cowboys all round a campfire
Dewdrops extensive on the great wide fields, we descended upon the plains. The sun had not risen, would not rise yet for another several hours or so. So that sky was painted chalk blue on account of the new moon, no competition. Stars don’t like competition, that’s what I always say. So when the moon is turned round, yeah, they shine brighter; and even the shy ones come out. We descended like that, under their self-conscious cottony light. Down, waaay down, scaling the steepest tread of the foothills, our crew went; over treacherous terrain we lowered our bodies. Then we saw it, oh yes.
There stood the spectre, swan white and aflame, steam arising allllllll around her for the dew overheated by her feet! A steaming ghost e-vap-o-rating allllll the droplets touching her swan-white skirt! You wouldn’t believe it, friends, our breath all together stopped dead in our throats, so infatuating was the sight. A real, living pearl; an abalone girl; even breath must stop in the face of such an image.
But we pushed on. We did push on. Got near the ghost, nearer still til we could just about make out her smell from between the curly mesquite and sagebrush and so on. I’ll tell you this: the spectre wasenticing, smelt like hungry jasmine abloom in the nighttime, petals alllll open and inviting, yeah. We had heard, from the real life accounts of these townspeople whose stories so moved the others that they took it upon themselves to demolish the strongheld demoness, that she would be like a bleached flower or something romantic like that. I myself was more moved by the reward offer, but nevertheless. About her scent we had heard ourselves. Only the strongest could go, so, for on account of the factor of temptation and all that! Yeah, so, it was me, Randy the bootman, Jess who’s Hec’s mistress, and old Carlos. You know, he’s been thinking about joining the brotherhood, that one, being so pious. Useful kinda non-skill in a romp like this.
Right, where was I?
Oh, yes, the spectre. Oh, yes, a temptress most definitely. But our hearts were set on her elimination. She was guilty of terrorizing the children, a sin neither forgivable nor forgettable. The children needed to be protected, see; encounters with the ghoul would wager an unfavorable outcome on behalf of the children individually and society at large by rippled effects! That’s what the old fellas in the town were saying, anyway. I do know of course that effects can travel a great distance, just like rings from a stone skipped across a pond, I know that’s true.
Well, anyway, we didn’t have the slightest clue what to do about a ghost, really. That traveling fella always carrying the good book round town, he told us we should throw some holy water at her in Jesus’ name, and he was terribly convincing, that fella. So we thought, okay, holy water’ll do just fine, yep. The fella dumped out his own personal flask and filled it up with water from the creek and blessed it his own self, and that’s how we knew he was a real man of God, for he wouldn’t know if he’d ever see his flask again. And that weighs heavy on a man.
So, once we were in firing range, Jess who’s Hec’s mistress pulled the old flask out of her boot, and she tossed it to Randy, who dropped it. Slippery fella, that one, for a man of leather. And Carlos must have called upon his celibate powers because I’ve never seen the boy do more than stand on his toes to reach the books at the top of the shelves at The Nook in town, and here he was, dodging and dashing and ducking to pick up that old flask where it hid in the tall grass. Now, he got the damn thing. Problem was, he was dodging and dashing and ducking for no reason, because the demon-ghoul-ghost-spectre did not move, had no reaction what-so-ever. And we all stopped. Breath caught again in her glory and her patience. She made no move to defend herself from our aggressive approach. Her peace was suddenly quite obviously radiant throughout the field. But…how could we stop now? We were so close. The others were caught up in her flowing skirts and jasmine per-fume.
Not me, oh no.
Well, of course I could see the distractive appeal, as well as anyone I could see it. And the moral woes of that town, no sir. They were none of my concern! I was a drifter, naturally I wasn’t so attached as all that. But the reward was hefty, and the willing so few. The reckless, maybe, so few. Dare I say, the bravest…just me? For the others cowered in her fiery presence, and it was yours truly who swooped in to snatch the flask from old slack-jawed Carlos, unscrewed that rusty cap, and let loose on that demoness.
When I tell you–how she ex-pan-ded. The spectre grew wide and spread apart all over the field, warm bright air encompassing us, a star gently dying, whistling good-bye. Just in an instant. And the whole place went black.
That’s why we call it Black Fields now, yep. Nothing grows there anymore, ever since that night, 18 new moons prior to this one. I got my reward, but it didn’t feel too good keeping it, since I knew what I really had done. The town gave me my reward for destroying a terrible spectre, but she was no spectre. That night I know I killed an angel. Field’s dead. Yep, be careful not to kill your angels, that’s all I’m saying.
originally published in The Chaffey Review, Ghost Stories
