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So here is more of my origin short story for the Weatherly Lane Anthology. Thank you to those who gave me their feedback on the first part. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

I am posting this next section which is a build up to the story’s climax and conclusion. THIS DOESN’T CONCLUDE ON HERE (…the anthology is set to print in the coming months! Don’t miss out! It’s an exciting ending!! And the beginning to a great collection of short stories from upcoming indie authors!!)

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Pastor Matthew Albright hesitated before he knocked on the door of Mayor Little’s large white ranch house.  In his late thirties, he was a tall man with a slender build, pale complexion and thick salt-and-pepper hair. He wore casual clothes but sported the small white collar at his neck as custom to his position.

It was late and well past supper time. Yet he couldn’t hold off talking with her.

His knock prompted several dogs to bark upon the property and more lanterns were lit inside. A tall black man, Jeffrey, unlocked and answered the door. He was even taller than Matthew and dressed in a black uniform jacket and cotton pants. 

“Yes? What do you need, Pastor?” Jeffrey asked. He knew Matthew as he had been coming to hear sermons for a few weeks now.

“I need to speak with Madam Little. Is she available? It is important or I wouldn’t be bothering her.”

Jeffrey frowned but nodded. “It…it’s not the best time for a visit.”

“I know but it’s urgent and cannot wait for morning. Please?”

He sighed, stepped aside, and allowed the pastor step in. 

“One moment.” He walked down a hallway on the right and then ascended some steps to the next floor.

Moments later, Matthew was led to a parlor office. It was elaborate and decorated befitting her role. Last summer, she had actually gained her position after her husband Mayor Shannon Little had been struck down by a heart attack. The morning after a terrible tornado had destroyed several buildings along the main streets of Kingston.

Her resilience and her ingenuity amid the tragedy proved her leadership. She simply took on the responsibility and duties of her late husband and no one refuted it. Two weeks ago, she ran officially and obtained the title unopposed.

Candace Little was short and broad. She sat behind a wide oak desk littered with books and papers. She had a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. Her thinning red hair was gathered in a ponytail. Her sharp brown eyes above her red cheeks studied the pastor as he entered and stood before her desk.

“Good evening, Pastor Albright.” It wasn’t the warmest of welcomes.

“Candace, thank you for seeing me.” He sat down in one of two straight-back chairs before the desk.

She took a sip of her coffee but didn’t comment or offer him any of the drink. A thick journal sat open on her desk next to an open crystal decanter filled with dark whiskey. The smell of alcohol and coffee filled the room.

“I wanted to come and see if you had heard the news about what they found in the mine today. Do you have any contacts at Farbrynn in Minneapolis? Have they given you any indication of what they intend to do with the remains?”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, sat back in her own dark burgundy, leather chair, and took another sip of the hot coffee. “I appreciate your interest, but I’m not sure why this is a church matter.” She was straightforward and always tactful, but Matthew got the distinct impression she did not like him or the church. 

“It isn’t. I am here more on a task of personal interest, I guess. You see, I was told there are Indian artifacts and probably Chippewa remains found. I have studied the Chippewa culture through the Church. I could certainly lend my expertise to any negotiations you will have with the local tribe representatives.”

“I see,” she said. Candace abruptly stood and offered her hand out for him to shake. “I’m afraid you have wasted your time, pastor. The decisions of the mine leadership is beyond my purview and yours. And it has not been proven there are any injun items there—“

“But…”

“Again, I’m sorry but this is the mine’s business, not yours or the church’s. Keep in mind that the success of the mining operation benefits all of us greatly. I and the town  support them completely. Now, Jeffrey will guide you back to the door. Good night, pastor.” She had thoroughly dismissed him and had reopened the large journal on her desk and took up her pencil.

“I am not trying to interfere or overstep you. I am just trying to prevent any hostilities arising should those burial remains get moved or damaged. The preservation of their ancestors are very important in the Indian religions. Any mistake could greatly effect this town as well.”

“All right, Pastor Albright. Your opinions have been clearly stated. Should any actual savage remains surface and be reported to me by Farbrynn, I may call upon your expertise. As of—“

“Candace. Why do you have such disdain for me?” Matthew asked in frustration.

