The landscape of Calvin’s dreams took on a distinctly tropical climate, even more sunny and humid than the St. John’s. He dreamt of an island paradise, something his mind went back to in hard times. There was always a gnawing feeling, like the island itself was calling to him. But this night the island was screaming at him, warning him of some foreseen danger. A warm presence in his dreams kept his sleep light.
Little Calvin was shaken awake, opening his eyes to the dim room. No sunlight had come through the windows, it was still late night. His eyelids felt heavy, he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours. His mother shook him again.
“Calvin, please get up.” Her voice was hoarse, shaky. “Get up baby! Get up!”
He looked over to see her still in her nightclothes, her hair still in its bonnet. Sliding to his elbows, he tilted his head.
“What, Momma?” He couldn’t muster anything else.
“There’s people outside.” She looked worriedly to the light emanating from the front window. Come here baby, come here.”
Momma ushed him over to the wooden cupboard, which would normally be full of food. Since the Trouble Times began, it was empty. She shoved him into the dusty space and leaned down to meet his face.
“Whatever you do, don’t come out baby. No buts!”
“No coconuts…” And increasingly shaken Cal responded weakly
“That’s my baby.” Momma’s lip quivered. “I love you. I love you so much.”
She kissed his cheek, holding him tightly. Cal hadn’t seen Momma so worried in a long time. It was driving his heart rate up. He couldn’t find any words to say. She let off him and closed the cupboard, leaving him in the cramped dark. He could hear pounding on the front door. This was a loud, aggressive set of thumps.
“Leave now!” He heard his Momma shout, her voice cracking with fear.
There was a moment of silence. Cal could hear his own shaky breaths. Then came a loud crash as the door was kicked in. He heard his mother let out a loud scream, loud footsteps and shuffling under her voice. Whoever entered must have taken Momma outside, as the screams got more distant. Oddly, Cal could hear the singing of multiple voices. The sound of their chorus filled the boy with dread. It had a quality which broke any calm he had left. He could hear Momma’s screams take on a different quality. Pain and horror filled her voice, before it lost any strength. Only the singing remained.
Cal curled up, shivering uncontrollably. He couldn’t see it, but he knew what had just happened. His gut told him Momma’s words to whoever entered their home were her last. He lifted his head as somebody came into the house again.
“She had the boy with her.” A calm, deep voice spoke. “He must be here. Check the cabinets.”
In a moment, the doors of the cupboard opened, and a wall of yellow greeted him. A man in a long tawny robe stood in front of him, with a pointy hood on. He could see only the eyes of the man. Meaty hands reached out and gripped Cal, pulling him from the cupboard.
“I found him!” The man looked back.
“Excellent!” Another in a similar yellow robe and hood nodded, this one adorned with black ropes. “Bring him out, and we will complete tonight’s ritual without a hitch.”
Cal was dragged out of his home and into the front yard. He didn’t have the strength to struggle against his captor. Out in the yard a line of figures in the yellow outfits stood singing the baleful tune. The yard was lit up by a large bonfire which appeared to be lit onto a wood structure which Cal didn’t recognize. The winding, twisted patterns in the wood were hard to look at. The yellow-robed figures stood around it, holding their arms up as if praising the flame. On the ground in front of the inverted cross, Momma lay crumpled. A stake had been driven through her body to the ground, fixing her in a seated position. Blood poured from the wound, bathing her in blackish-red. Her eyes portrayed the brutal agony of her death. Cal could hardly process the sight in front of him.
He felt the crescendo of the voices as he was placed next to his mother. The man with the black ropes approached him, his hand alight with dancing yellow flames.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
“Wha… what’s going on?” Calvin felt his heart beat from his chest.
The hooded man looked to him. “Your ascension begins today, little Baird! Rejoice! The King will make a ruler of you. All you survey will belong to you. Now silence, and we’ll get on with it.”
“Brothers!” His voice gained a strength and intensity that Cal had never heard before. “We commit this virgin soul to the Yellow King, on this wonderful night! This child, the son of Baird, still free of America’s caustic ideals, will make an excellent vessel for our King!”
Cal could only sit there, eyes wide in terror, while the leader of this horrid ritual placed the flaming hand on him. Despite the fire, the hand felt so cold, like ice. Flames from the bonfire danced all over in impossible formations, leaving visions of innumerable flaming faces in anguish, horror, and pleasure. Yellow washed over his vision. He then felt a burning sensation all over his body as the influence of something much greater than himself forced its way through him. The feeling shook his senses, eyes and ears vibrating in mad jubilation over the coming incursion of energy into his body. The Madness of the Yellow King began to take him over.
