The Freedman's Inn

Note from the Author: “Freedman” in this sense refers to anyone freed from chattel slavery in the context of the United States. “Free blacks” or “Free negroes” are terms that won’t appear in this story but historically reference this term. Likewise, “Freedman” refers to any freed Africans or African-Americans released from slavery under Native American/Indigenous tribes of North America. When I first wrote this story, I didn’t know about the controversy around "Cherokee Freedmen” so the title isn’t a reference to that portion of history."

Getting off the Train

“Hey Mister, wake up. We’re almost at the next checkpoint, I don’t want you to get caught.”

A man in a stained white shirt and faded brown trousers, slumped in the corner of the train car, emerged from a pile of straw with a hat tipped over his face. He rose slowly, wiping the strands off his body and squatted to retrieve a small knapsack. He made his way to the voice who spoke through a sun lit crack in the train. He stuck his head outside and saw the landscape around them was no longer the prairie of where he boarded. Instead, a thicket of bayou, and a blanket of humidity covered him.

The bright sun caused him to squint as he turned and saw the train porter who had called out to him standing at the end of the adjacent car. He could only be a couple years younger than himself, but his coffee like complexion hid the wrinkles of time. He wore a flawless navy porter uniform that gave him a distinguished air well beyond his years with a pair of shiny black shoes reflecting the morning light. He showed no signs of sweating despite the oppressive sun.

“Great, you’re finally up. Okay like I said the town I mentioned is only a few miles north of this train line. Remember, jump when I tell you and not a second later or sooner. When you land, there will be no signs, but look for the road and follow it west. You’ll know you’re going the right way because the dirt will get redder.”

The man, still groggy from waking, nodded. He angled his hat upward and addressed the porter,

“How can I thank you? Surely, there is something I can do for getting me this far.”

The whipping wind of the train ripped his words out of his mouth, but the porter heard him and grinned,

“Anything for a fellow freedman. When you make it to town, tell them Phillip Rogers sent you, they’ll tell you what you can do to pay me back. What’s your name, mister?”

The man nodded and threw his knapsack onto his shoulder and looked the porter in the eyes,

“Derick Walker.”

“Well Mr. Walker, this is where we part, I’m sure we’ll meet again,” he winked and reached into his pocket.

“Here, this will make you smell fresh for your arrival.” He took out a handful of flowers and leaped across the car hitch, grabbing the side of Derick’s car. He tucked the flowers into Derick’s shirt pocket.

“Don’t lose these, they could very well cost you your life. Au revoir.”

The Woods

Suddenly, Phillip threw Derick out of the car and onto a patch of grass, sending him between two large trees. Derick barely had time to hold onto his knapsack before he was on the ground. He rose slowly, his bones still creaking from being half awake and turned back to the railroad tracks. The train was long gone, but a blurred figure waved in the distance. Derick had landed softly despite the abrupt goodbye. The smell of the flowers in his breast pocket drew his attention from the train.

“Lavender?”

He didn’t think too much about it, examining the patch of grass he stood in. It snaked forward into the thicket and appeared to be the easiest option. He had no idea what stomping through the trees would lead him to. As he started into the forest, the adjacent trees loomed over him like an archway, shadowing him as he followed the grass.

The ground was dry despite the humid air and the smell of rotten eggs. Mosquitoes hovered in small masses, perfect for the frogs whose croaking symphony echoed loudly. Derick looked around and saw no end to the forest, despite the promise of a road. Without warning, the sound of a branch ricocheted in his direction, sending Derick diving to the ground. Old instincts die hard. As he got up, he realized he had reached the red soiled road. He dusted off his grass and mud stained clothes and was startled to find a sign in front of him.

The left arrow pointed to Overture while the right to Mobil. Derick didn’t think too much of the other town. Overture was his only destination. Still, he felt confused. Phillip hadn’t mentioned a sign and not one so close to the road. As he turned his back on the sign, the thumping of hooves appeared behind him. A man riding a wagon led by a pale horse made its way towards him. It slowed to a stop in front of the sign post.

