Silver Davis had been dead a week when the first bounty-haunter
showed
up on Melrose Avenue. Tall, black, deer-headed, its antlers were two
dark spears. Davis didn't notice the killer until it noticed him. A
shotgun blast tore past his head like a swarm of angry bees.
"Shit!" cursed the dead man. Unlike the bustle and activity
around
him, the shoppers in the open market, the young girls hanging around
the
Gypsum Theater in the cold February night air, the gunshot had
substance.
That was the first week. The two after that had been filled
with close
calls. A dog-headed 'haunter almost had him while he strolled through
Kensey's department store. Only a quick retreat through the ladies'
change rooms saved him.
Then there were the staircases. Because of the latter, he
never
entered any building that had more than two steps. He had learned of
this trying to get on the subway one day. He had had a yearning to see
Logonda Street and its cafes along the ocean. Forty minutes by train
and
he could enjoy the sea air, listen to the sea gulls, maybe even get
away
from the 'haunters for a while.
But with his first step down the subway stairs, the air around
him grew
hot. The second step he could see a bright orange flames burning
below,
no subway but a torrent of hell-fires. The third step and he knew he'd
be gone, sucked down into that place where the bounty-haunters came
from, to some fate too horrific to imagine. No, he stayed away from
stairs.
Silver Davis sat under a porch on Whillingham Street,
too
afraid to leave the quiet darkness. No less than three 'haunters were
stalking him, dark creatures with shotguns and crossbows. One even
carried a huge two-handed sword. Each animal-headed, dog, deer, pig,
they all hungered for the temporary succor of Davis' escapee soul.
Death had turned out quite differently from what Silver had
expected.
Actually, he’d never given the matter much thought while alive; but
he’d
had some vague idea, learned in childhood, that good people went to
Heaven and bad people went to Hell. He certainly had not expected to
find himself wandering like a vagrant in the city where he’d lived and
died, able to see, hear and feel the world of the living, but unable to
affect it or make himself known to others. And the bounty-haunters
were
something he hadn’t imagined even in his nightmares.
Silver had never hunted. Having lived in the city all his
life,
comfortable at his office job. Hunting – the entire concept of stalking
and killing living prey. Simply wasn’t a part of his experience. But
now he was prey. Despite his intelligence and resourcefulness,
whenever the 'haunters appeared, like shadows among the thicket of
living
beings, he became confused, frightened prey. As a human, he recognized
the animal-headed creatures as menaces, he knew what their guns
could
do to him. But where could he hide? Like a rabbit, he ran, not
knowing
where to go, or even if any place was safe. All he knew was that
downstairs was definitely the wrong way.
Boredom set in. The desire to get up and stretch became
overwhelming.
How he wanted just to wander over to the cafe next to the bookstore
down
the way and read the newspaper over people's shoulders. He could talk
to the ignorant eaters, tell them anything from rude jokes to his life
story, though no one ever replied. Maybe he could hide in the Gypsum
Theater, watch “Touch of Evil,” and puzzle over the poster advertising
an upcoming Hitchcock film called “North by Northwest.” Or perhaps
he'd
stroll the park. He loved to listen to the band play.
But there would be no time for Mozart or Debussy today. A
bounty-haunter stood on the street in the direction of the park, its
back
to Davis. It waited, invisible to the living. Occasionally someone
would pass the silent, brooding thing, their forms cutting through the
insubstantial body of the killer.
Silver Davis turned to run.
Another. And the other. All three. He was surrounded. Davis
backed
up onto the short porch. The house offered him his only escape. They
were coming. Davis had no other chance.
Silver ran, through the open doorway into a foyer that ended in
two
separate exits. He was being offered a choice. Beyond the first
portal
was a set of seven stairs leading down into a basement floor. The
other, up to a second set of tenement dwellings.
He placed a foot on the first step down. Instantly he felt the
heat in
the air. There was no use going any farther. He knew the stirring of
that most horrible place. Instead, he returned to the foyer, looked
out
the open door. The killers were close, close enough to see the
features
of their ugly, animal faces. In seconds, they would have him.
Davis' eye fell to the other staircase. If he went up, the
evil ones
would follow him. He would be cornered, cut down, torn apart. But
what
else could he do?
The bounty-haunters were in the doorway now, furtively shoving
each
other from their prey, each wanting to quench the unquenchable thirst.
Dog-head bit territorially at deer-head and received a gun-butt in the
jowls. Stung, he recoiled, then barked and bit more ferociously.
Deer-head lashed back, his antler gouging dog-head’s eye deep into its
socket. Blinded and whimpering, dog-head dropped his crossbow and
staggered away. Piggy, driven into frenzy by the fight, then lunged at
deer-head, slicing his throat open with his sharp-edged tusks. With a
gurgling screech and a flailing of human limbs, deer-head collapsed at
the boar-headed killer’s booted feet.
Now free of competition, piggy hefted his broadsword and strode into
the
foyer, ready to claim his prize.
Davis was gone, not merely upstairs, but vanished, the last
beams of
white, healing light, scented with angelic music, dying out before the
killer's own eyes.
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