Posted by Mrs. Emery
From Caitlyn: Your character visits a ghost town in the wild old west. What happens?
Write for 10 minutes. Post your piece to comments.
Posted on March 1, 2016, in Writing Prompt. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.
It was already late, and the sky was dark, but I could barely see the sign barely hanging off of the lamppost. “Beers this way”, it said. I rounded the corner and spotted a run-down shack. The windows were soiled to opacity, the door hung from its hinge, and the place seemed completely deserted. However, a small slab of wood was nailed to the door, and it did say “open”. I figured there must have been someone there, and after my torturous travels, boy did I need that beer.
The steps creaked as I approached the door. I hesitated for a moment – everything seemed so quiet. Too quiet. But I was thirsty beyond belief, so I raised a fist and knocked.
Rap, tap, tap.
Still no answer.
Rap, rap – a – tap, tap!
There seemed to be no one in sight. I was about to turn around and leave, silently cursing the stupid individual who had put up the “open” sign when they really were closed, when I suddenly heard a voice.
“Haw meh ah help yah?”
The voice sounded like it belonged to an elderly woman, but I peeked through the door and did not see anyone.
“Haw meh ah help yah?” the woman repeated. I still couldn’t see her, and I was ready to panic. This was all too eery for me. What had I gotten myself into?
“Go ahead, ordah whatcha want!” The voice seemed to be getting irritated with me, and the last thing I wanted was to anger someone I couldn’t even see. So I asked for a small beer, and then waited by the door.
“Yah know, you can go table,” said the old woman’s voice. “We’ll bring your ordah to yah.”
There were a few tables on the porch where I stood, so I pulled up a chair and sat down.
I wish I had written more before the ten minutes were up! It’s OK, I’ll keep writing it now… 🙂
Willow looked around at the old town, and knew that she’d taken a wrong turn. The town was completely desolate–not a single person was seen. The run down buildings also hinted that there hadn’t been any activity for probably about 50 years–maybe even longer.
Willow looked down at her camera. She was supposed to be taking pictures of Phoenix, but who would give up an opportunity like this? Besides, the city was probably thirty minutes away. She grabbed the camera and headed straight into the town.
The first place that caught her eye was the general store. She walked up to the door and began to push inside, when she saw that it was locked. She peaked at the latch. What was probably once a strong latch was now thin and rusted. Willow pulled a little harder and the latch snapped in half.
Cobwebs filled the general store, but that didn’t deter her. She took a few snapshots of the entire general store, and then went to see what items were still in there. She picked up an old can of coffee grounds, the aroma still slightly sneaking through the weak metal lid. It looked like it was from the 1950s, at the very latest.
“This is perfect,” Willow said. “Wait ’til they see this. No one will care about Phoenix. They’ll want to see this strange town.”
Suddenly a thud came from what sounded like upstairs. Willow’s heart began to fly. Whoever it was would be downstairs soon.
When Luce awoke, she found she was sprawled out on a dirt road in sweltering heat, orange clay-like dirt clinging to the bare skin on her arms and legs. She stood shakily and turned around in a circle, assessing her surroundings. The sun was high in the sky and shining intensely on the scene before her. Small, run-down buildings were lined up on either side of a long stretch of dirt road. A horse carriage was outside one of the buildings, awaiting a rider.
“I’ve done it!” She cried. “The time machine worked!”
Luce dusted herself off and scooped the large pink cowboy hat off of the ground where it had fallen off her head in the journey. She beat it against her leg and then pressed it carefully atop her long, brown hair. She began to slowly walk into the town. There appeared to be no one around in the streets, and when Luce peeked into a dusty old building with a sign that read “Bar”, there was not a cowboy in sight.
“That’s odd.” Luce said quietly, approaching the empty abandoned horse carriage, the horse stomping and breathing heavily, anxious at her presence.
Suddenly, a man came running from the side of the building, looking terrified, his breathing irregular. His clothes where filthy and his hat was lopsided on his drenched hair. When he noticed Luce next to the cart, he practically ran into her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her violently.
“Run for your life! Old Robinson is coming!” The man breathed his reek breath into Luce’s face and she recoiled. He pulled himself into the carriage, grabbed the reins, and yanked wildly, setting the horse into a flurry of motion. The carriage zoomed away, leaving Luce behind in a cloud of orange dust. She coughed viciously, and wiped at her eyes. When the smoke cleared, a large figure stood ten feet from her. She gasped in fear. This was the man she’d seen in her storybook. The famous cowboy who tortured the town of Dry Creek.
Old Robinson stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, and stared daggers into Luce. His finger danced by his gun holster.
“Draw your gun, Cowboy.” Old Robinson snapped, his eyes narrowing evilly.
With a heavy heart, Luce traced the holster at her side and felt the empty space inside of it. She was in a load of trouble.
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