Derick moved to avoid the wagon, but saw it had no intention of continuing. He looked at the driver to see a man wearing a large dark, broad-brimmed hat and a loose fitting olive shirt with black pants and boots. He lifted his hat, revealing the face of a wizen old man grinning with a green stalk in his mouth.

“Howdy stranger? What harkens a fine gentleman like yourself out to this part of the land?” the stranger said.

Derick was startled. The man’s voice didn’t match his appearance at all. In fact, it sounded like it should belong to a man half his age. Thinking of the teeth he flashed, they were too white for a man who looked like he was approaching the end of his life. What was he chewing? Mint? Derick acted as if nothing was amiss and responded,

“I’m on my way to Overture. What travels carry you this way?” Derick said. He kept his position on the side of the road and looked around for anything he could use as protection.

“Oh, just passing through to the big city. I’ve been this way enough times to know this is the most vibrant route.” He smiled and gestured to the forest around them.

As Derick’s eyes followed the man’s movements, the horse snorted, rousing his attention. He found himself looking into the pale creature’s black eyes which bore into him. They hung there, drawing Derick into their empty depths, burning red like coals before exploding with light. Derick stumbled back. The man slapped his knee and guffawed,

“Not used to horses are you boy? I’d offer you a ride, but you seem scared. I can’t have you going skittish on me.”

Derick rubbed his eyes trying to regain his vision. Once they cleared, the horse was staring down the road as if nothing had happened and the man was still laughing.

“Here, have a drink of this,” the man threw down a small canteen which Derick caught.

Derick opened the canteen to find a sweet smell greet him. He cautiously sipped and was surprised to find it was water. He took a longer drought and before asking,

“I’m tired. Been walking all morning,” Derick said, shaking his head. “What can you tell me about Overture?”

“Cute little town, founded by all dark skinned people like yourself here. Been in a spot of trouble since the war ended, but they seem like a lively enough bunch.”

“What trouble do you mean?”

“Town is cursed with people going missing and the like. A shame really. You seem like a nice, vigorous fellow. I’d hate to see you caught up in it.”

Derick paused and thought of the generosity of Phillip. He hadn’t mentioned any problems, then again, he said there weren’t any signs to guide him there either.

“While you’re thinking, climb aboard, might as well take you to Overture since it’s on my way,” the man said with another wide grin. He stretched out his hand, but Derick hesitated. Suddenly, the wind picked up, sending the flowers from his breast pocket into the face of the man, before plopping onto the opposite side of the carriage.

The man sneezed and snarled while the horse shifted and chortled as if in pain. Dumbstruck, Derick backed away. The man regained his composure and settled the horse, but no longer seemed poised to stay for Derick’s decision. With a straight face he said,

“Well, you’ve chosen the harder route. Keep the water. They call me Neville Dambridge, stranger. Be seeing you.”

With a swish of the reins, the man took off down the road. Derick stood there, unsure of what to make of the encounter. The man had been overly friendly, making him uncomfortable and capricious – leaving him in the road before he responded with his decision. He looked back for the road sign but it was gone.

“Could I have been hallucinating?” he said aloud. His grip remained on the canteen so it couldn’t have been all made up. He unscrewed it to take another sip. A stench like the bayou entered his nose and made him gag. He dumped the water onto the ground and kept moving.

The wind picked up again, blowing the flowers towards him. They had scared the man on the carriage off, but he had no idea what made them special. He leaned down, recovering the florets and held them to his face, breathing in. Thankfully, they still smelled of lavender and their fresh smell cleansed his nostrils of the previous odor. He tucked them back into his pocket and trudged down the road.

The road to Overture

As the day wore on, his shirt become a damp cloth against his body. He carried his hat in one hand fanning himself as his knapsack lay over his other shoulder. In front of him, irrigated farmland stretched towards a settlement that could only be the town of Overture. The red road in the forest had slowly turned brown and appeared dried out like a riverbed. Derick made his way closer to the town, but as he neared, a group of men rose from the farmland wielding rifles.

“Halt, stranger. We don’t mean ya harm, but we do need to ask you a few questions. Nod your head if you understand,” one of the men said.

