Chapter 2
Caleb’s boots crunched loudly against the loose gravel as he walked away from the children and approached the weathered steps of the Lucky Star Saloon. The painted sign above the porch creaked on a single rusted hinge, swaying back and forth in the faint afternoon breeze. He paused at the threshold, his hand hovering over the butt of his sidearm. The smell of stale whiskey, rotting wood, and something metallic—something that smelled suspiciously fresh—seemed to seep from the cracks in the floorboards beneath the swinging doors.
Behind him, the soft, rhythmic scuff of bare feet on dirt signaled that the two sisters were following him. They didn't make a sound other than their breathing, but he could feel their stares burning into the back of his dark trench coat.
“Don't you go in there, mister,” the older girl called out, her voice laced with an urgent warning. “He told us he'd feed us to the rats if anybody opened that door.”
Caleb didn't turn around. He kept his eyes locked on the brass doorknob, which was tarnished green with age.
“I’ve heard worse threats from better men,” Caleb replied quietly, pushing the door open.
The interior of the saloon was pitch black compared to the blinding desert sun. Dust motes danced lazily in the thin shafts of light piercing through the cracked windowpanes. The room smelled of abandonment, but underneath that familiar stench was the distinct aroma of cheap pipe tobacco—a brand he hadn't smelled since the siege at Red River five years ago.
He stepped inside, his boots echoing across the warped wooden floor. The bar counter was covered in a thick blanket of gray dust, undisturbed except for a single set of fresh, muddy boot prints leading straight behind the counter and disappearing behind the swinging service door that led to the private back rooms.
Caleb drew his revolver, the metallic click sounding deafeningly loud in the hollow room. He moved with practiced, silent grace, keeping his back to the wall as he neared the bar.
“I know someone’s here,” Caleb called out, his voice echoing into the dark corners. “Step out where I can see you, or I start shooting through the partitions.”
Silence answered him. Not even the wind dared to blow inside the saloon now.
He reached the service door and kicked it open with his boot heel, ready for an ambush. The room beyond was empty save for a wooden trapdoor set flush into the floorboards. The heavy iron ring on the trapdoor was still swinging back and forth, as if someone had just descended into the darkness below only seconds before.
May you like
Caleb knelt down, grabbing the iron ring. It was warm to the touch. He pulled it open, and a wave of foul, damp air rushed up to greet him, carrying with it a raspy, wheezing laugh from the depths below.
“Took you long enough, brother,” a gravelly voice echoed up from the dark hole. “I was beginning to think you forgot the way to hell.”
