t interpret. He couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. One of the men that were trailing them took out his pistol and aimed it at him. Before he fired, Washburn ducked down. “Devils!”

            “What?”

            A blast fired behind them and James stood back up to check out how many there were.

            But they were gone.

            He sat down and said, “Let’s just get to town,” for the rest of the way.

            The two men kept on their way as the sun went down. San Antonio was only a mile away when they saw the mysterious figures up ahead; they glowed a blue aura. Washburn stopped the wagon. He looked over to Carol who’s eyes were wide and mouth slightly open; he wouldn’t of been surprised if he’d been drooling.

            “What do we do?” Carol asked.

            “Well… we can either go through ‘em… or… we talk it out. I’ve got a feeling these�"men�" won’t want to do much talking.”

            They kept looking into the distance at the glowing figures. Then, they got off the stagecoach with their rifles ready and began to walk.

            Like a mirage, the figures disappeared once they got close enough to see that they were men who looked like they were on fire with blue flames.

            “Where did they go?” Carol asked. He started to look around in all directions.

            “I think we’ve had an experience, Pat, with some kind of devils. Men who have devoted themselves to the workings of Satan.” Washburn kicked up dust and headed back. “You coming?”

            Pat Carol wasn’t a man who believed in the supernatural or devils until he looked back at the wagon and saw the fiery men taking out the chest of goods. “Hey!” he yelled and started running.

            Washburn had witnessed this also. He aimed his rifle and began firing at the figures, but it seemed like his shots had done nothing to divert their actions.

            One of the men stopped, put the chest down, and faced him.

            He was stunned; like concrete surrounded his boots, solid, and stopped him in his tracks. James G. Washburn was frozen from fear.

            The figure wore a long coat, a hat, and a handle-bar mustache that ran long down his face. The other had a beard and was a little more heavy-set.

            “Washburn!” Pat Carol shouted.

            The blue figure reached out. “Give me your’ soul!” he said with his fingers sprawled. Washburn dropped to his knees, his mouth opened, and an orange mist came from the inside of him. The blue man inhaled it deep into his nostrils. James Washburn was being drained of his life-force.         

            “No, you son of a b***h!” Carol took out his pistol, pulled back the hammer with his thumb, and aimed it directly at his the phantom apparition’s face. “You stop now or I’ll blow you away!” He looked at him and ceased devouring Washburn’s soul.

            “He’s coming,” he said.

            Behind Carol was another phantom, but his aura was a bright red. He spoke with an accent and was almost gentleman-like in his speech; suave and agile with his tongue.

            “You… don’t know what you’re dealing with, kid,” the red phantom addressed Pat Carol. “We’re not cowboys or bandits and this isn’t your’ ordinary heist. You see… we need what’s in that chest. Do you even know what you’re transporting?”

            Carol, in fact, didn’t know what they were hauling; he just figured it was cash or gold bars per usual.

            “Inside, is an amulet. We need it to remove our curse and become men again,” the phantom informed. “You can understand such a thing. Can’t you?” He nodded and Carol nodded along.

            “I just want my partner,” said Pat trying to break the trance he was under.

            “So be it.” The red man looked at the other two and tipped his hat.

            Before they left, Carol asked, “What are you?”

            The man obliged and answered, “Once upon a time… I was just like you; a man of flesh. I was cursed one night in Oklahoma by the Devil himself. He swore to me that I’d have everything for the mere price of my soul. I agreed to exchange it for the treasures that he had promised. I wish I hadn’t.”

            The phantoms left Carol holding Washburn in his arms and rode their horses away which were dead like them also.

            Carol put Washburn inside the stagecoach and went the rest of the way that night. In the city, he was reprimanded, had his badge taken away, and was mocked by his superiors. He would later retire telling his grandchildren the story of when he use to be a real-life Pinkerton; he would tell of the Ghosts of Texas.

                        

Author's Note

Just a random short story I wrote last year.

Reviews

[Pete Hood]

Enjoyable story; maybe it could have been longer to build up the tension a bit.