Derick nodded.

“Good. Let’s start with the basics. Where you comin’ from?”

Derick moved his mouth to respond, but his tongue felt like a lump of coal. Seeing his struggle, one of the men threw a canteen towards him. Derick’s eyes widened and he snatched it from the air. He ripped off the cap and skeptically sniffed. Not discovering any weird odors, he hastily poured it creating a cascade down the front of his shirt. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he responded,

“The train tracks. Phillip sent me, see,” he pointed at the now wet lavender in his breast pocket.

The man nodded and asked another question,

“Did you see anyone else on the road?”

“Just one, a man with –“

“A Pale horse.”

Derick stopped talking and looked at the men in front him. There were four of them, dressed like farmers. But with their guns trained on him, their eyes reminded him of the men he saw in the war. The one speaking wore a red bandana around his neck.

“What did he want?”

Derick went to speak but stopped. He wasn’t sure what the man wanted honestly.
“He gave me water and offered me a ride here. He did mention y’all had run into trouble, but that was it.”

He thought it over more, but couldn’t find anything else to say.

The men looked at one another briefly, before their leader spoke again,

“What made you decline his offer?”

Derick thought back to the flowers blowing away,

“The lavender scared him away. I didn’t say anything at all.”

The man with the red bandana looked relieved and brought down his gun,

“God be with you stranger. What do they call you?”

“Derick sir, Derick Walker.”

“Good name. My birth name is Floyd, but people call me Red around here. These men around you are Bernard, Richard and David. You’ll find out we’re about should you stick ‘round here long enough.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be here that long, I’m passing through to Houston.”

“I used to hear that a lot. Not so much these days…Go ahead to town and find the inn, you can’t miss it. Do wave to the people, we don’t get strangers much these days. We’ll be out here ‘while yet.”

Derick nodded and the other men put down their guns, shimmying out of his way. He brushed by Red and hadn’t gone far when the man yelled,

“Smile boy, you survived a run in with the Devil.”

Derick passed row after row of abandoned homes. Their structures hardly showed signs of any wear, but the flower beds in all of them were barren. The last house, however, had a thriving patch of none other than lavender growing around it like a barrier. The main part of town was dotted with bright shop signs and people relaxed on the porches. People milled around store fronts, wandering in and out, while others played cards on benches. At the end of the shops, a lone building stood near a well.

Derick walked by the stores with names like Harold’s Hardware and Guns and Dorothy’s Dry Goods greeting folks along the way. When he passed Griselda’s General Store, a little boy ran out with a lollipop in his mouth. He looked around uninterested in everyone until he saw Derick walking in the street. As if drawn by a magnet, he took off towards him unafraid to ask questions,

“Mister, mister where are you coming from? You look awful, where’s your family? You got your lavender?”

Derick had smiled through the questions, but his face scrounged into confusion at the last question. He looked around at the people he passed and sure enough everyone had lavender attached to their persons or laying near them. Hearing the commotion, a couple rushed out of the general store. The man, look mortified to see his son dancing around Derick. The woman next to him, looked around embarrassed and marched into the street,

“Thomas, apologize this minute or you’ll find out what sorry looks when you can’t see your friends later.”

Thomas backed away from the man and took the lollipop out of his mouth, collecting himself.

“Sorry mister, I didn’t mean to pester you. You can get a bath at the inn over there though, the lavender smells nice, but you still need to bathe.”

The man walked from the store into the street next to his son and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. The boy didn’t flinch, accustomed to his father’s hand being there and looked curiously back at Derick.

“Excuse my son sir, he’s rambunctious but means well. If you are in search of lodging, the inn is indeed that lone building there,” he said pointing.

Derick tipped his hat at the man, winking at the boy and walked away laughing.
As he approached the inn, Derick observed the well next to the inn was sealed – perhaps it had dried up. He kept going and stopped in front of the entrance to admire the sign: The Freedman’s Inn. Its proud lettering was a warm sight given Derick’s day, but it was far from over.

