Read Online Deadman's Crossing by Joe R. Lansdale - Free Book Online
Authors: Joe R. Lansdale
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seven p.m.
“Then we have some time,” Jebidiah said, shaking out the match.
“So maybe we can and should get out of town now,” Mary said.
The ghost shook its head. “Nope. You don’t want to go out there. They don’t get serious until midnight, but being out in the street, under that big ole shadow, that ain’t the place to be. The things to worry about the most ain’t gonna be here for awhile, but, still, there’s things out there under and in that shadow, and you don’t want no part of that. I’m dead, and I don’t want no part of it. And besides, time ain’t the same here. Take a look at the clock.”
Jebidiah struck another match, held it up. The clock had moved a full fifteen minutes. Jebidiah shook out his match.
“It’s messed up,” Mary said.
The ghost shook its head.
Jebidiah said, “The devil’s time is different from mine and yours.” Jebidiah turned to the ghost. “Do you have some helpful advice for us? I believe we could use any you might possess, and considering your situation, you are bound to have experiences that we do not.”
“And if you’re lucky,” said the ghost, “you’ll never have them. Let me tell you, this ain’t no dosey-do, being dead, being hung up between here and wherever.”
The ghost paused for a moment, as if gathering his energies, and in fact, he seemed to become brighter, more solid, and as he did, he leaned forward and told his story.
“My name was Dolber Gold, but everyone called me Dol when I was alive. Me and all these cowboys and whores once lived in, or worked in, or passed through, this town. And this here establishment, which could be called a kind of house of pleasure, a sure enough Gentleman’s Hotel, minus the goddamn gentleman, was always packed and full of piano music and dancing, and if you’ll pardon me, ma’m, the riding of asses and the drinking of liquor.”
“Mine has been ridden plenty,” Mary said. “I’m a working girl. So no begging your pardon is necessary.”
“I thought as much,” Dol said, “and I mean that with no disrespect. My favorite women were always of the loose nature, and I respect the job they do and the pleasure they give. And if I were able, I’d be glad to lay coins down to buck a bit with you.”
“Tell your story,” Jebidiah said.
“The hairy ones,” Dol said. “That’s your problem.”
Dol nodded at the grandfather clock. “Go outside now you’ll be covered in a kind of sickness, a feeling that will make you weak. It’s them a’comin’. There’s bad things in that shadow in the street, but it ain’t nothing to what’s gonna be here when that clock hits high midnight.”
“You’ve said as much,” Jebidiah said, throwing a glance at the clock. His eyes had adjusted enough he could make out the fact that the hands had moved again. Another fifteen minutes. There were still time, but it was best to be prepared, and have time to do it. Dol was as chatty as a squirrel, and nowhere near on point.
“Me and some of the boys got liquored up and rode out to the old graveyard for some fun. I didn’t have no respect, ’cause I was full of rotgut to the gills. We rode out there with bad intentions. Graveyard there is what used to be for all them folks settled here, but there was graves older than that on top of the hill, lost in amongst the trees. And it was said Conquistadors come through here, gave trouble to the Indians. Story went that they come through this part of East Texas, up the Sabine River, searching for gold. Course, wasn’t none. But they searched anyway. These woods, deep as they are now, were deeper then, and there was things in there from times before we know’d about time. Conquistadores began to die out, and the six that was left, they camped here abouts, and in the night, a hairy one came. Maybe he was an Indian. Who knows? The Indians tell the story. But he was hairy and he came into the center of them and killed the lot of them, tore them up. Their bones were
“Then we have some time,” Jebidiah said, shaking out the match.
“So maybe we can and should get out of town now,” Mary said.
The ghost shook its head. “Nope. You don’t want to go out there. They don’t get serious until midnight, but being out in the street, under that big ole shadow, that ain’t the place to be. The things to worry about the most ain’t gonna be here for awhile, but, still, there’s things out there under and in that shadow, and you don’t want no part of that. I’m dead, and I don’t want no part of it. And besides, time ain’t the same here. Take a look at the clock.”
Jebidiah struck another match, held it up. The clock had moved a full fifteen minutes. Jebidiah shook out his match.
“It’s messed up,” Mary said.
The ghost shook its head.
Jebidiah said, “The devil’s time is different from mine and yours.” Jebidiah turned to the ghost. “Do you have some helpful advice for us? I believe we could use any you might possess, and considering your situation, you are bound to have experiences that we do not.”
“And if you’re lucky,” said the ghost, “you’ll never have them. Let me tell you, this ain’t no dosey-do, being dead, being hung up between here and wherever.”
The ghost paused for a moment, as if gathering his energies, and in fact, he seemed to become brighter, more solid, and as he did, he leaned forward and told his story.
“My name was Dolber Gold, but everyone called me Dol when I was alive. Me and all these cowboys and whores once lived in, or worked in, or passed through, this town. And this here establishment, which could be called a kind of house of pleasure, a sure enough Gentleman’s Hotel, minus the goddamn gentleman, was always packed and full of piano music and dancing, and if you’ll pardon me, ma’m, the riding of asses and the drinking of liquor.”
“Mine has been ridden plenty,” Mary said. “I’m a working girl. So no begging your pardon is necessary.”
“I thought as much,” Dol said, “and I mean that with no disrespect. My favorite women were always of the loose nature, and I respect the job they do and the pleasure they give. And if I were able, I’d be glad to lay coins down to buck a bit with you.”
“Tell your story,” Jebidiah said.
“The hairy ones,” Dol said. “That’s your problem.”
Dol nodded at the grandfather clock. “Go outside now you’ll be covered in a kind of sickness, a feeling that will make you weak. It’s them a’comin’. There’s bad things in that shadow in the street, but it ain’t nothing to what’s gonna be here when that clock hits high midnight.”
“You’ve said as much,” Jebidiah said, throwing a glance at the clock. His eyes had adjusted enough he could make out the fact that the hands had moved again. Another fifteen minutes. There were still time, but it was best to be prepared, and have time to do it. Dol was as chatty as a squirrel, and nowhere near on point.
“Me and some of the boys got liquored up and rode out to the old graveyard for some fun. I didn’t have no respect, ’cause I was full of rotgut to the gills. We rode out there with bad intentions. Graveyard there is what used to be for all them folks settled here, but there was graves older than that on top of the hill, lost in amongst the trees. And it was said Conquistadors come through here, gave trouble to the Indians. Story went that they come through this part of East Texas, up the Sabine River, searching for gold. Course, wasn’t none. But they searched anyway. These woods, deep as they are now, were deeper then, and there was things in there from times before we know’d about time. Conquistadores began to die out, and the six that was left, they camped here abouts, and in the night, a hairy one came. Maybe he was an Indian. Who knows? The Indians tell the story. But he was hairy and he came into the center of them and killed the lot of them, tore them up. Their bones were
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