Foreword: The Indian Girl is of course a Native American girl, it just didn't feel right to use the modern terminology when talking about her.
Also I would love to get your comments on this piece or any other piece I posted around here.
1.
The town's name has no importance; it's just another new settlement in the middle of the Wild West.
The single dusty main street, burnt by the relentless sun, is bordered by the typical saloon, the typical church and the typical sheriff's office. Surrounding these essential commodities the regular shops of hardware have grown like weed to fix the needs of the wilderness. The moon is high in the sky but the town hasn't fallen asleep yet.
The saloon is pretty crowded tonight as the miners just got their pay. Behind the bar, Gertrud Weber observes her little dominion. She's happy as she usually makes most of her profits on nights like this one. She smiles.
Five of the eight tables are occupied by poker games. A very large trapper, which goes by the nickname of The Grizzly, is sitting at one of them. Gertrud can feel that the small professional player that is slowly taking the upper hand won't make it through the night. The Grizzly doesn't like to lose. But the Grizzly hasn't noticed yet that the small man is skimming him and he has already drank his fair share of liquor, so The Grizzly is happy. He smiles.
In the most remote corner of the saloon, below the small staircase, the largest table of the house is occupied by the greasy carcass of old Sean O'Connor. In front of him stands his bottle of twelve years old whiskey imported directly from the dark valleys of Scotland. O'Connor owns the mine, he also owns the large ranch in the outskirts of town, in a way or another everyone works for old O'Connor. He technically owns the town. His wealth makes him happy. He smiles too.
By the crumbling piano a small Indian girl is sitting on a high stool. She has no family, no tribe, she doesn't speak but she observes. She observes how the so called civilization has taken everything from her and she is angry, she doesn't smile. She waits; she waits for the balance to be restored. And if her short life has taught her anything, it's patience.
The other tables are occupied by the usual crowd, miners, trappers, gunslingers. The cheap grain alcohol Gertrud brews at the back of the saloon has been pouring all night. The tension in the air is palpable but as long as the money comes out of the pockets of the workers and into Gertrud's, the old German whore doesn't care if a few men decide to have a bit of a fist play. It's part of the trade.
The rooms in the first floor are all occupied and there's a long line of dirty, smelly and filthy men waiting in line on the stairs to get a moment of ecstasy in the arms of one of the girls.
Yet tonight, one girl is missing.
Many men wonder where sweet little Dixie has gone.
Sweet little Dixie; youngest daughter of the McCrery family was left orphan after the bloody Indian raid last spring.
To the old hag's usual customers' delight the young girl was been greeted by Gertrud into her flock.
Dixie's tender manners and smooth skin made her one of the jewels of Gertrud's selection. The miners wouldn't hesitate to pay a little extra to have the privilege of sharing her bed.
But tonight, on this busy night, many are disappointed.
Gertrud doesn't seem to care...
***
Not so far from away from the town, there's an unmarked grave in the middle of the plain.
A coyote attracted to it by the prospect of an easy meal, wanders around the disturbed soil. The proud animal sniffs it, turns around it for a while and soon, feeling the presence of some unnatural force, runs away. The coyote is a wise creature in contact with the very soul of the wild. The coyote knows when it is a good time to leave. Humans on the other hand have long lost this ability to feel the disturbance in the natural order of things...
At first, under the full moon, nothing happens. But soon the dirt starts to tremble, something is trying to dig its way out, something is trying to leave the cold embrace of the earth. Suddenly, three fingers rise above the ground, they are followed by a full hand, an arm, a shoulder and finally a face covered in the red dirt of the plain. The face is one of a young woman, a young beautiful woman. But the woman's traits are altered by fear and hate. Her eyes, blue as the clear water of a bursting spring just a few days before, are now burning with the fires of hell.
This is what she has brought back with her, Hell...
***
The head resting on the large pile of pelts he plans on selling tomorrow in town, Eli is asleep by a small pond. By his side the remnants of his dinner, a small rabbit, are slowly combusting in the dying fire. The flask of homemade liquor is empty by his side. Just by his hand, a beautiful peacemaker rests, full of deadly promises. A bit further away, his old and clever horse is unsettled.
There's something wrong coming this way, the animal thinks. He tries to pull on its leash but Eli is always careful when it comes to his horse and the knot will not come off. The horse complains but his master is far too drunk tonight to hear the warning.
On the other side of the clearing a ghostly figure enters the pond. The water around it turns red with the dirt. The figure dives into the freezing water. Soon it resurfaces a bit further away. The face, now cleaned of the dirt and confusion, rises towards the pale light of the moon. She seems to sniff the wind. She turns towards the fading circle of light at the center of Eli's camp.
She gets out of the water and approaches the nervous horse. As she has done it many times before with her father's animals, she lays a hand on the front of the animal and grabs his large nostrils. She bends forward, pressing her cheek against the warm coat of the horse's head and whispers to his hear.
"Help me, help me do right," she repeats.
The sweet and tender voice of the women slowly subjugates the animal. There's now an unbreakable bond between the two creatures.
She then kneels by the fire to dry her wet naked body at the heat of the still red embers. For a long time she observes her pale fingers. Finally she grabs one of the half chewed rabbit bones and sniffs it. She's so hungry. She sticks the bone in her mouth but the taste repulses her. She spits it out. She looks at the bone. She used to love rabbit.