The Inn

Derick pushed through the swinging doors and found three people inside: two men drinking separately at tables and a woman behind the bar. The closest man faced the back of the inn. He was big and he wore a leather apron like a blacksmith’s, with 6 glasses empty in front of him. He didn’t move as Derick entered. He kept drinking and stared solemnly ahead. The other man turned his direction and was rail thin, sporting tied back gray hair and sharply dressed. He swirled a whiskey glass in his hand. At the bar, the women stood still, she wore a simple blue dress and her hands seemed to be reaching for something. Derick broke the tension,

“Afternoon folks. I was referred to this establishment by Phillip Rogers.”

The woman’s hands stopped moving and she crossed her arms, leaning back on the bar, the men remained in their positions, but the woman stared at him eagerly,

“How do you know my brother?”

Derick turned his attention to her,

“We met on the train. He let me stow away where they usually keep the horses and told me to come here. He even gave me this,” he said and patted the lavender sticking out his pocket.

The woman nodded. The old man put his glass back on the table, while the large man stopped drinking.

“He tell you why he gave you those?”

“No, but he didn’t have time as he pushed me off the train.”

The old man let out a deep belly laugh, holding his sides. The large man went back to drinking, but the corners of his mouth turned up and the woman smirked.
The old man let go of his sides and looked at Derick,

“Phillip must have sent you as a husband. Finally, this old bar maid can settle down,” he rolled about in his chair laughing. The woman at the bar blushed and reprimanded the man,

“I’ll call in that drinking tab Mr. Café and we’ll see who has the last laugh.”

The old man’s face fell and he grumbled to himself. The woman got serious before speaking again,

“Look behind you, that’s why everyone walks around with them.”

Derick faced the entrance and saw a board pinned with drawings. He stepped closer to examine them and the woman continued speaking,

“Missing, all of them. They say the lavender wards off the devils, but we found that out too late.”

Derick saw people of all ages among the missing, he paused on the picture of a mom and daughter that lacked the yellowing of the other photos. He turned back to the woman,

“Devils? When did it start? The lavender and the missing.”

“After the war ended. We all thought freedom would get us past the worst of this country, but two years later and here we are.”

“Who’s taking them?”

The old man broke into the conversation, “It’s not something that concerns you, whatever you’re looking for in the big city, I’d suggest you hurry up and get there.”

Derick looked at the old man and chose his words carefully,

“I am passing through, but I do owe Phillip for his help.”

“Leave with your life after tonight, that’s how you can thank him. Tip the young woman here and keep it movin’,” he said. He drained his glass and slammed it on the table.

“Mr. Café speaks truthfully. We can accommodate you for the night, but best you move on. These parts aren’t safe for strangers. Notice no one else was on the road. Even the white folks stay clear of here. I can show you your room upstairs and offer you fresh clothes. Dinner will be included for the night and perhaps breakfast tomorrow if I’m up early enough, but I implore you to leave after.”

Derick saw there was no arguing with those present, but he did ask for one thing,

“Can I get a drink before I freshen up? After the day I’ve had, I need something to loosen up.”

“Take a seat at the bar, I’ll pour you a whiskey.”

Derick passed the large, silent man and made his way to the bar. Sitting down, he examined the inn. It was carefully designed, dark wood paneling lined the walls and floors while paintings of black folks hung around the space. The room was spacious. You could clear the tables and chairs for dancing and based on the wear, at one point they may have done just that. A stair case wound its way from the side of the room and ambled across the back. The upstairs overlooked the seating area and held all of the inn’s rooms. The bar itself was mahogany and stood out the most. Derick looked at the mirror behind the bar and stared at his reflection. His clothes were tattered looking and stained. While his face was youthful, eyes bore saddle bags of weariness. His travels since the war were catching up to him.

Beneath the mirror and in front of the collection of liquors, was a small framed photo. He could make out the woman and what looked like Phillip’s face. He had no idea how old the picture was, but its tarnished frame couldn’t have been recent. Yet, neither the woman nor Phillip had signs of aging if the photo was old. He would need to get closer to inspect it, but the woman slid his drink in front of him and blocked his view.

“Here you are stranger. Do you have a name?”

