Black Water

Davis is on the run from the law. Wounded, he decides to hide in the abandoned oil town of Black Water.

Dust bellowed behind the Charger as it raced towards the rising sun. Davis grimaced as he steered the vehicle onto an even smaller road. He touched his side and felt the moist sticky gauze. The bandage needed changing, but he first needed to find a place to hold up. He spotted a group of buildings up ahead. It looked like it had once been a town. He lowered his speed as he passed the rotting wooden sign that beckoned “Welcome to Black Water”.

 

Davis looked around, searching the decrepit buildings for any sign of life. Based on the architectural style of the structures, he guessed this had once been a booming oil town. Now, it was as dead as the tumbleweeds that strolled through. He stopped the car next to a building with a garage-type door.

 

Grabbing the pistol from the passenger seat, Davis got out and approached the building. He threw the door open and peered inside. Dust and a few odd tools scattered on shelves were the only things he saw. He pulled the Charger inside. After grabbing a briefcase and a gym bag from the trunk, he shut the garage door. He wandered down the street looking for someplace that would be reasonably comfortable.

 

Davis glanced a sign on the other side of the street with a solitary word written on it. “Saloon”. Smiling, he crossed the dirt street and entered the abandoned drinking hole. He walked to the middle of the saloon and selected a table against the side wall. Davis placed the items he was carrying on top of the table. Opening the briefcase, he reveled in the beauty of the contents within. Even in this dusty air the diamonds still managed an alluring radiance. He closed the case and sat it on one of the empty chairs.

 

He sat in the other chair and pulled the zipper of the gym bag open. The first items he pulled out were a first aid kit and a bottle of water. Gritting his teeth, he gently pulled his blood soaked bandage away from his side. After pouring water over the bullet hole, he placed a piece of clean white gauze over the wound. He held the bandage in place with his left hand as he used his right to tape it down. When he finished he pulled beef jerky from the gym bag and proceeded to gnaw on it.

 

Davis studied the bar and wondered if there might be a bottle or two behind it. As he stood up to investigate he heard something. He wasn't sure what the sound was, but it came from the direction of the front entrance. Then he heard it again. The creaking of wood. He grabbed his gun and slowly approached the front window.

 

The only thing he could see through the wavy glass was an empty ghost town. He cautiously stepped outside and scanned the street. He saw a shutter gently flapping in the breeze. Looking in the other direction, he noticed a sign swinging from a store's overhang. Nerves. That's all it is. He put the safety of his weapon on and went back inside.

 

Behind the bar he found one bottle of what he hoped was bourbon. The label had faded decades ago, leaving the dark tea-like color as the only visible identifier. Davis brought it back to the table, sat down , and opened it. The liquid had a strong smokey taste and it burned his throat causing him to cough. Just what the doctor ordered. He sat there taking swigs of whiskey until the throbbing in his side was gone.

 

Another sound caught his ear. This time it emanated from somewhere near the bar. Davis shook his head. Keep it together. There's no one... He heard the whisper again.

 

He rose and aimed his gun at the bar. “Who's there? Show yourself!”

 

The floorboards groaned as he moved forward. When he reached the bar, he stopped and swallowed. He dashed behind the counter, ready to shoot. The only target he found was empty space. He crept to the back door. Davis kicked it open and pointed the gun. He scanned the shelves and barrels of the storeroom. A quick stroll convinced him there was no place someone could hide without him noticing. It was empty. Just nerves!

 

He walked back into the main room. As he passed the bar something moved in his peripheral. He spun and shouted, “Who's there?!”

 

There's no one. I'm alone. Probably from drinking antique booze.

 

He began to quiver. Davis wrapped his arms around himself. Shouldn't be this cool in here. That rotgut must've given me the chills. Just need to hydrate. He returned to the table and pulled another bottle of water from the bag.

 

A brief burst of laughter erupted from somewhere. He dropped the water and yanked his gun out of his belt. Davis turned in circles desperately searching for the source of the laughter. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror behind the bar. He turned towards it and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. He cursed and took the pistol off safe.

 

He approached the bar slowly. Davis jerked to the right at the sound of a whisper. He turned back towards the mirror. Something was there in the reflection. Then it was gone. A low sound erupted from the corner. He leaned his head, trying to decipher the cause. It grew from a barely audible noise to the level of muzak. Davis stared at the spot where his ears told him a piano stood.

 

That's it! Time to go!

 

A blur appeared in the mirror. Run. Don't look. Just run. This isn't a horror movie. I don't have to be stupid. Davis turned and stared at the mirror. He could see several dark blobs, some of them moving. Squinting made the blobs look like smeared water color portraits. He moved up to the bar. As he got closer the images got clearer. The sporadic whispers in the room intensified into a loud din. Looking into the glass, Davis saw men standing at the bar or sitting at tables. Their clothing reminded him of the Grapes of Wrath.

 

Davis turned around and stared at the empty saloon. He glanced back at the mirror. Its reflection showed a busy scene of drinking and card playing. A hand touched his shoulder. He screamed and spun.

 

“Howdy, stranger,” said the man standing there. “Welcome to Black Water.”

 

Something shiny was on the man's chest. Davis looked down at the six pointed star. He raised his gun and fired.

 

The law officer laughed.

 

Davis looked around. The saloon was full. It as if he had fallen into the mirror.

 

“Can I get you something, mister?”

 

Davis faced the bartender. His eyes focused on the glass hanging on the wall behind the bar. The mirror now displayed the dusty and abandoned saloon he remembered finding. But it wasn't empty. There was one person in the reflection. He stared at the image of his lifeless body slumped on the table against the side wall.

Reviews

[Jovial Curt]

This is good! Good job! It creeped me out at several parts.

[Gene Denham]

Thank you. Glad you enjoyed it.