In response, she slapped shut the journal. She was suddenly seething. Her face grew even more red. “Sir! You will address me as my role requires as Madam Mayor or Madam Little. You dare to  march over here at this time of night and then assume I will give you full access to any private town business I have.” She stood in her fury and set her cup down hard, splashing its contents on the pages of the work journal. “First off, you are new here! An outsider still needing to prove your worth to this town. Second, I hang no trust in the church, it’s servants and this all mighty absent deity you bow down to so easily!” 

Matthew gasped at her blasphemy and crossed himself with the holy sign.

“When this town needed God, he took my husband and abandoned us to the piles of buildings he left behind in his wake! I don’t need him, you or anyone!” Tears of rage and obvious pent up grief streamed down her cheeks.

Mathew bowed and gave her a brief nod. “I am sorry, Madam Mayor to disturb you with my presumptions. I’ll pray on your behalf.” 

“Screw your prayers!” She screamed at his back.

He cut off the rest of her drunken rage by closing the parlor door.

****

Sheriff Johnathan Benson twisted at one end of his golden brown mustache in his fingers as he knelt over the corpse. A peculiar smell, sour and fetid like rotting vegetables wafted from the dead man. He brought up a red handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. “And no one has seen the head?” he asked. 

A younger man, nineteen and only a couple years older than Joshua Brown and Richie Albright, stood behind him. He held a small vanilla notepad with pencil in hand and had taken down a few facts about the scene along with a rudimentary sketch. Deputy Cory Owens answered, “No, sir. Both of us searched the entire chamber after he was reported to us.”

“Where is Deputy Redmond anyway?” 

“He rushed over to Dana’s. He didn’t think it was proper she hear of her brother’s murder through town gossip.”

The sheriff looked up at Cory. He nodded. It was likely best. This was new ground for him. He never had to investigate a murder or as they like to say in those fancy detective tales, a homicide. Nor did he have any training. In fact, he could only recall maybe two deaths from bar brawls in Kingston’s entire history. He was over his head and out of his element.

He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand…Look at the condition of the body. His skin is dried and crusted terribly. It’s almost curled up on itself as if sucked inward! What does that? Can’t be just because his body was here in the mine all night.” He stood up and walked around to the other side of the body. “Almost all of his blood has left and pooled around him, hardly any looks like it remained inside.”

Cory nodded, his face pale and gray. The deputy was becoming very nauseous. He extended his hand and pointed at the shoulders and bloody neck stump. “What do you think did that? A bear? A wolf?”

“I haven’t heard of any sightings. Maybe though.” He stopped then took the notes from the young man’s hands. “Go get some fresh air. Then track down Tommy. You two will have to guard the mine entrance tonight. See if the Miller brothers will help or get volunteers and deputize them. I need to secure the crime scene and preserve any evidence. Tell Doc Overton to have Walters’ remains guarded at his place too. It’s important we do this right. We don’t want his killer to get away with this because we were sloppy. Can I count on you, Deputy Owens?”

Cory nodded. He was barely holding his breakfast back. He spun and bolted down the mine tunnel.

Ten minutes later, Deputy Cory and Deputy Tommy ran back together into the cave, sweaty and breathless.

“Sheriff! Sh-Sheriff Benson, you bet-better come q-quick!” stuttered Cory.

“Yeah, you got to come see this!” Tommy insisted. He was heavier than Cory and had a patchy beard that matched his black, curly hair.

The two younger men led the sheriff along the tunnels till they arrived at the mine entrance. Cory pointed at the horizon. Sitting tall in his saddle upon a roan mare, was a dark figure, silhouetted against the sunset. It was a male Chippewa Indian.

“Damnations,” cursed the lawman. “Stay here! Oh, and do not let anyone else approach him or the mines.” Several miners and townsfolk had already gathered and were watching the lone native upon the hill as well.