Derick took a long sip before saying anything, “Derick Walker. Yours?”

“Ida Rogers. Phillip is my older brother even if he doesn’t act like it. That photo was taken when we opened this place. The years have been long, but this town has always been kind to us.”

“When did you open it?”

“After the war here. Although, that seems long ago.”

“Not long enough, I was so tired of marching and fighting that-

The old man broke in behind him, “You call that a war? In my home country, we fought like you never imagined. Please, we-”

“Mr. Café, show some respect for a vet. Sorry, Mr. Walker. You were saying.”
Derick mulled his drink over in his hand and didn’t say anything. When he did speak, it was to leave,

“Ms. Rogers, will you show me upstairs.”

“Sure, follow me.”

Derick got up and tossed his drink back in one go. Ida left the bar and walked by the large man drinking alone and patted him on the shoulder. He nodded in kind and finished his glass. Derick slipped between tables with his knapsack, passing the old man who spoke again,

“Ay, you sure you’re not one of those Buffalo Soldiers? You’re young enough…I like the ring of that. Buffalo in the Bayou,” he said cackling.

Derick followed Ida up the stairs into one of the rooms above the bar. Once he entered, she closed the door behind him. Against the wall was a bed and next to it was a night stand. On the other wall was a window where daylight poured in and over the dresser beneath it. Another door stood next to the window. Ida was still facing the door when she started speaking,

“I apologize for Mr. Café. He was in rare form with a stranger around. He doesn’t mean anything with his jokes. He’s harsh but quite sweet once you get to know him.”

As she turned away from the door, she folded her arms in front of her and Derick asked a question,

“He mentioned fighting in his home country. Where is he from?”

Ida walked over to the window and cracked it open, before answering,

“Haiti. He came here when I was a child. We can tell he’s different, but white folks believe he’s just like you and I. It’s hard for him since his people have long been free. He almost looks down on this country for taking so long.”

“What keeps him here then if he complains so much?”

Ida looked outside as she answered,

“The town,” she said and faced Derick.

“Mr. Walker, I know you have more questions, but it is best you don’t ask them. We are a proud people in this town and dragging a stranger into this business is not hospitable of us.”

She gestured towards the bed,

“While you’re here, you might as well protect yourself. Beneath the bed you’ll find a large hunting knife and a pistol. They were my father’s, but he’s gone now. Keep them for the night, but return them when you leave. The other door here leads to the balcony, there’s a chair and tables out there, should you fancy it. I should have supper ready by the time the sun goes down. I imagine you’ll want to rest up, so I’ll be out of your way.”

Derick stood there watching her as she spoke. He hadn’t paid much attention when he was downstairs, but Ida was quite beautiful. Her curly hair was tied back in a loose bun. Her bright eyes studied him with every word and her lips were-

“Mr. Walker, Mr. Walker are you listening?”
Derick snapped awake and repeated what she said,

“Knife and gun underneath the bed. Don’t ask too many questions since I won’t like the answers…Who is the quiet man downstairs?”

“That’s not quite what I said, but that’s Mr. Booker Tromps. He lost his wife and daughter and hasn’t been the same since. He’s very kind, but grieving, so don’t expect much out of him if you speak to him.

Anything else?”

Derick shook his head.

“Good, I’ll be back with clean clothes and the items necessary to shave. You should clean up before supper. Give me a moment.”

She left the room and Derick stepped outside to the balcony. A table and chairs were there, sun worn and covered in debris, but usable. He found himself looking down the very same street where he had been stopped by the little boy. He didn’t do so then but with the advantage of the view, he could see where the road went after town. It disappeared into another set of bayou. In the distance a building could be seen, but he wasn’t high enough to see what it was.

He went back inside and found the items Ida had promised. On the bed were a fresh set of clothes, even shoes. He also found a towel with a razor and a shaving brush next to lather and a handheld mirror. Next to the the door was a bucket with a fresh bar of soap.