Three words sliced through the madness cleanly.
“Power Word: Sever.”
Cal felt the influence of the Yellow King pull back. He could see clearly again, and the singing of the ritual attendees had stopped. Another figure stood silhouetted in the moonlight, too far from the fire to be made out clearly. A wide brim hat and flowing poncho marked the figure’s profile. It looked to the cultists like something from one of the cowboys from the Wild West movies. To Cal, it looked like Pa.
“Pa…” Cal tried to make out, but he couldn’t produce any sounds.
Spurs jingled as the figure stepped towards the flaming icon. In the light of the fire Cal could see this was not his Pa. The man’s rough jeans and black boots reminded him of Pa, but his poncho had sun designs up and down the material. Cal remembered his Pa wore a similar piece of clothing with a pattern of triangles instead. For a moment, Cal had believed his father had come home to save him. Now, his hopes were crushed. He couldn’t help but sob, crumpled over next to the ritual leader.
“Six-Gun!” The ritual leader hissed coarsely. “Forces are in motion, that which not even you and your kind can bring to a halt! You have already lost!”
The cowboy paced a bit, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat brim.
“Tell me something.” He spoke, his voice low and smokey, “What gives with the sacrifices? What does this do for your Yellow King?”
His tone sounded genuinely inquisitive, though it held an underlying disgust.
“I can educate you on the machinations of our beautiful Mad God, if you wish.” The ritual leader answered, “But you would have to disarm yourself first…”
A few of the gathered cultists shuffled in their yellow robes. Cal could see the flash of metal as they pulled weapons. He felt a chill run over him. It was an odd feeling, similar to when he focused on the life around him the way Pa had taught. The source of this focus was not his own head, as usual, it was that of the cowboy’s. He felt a resonance with that man in this moment. Then something he hadn’t felt before panged through his mind, a shift in the flow of things which he did not yet have the facilities to interpret.
Unlike the cowboy in front of him.
In an instant his pistol was out of its holster, leveled at his hip. Three rapid shots rang out into the night. All three of the armed cultists fell over. The sound made Cal’s ears ring and his hearing fuzzy. He could still make out the words of the ritual leader. They were muffled, he sounded as if he were underwater.
“You cannot stop this, Six-Gun. My body is merely a vessel. Strike me down and I will return.”
“I’ll ask one last time.” The cowboy retorted quickly, “Why do all this?”
Twisted cackling followed as the ritual leader stretched his arms out. “This land belongs to the Yellow King! From Him, the bounty of these great States was begotten, and to Him, all men of this land will return!”
The cowboy shot him. Blood sprayed out from the pointy yellow hood in a pink mist. He then proceeded in shooting the rest, who simply stood ready for their lives to be taken. Cal could only watch the vibrant flashing from the shiny revolver handgun in the cowboy’s hand. It gleamed just like his Pa’s did. He would often ask to hold it, but Pa never let him.
“You alright, kid?” The cowboy asked him. He fluidly slipped the pistol into its holster as he stepped over to the shaken child. Leaning down, he looked Cal over.
“Shit fire and save matches…” His voice sank. “They called you Baird. What’s your name, boy?”
The man recognized this boy as the spitting image of one of his fellows. The name was no coincidence.
Cal could hardly speak. His hearing cleared up slowly as he looked at the man in a daze.
“Full name, boy.”
“Calvin B-Baird.” Tears started in his eyes, making him blink. He looked to where his mother was sitting. Her death was setting in, the weight of it pulling him to the floor.
“My Momma!” He started to bawl, “My Momma…..”
“Listen, Cal.” The cowboy piped up firmly, there was no doubt that this was Billy Baird’s son.
Cal looked up, eyes puffy and red. The juvenile mind was hardly able to comprehend the grief, he needed the attention. Cal felt lost, completely unsure of where he even was at the moment.
“My name is Lou Cobb. Call me Louey. I’m gonna take you somewhere safe, ok?”
Louey’s voice was soft, crackling a little around the edges. He couldn’t stand to see such a young child in this state. He knew the damage done to Cal by these cultists was permanent. He also knew Resolve when he felt it; the magic of the Six-Guns. At the moment when he drew his gun, his own Resolve resonated with another’s. Not the cultists, they were overtaken by the energies of this Yellow King entity, the Resolve belonged to Cal. The boy in front of him was a natural, just as he expected from the son of his comrade.