Eli has finally woken up. In a reflex he has grabbed his revolver but the sight in front of him has taken all his wits away. A beautiful naked woman kneeling by his fire in the middle of nowhere, he has fantasized about it a thousand times, but it has never happened, it can't happen. This must be a dream.
The woman turns around. He knows her; she works for that old German hag that runs the brothel in the town downriver.
"Dixie?"
The woman recognizes the name.
"Dixie, what are you doing here?"
But the woman doesn't answer; she looks at him. The fog of the alcohol is still all over his mind. Is he dreaming?
"Dixie, what happened to you?"
The young woman crawls towards him, she lays by his side passing an arm around his chest.
"I'm cold," she whispers.
Eli puts his gun back in its holster, he grabs the blanket that has rolled on his feet and covers the naked girl. The girl curls up even more against him as if she wanted to take all the warmth from him. Her tiny cold hand slips below his shirt. Her fingers are cold. He can't help himself from having an erection.
"I'm hungry," she continues.
Her hand is now slowly moving down Eli's belly. It slips inside his pants, gently wraps the turgescent manhood. Eli jumps. She starts slowly stroking him, up and down, and up, and down again. Eli who, for the last eight months, has been holed up in the mountains far, far away from the touch of a woman quickly shrugs and comes. The woman looks at her fingers covered in the man's offering and licks them. She closes her eyes, as the thick liquid explodes against her taste buds and fills her with the most extreme delight.
She pushes the blanket away and rising above the trapper, she tears the shirt open. She wraps her hands around the man's belt and shreds the thick fabric of his pants. In the light of the moon, Eli's organ is flask, slowly dripping cum. The woman looks at it with hunger. She lowers herself between his legs and takes the dick between her lips. Cupping his balls with her fingers, she laps at the remnant seed with avidity. The tip of her tongue searches around the recesses of the head to get every drop of it. Eli is ready again. She crawls back on his chest and impales herself. Her cold dripping pussy absorbs every inch of Eli's Manhood.
"Will you help me?" she growls.
Their faces are so close right now that Eli can finally see her clearly. He can see the madness hidden behind her eye, her oversized canines, her hunger, her lust. Eli knows he should be running, but something stops him. Maybe it is the will to help the poor girl, maybe it's his need for affection. He knows his life will soon end but he doesn't really care.
"Yes," he answers, "I will help you."
At the acceptance of the sacrifice the woman howls in the night. And she starts feeding, biting the strong trapper on the mouth, on the cheeks, on the neck, on the chest. She draws blood and drinks it. She indulges her unnatural needs. She accepts herself for what she has become, a terrible creature of madness, a blunt instrument of revenge. As the monster feeds, Dixie enjoys freedom for the first time in a long while...
2.
Three weeks have passed and life has moved on in the small valley surrounding the town. A loner has arrived with a bunch of pelts. The travelling dealer has bought the load and has waited three more days for Eli to arrive but the trapper has never shown up. With the unexpected shipment of pelts the travelling dealer has moved on back to the mountains to bring the pelts to be transformed in his factory and sent back east.
The burial of the professional player has been quick and the sheriff has looked the other way. The Grizzly being one of old O'Connor most trusted men, the law wouldn't dare to make a move against him. It's the law of the strongest, the law of the west.
The miners have gone back to the mine and the streets have become safe again for the hard working and god fearing flock of Reverend Fulton. A herd has crossed the plain and has moved down south towards the big spring cattle market.
Gertrud has beaten two of her girls, The Grizzly has been gone for a week to do no good somewhere else and O'Connor has appropriated the old McCrery's lands, but no one has asked about the disappearance of poor little Dixie.
The Indian girl in the saloon has stayed on her stool, patiently waiting for the return of the balance.
***
Mary Ann Fulton should know better than to be out alone so late in the prairie. She has spent the afternoon at the Jeffrey's helping out Mrs. Jeffrey with her sewing and she hasn't seen the night falling outside. Now she has to walk through the valley back to town under the light of the moon. Her white dress reflecting the dim light makes her stand out. Despite the fact that she's a girl from the country, she's also used to be home by nightfall and the howling coyotes in the background don't make her comfortable. Suddenly she stops. Has she heard the footsteps of a horse? She turns around but there's no one in sight. She ducks among the high herbs and waits for a while. Nothing around but the usual sounds of the night. She stands again and turns towards town.
There it is again: the horse's footsteps. She stops for the second time but there's still no one in sight. She starts walking again when suddenly she spots it: a man on a horse on the top of small hill ahead of her. The rider is looking at her. She knows she can't run, pedestrians will never outrun a horse, so she waits. For a very long time the silhouette stands on the hill looking down at her. In the night she's unable to see its features but it looks like a small man wearing a poncho and a large hat. Finally the man kicks his horse and leads it towards her. He stops the horse just a few yards away from her.
"Good evening sir," she says in the firmest tone she can manage.
"Good evening to you Mary Ann."
The rider is actually a woman and Mary Ann recognizes her voice.
"Dixie?"
"Dixie? You're not the first one to call me that..."