By the time he cleaned up, he couldn’t stand the smell of his clothes or his shoes, so he left them outside to dry out in the sun. He came back in and reached for the knife and pistol underneath. Instead, he found a wooden box which he dragged out. He took off the lid and found the weapons described. The knife came with a leather sheath which could be tied to his pant loops and the pistol was nestled into a holster. He checked the pistol and found one in the chamber while 6 shells slid loosely in the box. He returned everything and pushed it back under. He flopped on to the bed and closed his eyes. He would take a quick nap and go see what he could buy in town. What did they mean about devils? What did they look like? Had he really met the Devil in the woods? He didn’t ponder these too long before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

The General Store

When Derick awoke, the sun had begun it’s descent into the embrace of night. A few rays still snuck through his window, which gave him enough light to pull out the box and arm himself. He brought his things off the balcony and left them near the dresser. He exited his room and swiftly descended downstairs, which was already bright with candlelight.

Mr. Café sat at the bar playing with a deck of cards while the man known as Booker Tromps was tending the bar. Ida was nowhere in sight. Mr. Café turned around as Derick came off the last step,

“Derick, excellent timing. You can run to Griselda’s and fetch the butter. It appears we are all out and plain bread even with porridge, is a horrible thing to have.”
“Is that the general store?”

“How observant mister solider. That’s the one. If you’re quick, you’ll beat the sunset. Dinner will be ready momentarily, Ida is in the kitchen finishing up.”

Derick nodded and went out the doors to the general store. He gazed at the sky and noticed the bright moon above him. For a moment, it was the same blood color as the horse’s eyes. He blinked and the color was gone. Horrified, he picked up speed. He didn’t realize his heart was pounding in his ears until he was drowning it out knocking on the locked door to the store.

He heard shuffling inside, but no one had answered. He kept knocking, but nothing. He was about to yell when he heard a moan. Then silence. He waited, but the commotion had stopped. He drew the pistol and peeked through one of the large windows which took up the storefront.

The moon’s white light filtered through the pane. Derick looked carefully and saw nothing but darkness until his eyes adjusted.

Inside, it appeared several cans of dry goods had been knocked around on the floor. Derick looked closer and saw a figure standing near the counter, but it couldn’t have been a person. He waited for his eyes to adjust further and realized it was two people. One of them was holding the other by the throat, their legs sagging onto the ground lifelessly. Derick pounded on the glass and started shouting,

“Hey, what are you doing? Put them down! Put them down now!”

The shadowed figure whipped its head around like an owl. Derick stumbled back, but not before a body came crashing through the window into his chest. The two of them tumbled to the ground and the doors to the store exploded off the ground.

Derick landed in the street, pistol out of reach. He looked over at the other person, but scrambled away in horror. The face of the person had been drained of all blood and only loose skin hung off the skull. Maggots crawled through its empty eye sockets and the chest had been caved in straight to the spine.

Derick looked around and grasped for the pistol which was now in reach. His eyes returned to the storefront doorway as he hobbled up. It was still empty.

He blinked and something entered his view, slowly moving. It stood there, hidden by the shadows of the porch. It stumbled forward and into the moonlight.

An ashy, swollen Black face with yellow eyes stared at Derick. Upon seeing him, a ghastly tongue fell limply outside of its mouth down to its chest.

Derick thumbed the hammer of the gun.

The creature came closer to Derick and he responded by firing. The monstrosity flinched back as if hurt, but kept moving.

Derek fired again, piercing it’s skill above the eyebrow. It roared and charged with inhuman speed.

He took a breath and shot once more, hitting it in the eye and dived out of the way.
The creature slammed into the ground where he stood, sending dirt exploding into the sky.

In the background, porch lights had been turned on at the surrounding shops and Derick could hear people shouting but he turned his attention back to the creature. It stared at him swaying side to side. The tongue now extended all the way to the dirt pathway.

Derick pointed at its chest and slammed his hand on the revolver, emptying the last three shells in his chamber. All four shots hit the creature in its center of mass but it barely flinched.

“Fucking hell,” he said. He started running down the street towards another store. At the same time, he flicked the empty barrel open and fumbled in his pocket for more ammo.

Behind him, the sound of the creature’s footsteps were rapidly gaining on him and then they disappeared. He looked away from his gun and into the window of another shop. The creature was airborne with outstretched arms.