Sheriff Benson then walked slowly up the hill surrounding the mine entrance. The two talked for a brief, few minutes. When he returned, he refused to answer their questions or to discuss the matter further. “I need you two to go to town and gather as many of the resident families as possible. We will have a Townhall Meeting at 6 this evening at Albright’s Church. I will advise everyone of the situation in the mine and this afternoon’s injun visitation. We need to take immediate control of this before it gets out of hand.”

****

The night was humid and very musky. It was as if the night air had reacted and fed off the volatile townhall meeting. A thunderhead grew and spread along the horizon. Flashes of lightning flared and angry thunderclaps rolled over the fields.

Nothing at all was resolved nor made clear in the meeting. Mayor Little verified a bit of news and rumors as Sheriff Benson stood silently behind her. The mine had stopped for an undetermined time. Also, the mine had possibly discovered a new vein of gold. There had been some kind of accident and Foreman Chauncey Walters was found dead. She would not confirm or even discuss the possibility of injun presence in the mine or live representatives outside the mine.

Before she could dismiss the meeting, Pastor Albright stood up and insisted on making a statement. “With the obvious witness accounts of the Chippewa Indians seen this afternoon, I think it is irresponsible to not have your involvement in the handling of the remains found in the mine. If you leave it up to them, you are only inviting a conflict with the Indian tribes. I have an extensive amount of education on their culture. Their fundamental beliefs are imperative that they protect the dead and—”

“Sit down and be quiet, Pastor!” shouted Geof Brown. He stood among a large group of miners. His face was red and sweaty. In his hand was a mug, slopping over with beer. “You stick to the good lord and preach his word. None else concerns you. No one cares what these savages think and what they want. Only thing that matters is how this town will benefit from that gold!”

Cheers went all around him. The mayor shot Matthew a knowing and wry smile.

“As we already have talked over last night, the mine is owned and ruled over by Aaron Farbrynn. It is in his hands, not god’s or our’s,” she called out over the noise of the crowd.

The pastor sat down once again defeated.

“This meeting is over. Sheriff Benson asks that everyone head home tonight. There is a storm coming and it would be best you are not caught in it,” the mayor said.

As the crowd began to disperse, the group of miners with Geof stood up but did not drift toward the door. The cloud of alcohol wafted in the air around them.

They moved and surrounded the pastor’s seat.

“No, boys! Come on, let’s go home,” Sheriff Benson called out as he tried to cross the room and get through the crowd of townsfolk.

“What gives you this right to talk down to us, Pastor?” said Carter Thompson. He was a squat man, bearded and scruffy. His balding head was shiny and grimy with mine dust. He wavered on his feet and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Yeah! You some kind of injun lover?” another miner chimed in.

The pastor shook his head. “No. I was just offering to help so we don’t have any kind of violence or retaliation from the—”

“You aren’t from here so you just mind your church and shut the hell—”

Sheriff Benson had finally navigated over to Matthew’s side. “Boys. You need to go home and sleep it off. The pastor didn’t mean any harm.”

“I can’t believe you are sticking up for him and those savages!” Geoff roared.

“He isn’t.” the sheriff put his hand on his holster but didn’t draw the pistol. “The meeting is over. You need to think of your actions here, fellas. Attacking a man of the cloth in his own church is certainly a ticket to eternal damnation, don’t you think?”

Like a divine sign, the storm broke and thunder erupted over their heads.

That set several of the drunk miners back on their heels. Grunts and murmured curses followed the men as they had had enough and walked toward the main church entrance. Several still showed their anger by throwing wooden chairs out of their way.

Sheriff Bensen leaned down and spoke in the pastor’s ear. “Next time, Father, read the room. I understand your points, but you stirring the pot, only made my job that much harder. You and your son stay in tonight. Lock your doors and windows this evening. Everything will blow over in a few days. Until then, let me worry about the mine and the injun burial site.”

**** 

The flash lightning storm raged all night, however, only the grain mill suffered some damage and a small fire.

Sheriff Benson sent his two deputies to escort Pastor Albright to the mine.

Word of this spread like wildfire in the town.

