The lone man might have been down on his luck. Or maybe he didn’t have any success panning for gold or working the many lumber camps. Perhaps he thought to get some fast cash on his way out of town by robbing the day’s last stage in Los Gatos.
The gunman pulled on the small, metal latch of the coach door and pushed it open, telling everyone to step down to the ground and hand over their money purse.
"What's going on?” the passengers demanded.
The gunman could hear the passengers mutter and groan, unhappy to know they were being welcomed to town by a low account thief waiting to rob them of their riches.
The driver frowned, his mind clear on what he needed to do. His short barrel shotgun lay in his lap, his duster flap hiding his weapon. With the gunman distracted by the passengers, the driver pulled both levers back and, with his shotgun loaded, leaned over to one side of the coach.
The shotgun blast was all the passengers remembered hearing, the newspaper reporter commented in the town’s daily. One man in an old brown duster lay by the coach, dead.
Many changes occurred in this little town as it grew. New places rose up and became what they are to this day. The stagecoach station may be forgotten but, in this lone gunman’s mind and spirit, he is stuck in time at the old station that now is a local eatery.
Every day at dusk, rays of brilliant red and green enter through the many windows that line the restaurant. Swirling bright colors fill the eatery and illuminate even the darkest corners. Viva’s staff hurries to shut the curtains so patrons won’t be blinded. A few minutes later, they reopen the blinds, allowing in the fading light and stretched shadows of late afternoon.
These few dark moments give the ghostly inhabitant, the lone gunman, his chance to move from one side of the building to another. The creaky old building’s stagecoach floor is now one of stone, but his booted footsteps make it shiver and shake near five o’clock, reverting back to the old west when he goes to meet the stage.
The permanent mist that hangs in the air in the cool twinkle of mornings is rendered an eerie silver and gray by the moon’s faint glow. At night, evil seems to radiate from within every space of the building. This ghost doesn’t wait until the afternoon to walk through the building and through time.
It all starts when the staff senses a ghost; the hair on their arms stands up and chills spider up and down their spines. The spirit kills the power in the building, shutting down the internet. Each time the owner reboots the system, it enjoys shutting it down a second time. It rings up the word “cash” on the register, then closes doors, opens drawers and plays tricks throughout the day. Hidden giggling brushes by someone’s ear. A plate drops and an eerie wild cry sounds, only to be dismissed as a passing car. The silverware place settings are turned upside down on the napkins. Drinks move unaided along the bar to a different seat.
All of this is done by playful hands of a spirit that has no other choice than to make the best of his situation. The lone gunman is still at large in the old stage coach station, now Viva, a local eatery in Los Gatos. Just ask the staff.
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For more of Jack Sorenson's work, see:
"Jack's School of Shines"
"Alana Weatherbee"
"Spooks and Magic"
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