He rolled and the creature plummeted, sending splinters within inches of Derick.
A foul smell hovered in the air as the creature screamed and tried to wrench its head from the hole it made. Gagging, Derick took off running and finished loading the gun.

Suddenly, a whistling sound hurtled through the air and a wet iron grip around took hold of Derick’s ankle.

“Oh you’ve got to be fuc-,” he didn’t finish his sentence and was slammed to the ground.

He groaned and the tug on his ankle grew stronger. He slowly was pulled towards the creature and the stifling stench grew unbearable.

Gasping for breath, he shakily lifted his gun towards the creature’s mouth but an ear shattering roar broke his resistance. His body fell lifelessly.

The creature had Derick within arm’s reach, dangling him upside. Drool leaked down the corners of its mouth. It reached for Derick’s gun when suddenly a loud blast interrupted it.

The creature lurched back with a shriek and dropped Derick to the ground. Maggots instead of blood spewed from the top of its head and fell to the ground.
Another blast, this time the creature reached for its neck. Its mouth opened as if screaming but no sound came out.

On the ground, Derick dreamed of the medical tents he had seen in the war. Soldiers dying of infections and untreated wounds while doctors and nurses scrambled to bandage them.

The rifle fired once more, sending the creature’s brains onto the destroyed porch and waking Derick from his slumber. He groaned as he opened his eyes and watched the creature fall into the ground.

“It didn’t get anything inside you did he lad?” a voice asked.

He turned towards the voice and saw five armed people surrounding him. Two he recognized, Mr. Café and Booker, but the others wore black hoods. Derick shook his head. His body was shaking uncontrollably and he struggled to stand up.

“Drink this. Liquid courage.”

Derick felt the metal of a flask enter his mouth and a warm, soothing liquid poured into his throat. As it traveled down, he felt an explosion as if life itself were being given to his body. He flew up from the ground and looked around.

“Well, we know he’s not one of them at least,” Mr. Café said.

“Giving that away so easily? He didn’t answer the question,” a soft voice said.

“I checked, only a bit of maggots entered his ear which I tossed away before he awoke. He’s a war vet, he should be of some use,” Mr. Café said.

“For now you mean, who knows if he’ll even last long enough,” the soft voice said.

Derick coughed lightly and spoke,
“The general store, there could be more,” he choked out.

“Spoken like a true solider! Useful already, lead the way!” Mr. Café shoved him enthusiastically in the back.

The six of them entered the doors of the general store, stepping over canned goods and dried beans. The glass counters were smashed. Scratches covered the walls and floorboards. Derick felt something wet fall on the nape of his neck. He reached behind him and wiped it off. He moved closer to the light and rubbed the liquid between his fingers.

“Blood?”

“Check upstairs, that’s where the sleeping quarters are,” the soft voice said.

They filed up the stairs with Derick last. The stairs creaked softly under their collective weight as a small beam of light spilled from the top. Derick could hardly see from the back, but the first person eased the door ajar with their gun. Abruptly, it slammed open and they all rushed upstairs.

As Derick reached the top, a shotgun blast fired off. Then silence. He joined a trio which stood there in the landing surrounded by three doors. Each led into a room covered in corpses with blood painting the walls. The center room held the last two members of the party who stood chatting. Derick could hear Mr. Café and the soft voice speaking,

“We bring him with us, we’re in the final phase. They’ve already entered the town and we can’t send him off to Houston in the middle of the night.”

“How much does he know?”

“He’s seen the photo in the inn, but nothing outside of that and this mess.”

The soft voice paused,

“You’ve already made him one of us, so he’s your burden. Feed him, arm him and get him ready to move. We follow the plan, no matter what the cost.”

The figure with the soft voice walked out of the room and back down the stairs, taking the two others with her. Booker and Derick stood there, waiting for Mr. Café to make his decision alone in the room.

“Back to the inn gentleman,” Mr. Café said.

