Chapter 13
The entire company of ghostly horsemen surrounded the Lucky Star Saloon, their mounts stamping their hooves in unison until the ground vibrated like a plucked harp string. The thick fog pressed in against the walls of the building, sealing off the town from the rest of the world entirely.
Caleb stood on the porch, his revolver still pointed at the burned captain, but his arm was beginning to tire. The branded star on his chest burned with an intense, pulsing rhythm, matching the erratic beat of his heart.
The two little sisters walked slowly away from the center of the street and mounted the wooden stairs, stopping just a few feet away from Caleb. The older sister reached into the folds of her dirt-caked yellow dress and pulled out a heavy, rusted iron key—the key to the trapdoor leading down into the dark abyss beneath the saloon.
“You can join them in the ranks,” the older sister said softly, gesturing toward the silent, waiting cavalry, “or you can take the key, lock the door from the outside, and let the desert bury this whole town once and for all.”
Caleb stared at the rusted key in her small, pale hand. A profound, terrifying realization washed over him. The cycle didn't have to continue forever. The trapdoor didn't always have to swallow the next traveler.
“And what happens to you two?” Caleb asked, his voice softening as he looked down at the identical sisters.
The younger sister looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the pale, eerie light of the fog.
“We’ve been waiting here since the first wagon train burned,” she whispered. “We’re just the keepers of the gate.”
Caleb lowered his revolver slowly, letting it drop back into its holster with a dull thud. He looked out over the sea of silent, waiting phantoms, then down at the burning star on his chest. He knew what locking the door meant. It meant trapping himself here forever, standing guard over the damned so no one else would ever have to fall into the trap.
He stepped forward and reached out his hand, his fingers hovering just above the rusted iron key.
“Give me the key,” Caleb said, his voice steady and resolute for the first time since he had arrived in this wasteland.
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The older sister placed the heavy iron key directly into his palm. Her skin was freezing cold, like winter ice.
“Remember,” she whispered as her form began to dissolve into thin air, “once you turn the lock, the door can never be opened again from the inside.”