They reached the entrance of the store front and saw one of the hooded figures light a torch and throw it through the smashed window. As the fire took hold, Derick pushed through the swinging doors. Inside, Ida sat in the middle with a shotgun across her lap and a bottle of whiskey.

“You’ve met the devils now Mr. Walker. I’m afraid we’ll have to infringe on your path to the city. Dinner is waiting, you can thank Mr. Café for that. Have a seat.”

As Ida got up, Derick sat down and Ida returned with bowls and bread for everyone. Booker sat next to him. Mr. Café took the other chair and Ida sat across from him with the picture he saw earlier.

“Mr. Café why don’t you start,” Booker said. Derick recognized it as the voice who had asked if anything had fell inside him. Derick was ravenously hungry despite the events of the day. As they talked, he ate eagerly.

Mr. Café cleared his throat and grabbed the whiskey on the table and took a swig. He closed his eyes and began, turning to Derick with them open,

“It started when the war ended. I thought I could finally bring good news back to my countrymen in Haiti and leave here. That’s when the first of them appeared. They started at the edge of town, lumbering around like drunks. They never got close so we never saw what they looked like. The first victim was a child, we found her face down in the fields one morning. She was out with her mother, but we couldn’t find her…”

“My wife.” Mr. Booker said. He continued,

“We didn’t realize these monsters could multiply based on when they killed. Until the night something that looked like my wife came upon my doorstep. I was on the porch grieving and she ambled up as if looking for something. When she reached the lavender, she instinctively leaped back as if in fear. We’d only had those plants about two years. In the summers, if the breeze caught the flower patch just right, the smell would permeate the porch as if it were a candle.”

Mr. Café chimed in,

“Obviously, this is before we realized the critical importance of the plant.”

Booker went on, “My wife had also been a seamstress. dyed with the lavender which is why it grew so abundantly around my house. I knew she wasn’t human, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill her.”

Ida cut in,

“I could though. She wasn’t my wife. In turn, Booker killed my father when he turned. Mr. Café has killed many people’s loved ones who’ve been turned for them. It’s not easy work, but we do it to end this nightmare.”

Derick finished his food and took a sip of the whiskey as well. He looked them all and asked the question which had been on his mind since the beginning,

“Why y’all? Why this town?

“The well next to the inn, tired up years ago but before it did we learned anyone who consumed it gained extended life. You’ve seen my photo which was taken at the end of the Mexican-American war. Mr. Café fought in the Haitian revolution before he came here. And Booker here fought in both Seminole wars before arriving to town,” Ida said and took a draft of the whiskey.

Derick leaned back in his chair, balancing on the front two legs.

“So what Mr. Café gave me earlier was a sip of that well water which is why that lady was so upset.”

Mr. Café looked at him and winked.

“That’s exactly it my boy, exactly it.”

Mr. Café’s smile broke into a wide toothed grin and as Derick thought back to where had seen that earlier, the chair beneath him gave out. He tipped backwards and as he fell, his eyes never left Mr. Café’s face which slowly merged into Neville Dambridge’s. His head slammed into the ground and his world fell to darkness.

A shotgun blast broke woke Derick back up. He was on the red dirt road again and next to him was the pale horse that had terrified him earlier. Except, it was dead. He shrieked and scrambled away in horror as the headless body laid so close to him him maggots spilling out of its neck onto his face. He crawled backwards and clawed at his face to remove the white worms.

A snap of a branch near him, caused him to whip in that direction. Phillip walked through the thicket loading shells into a shotgun.

“Derick, I told you not to lose those flowers didn’t I?”

“Phillip, what the hell are you doing here? What happened to the town?”

“It’s clear you never made it. Our dead friend here bewitched you and almost sapped the life out of you.”

“How do I know you’re not one of them and this isn’t an illusion like before?”

Phillip tapped to his collar where a set of lavender flowers were pinned. He pointed towards Derick’s flowers in the road,

“The flowers remind you to keep your mind clear of the rot, as long as you wonder in these parts, you’ll never live without them.”

Derick walked over and placed the flowers back into his breast pocket. Phillip walked over to the wagon and looked at the dead body. He tapped his head,

“Remember Derick, the Devil can die too.”