The pastor kept his eyes ahead and did not meet anyone eyes along the walk to the mine. He could feel their stares and the heat from high emotions. He had made himself  a temporary target for their anxiety. The town had faced a long winter ahead. The crops had not produced well and many were relying on the mine to secure their homes. Now with the possibility of newfound wealth, the townsfolk were not letting up this hope. It remained in their hands as tight as a vice grip.

“Thank you, Pastor Albright for coming out this morning,” the sheriff greeted him with a genuine smile.

“Of course.”

“Listen, last night was a bad combination of alcohol and greed. Don’t take it to heart and don’t let it spoil your view of these people.”

The pastor nodded but remained quiet.

‘Anyway, I figured it was important for you to look at the site and give me your guess on what we are dealing with. No one is here to interrupt you or condemn you. I need to understand what is here that’s all.”

He led Matthew into the dark chamber. The thick cloud of dust and smoke remained clinging to the cavern ceiling. Both men stooped to keep out of it.

Matthew was awestruck at the boulder and the bleached skulls. He ran his fingertips along the carved symbols and letters that circled each of the nooks.

“I have never seen anything like this. Sheriff, this is remarkable! The Church maintains a large collection in its holdings in New York. They gather everything and preserve every bit they can. The common motto is ‘it is better to know your enemy than to hide in ignorance and underestimate them’. I understand that the miners don’t understand my position and see it as interfering, but if I could get them to see that—”

“Pastor Albright,” he said and held his hand up before him. “Stop. I am a religious man and try to be a fair man. However, I lost my father and an older sister in a savages attack when I was three years old. I have no love them but I do not hold grudges or remain fixated on the past. Let’s stick to what you see and explain anything you can, but let’s leave out any sermons on how all men are equal to God, alright?”

Matthew’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned then walked a circle around the boulder. He knelt down and studied the four clay monoliths. “Was this broken before or after the miners found the chamber?”

“I was told that it was accidentally dropped. What are they and do you know what the symbols and words mean?”

“My guess is that they represent the four key elements of nature: water, fire, earth and air. Air is on the broken one. But I have not seen these in a burial site or in any documents of the texts. Most tombs or burial mounds are complete. I am not sure that this really was a burial site.”

The sheriff clapped his hands together. “That’s excellent news!”

Now it was Matthew’s time to raise a hand. “The fact that it is not a burial doesn’t mean that the tribe won’t be upset at the mishandling of the artifacts.”

“I get that. I do. However, right now my only concern can be on who killed old Chauncey.”

Both men paused unsure how to proceed with their arguments.

Finally, Matthew said, “Did the visitors yesterday give you an indication where they are camped? I might be able to get better information straight from the source. If they’ll talk to me that is.”

“Head due south, they’re camped at the base of the cliffs,” he replied. “Said they’re waiting there till morning for us to change our minds…”

**** 

“I don’t feel right about this, Joshua,” Richie said, kneeling in the shadows between two large broken-down mining carts.

They were hunched down together, outside the mine entrance. Ahead of them were two miners, sitting on stools with a gas lantern hooked on a pole above their heads. The miners were bored, restless, and drinking from a tall bottle of whiskey they shared.

“Look. I get it, but you and you dad don’t understand how bad this town needs the mine right now. That twister last summer storm took out any surplus harvest we had. Hell, we might not have enough to sustain us through this winter. So we go in—”

“You’re doing this for you! Not the town. Stop trying to bullshit me.”

Joshua grimaced at the accusation but looked down at his shoes. “Yes. Some of it works out well for me. My dad is hot about this gold. If I can ensure that the mine will resume uninterrupted and  they start on that gold, it will really be something. Something that will impress him, you know?”

The boys grew quiet. The awkward silence was very palpable.

Joshua looked up. “And, if you get those artifacts for your father, then he can preserve them like he wants. It will mean a lot to him. We both win out. If we don’t do this, you know the mine or the miners will destroy them before they give in to the injun demands.”

“Alright. I guess.”  Richie did not look convinced. He had been more outreasoned than converted to the idea. “Do you have them?”

The young miner held out the pair of small firework sticks in his hand.

Moments later, the pair ran full speed down the mine shaft. Joshua led the way more by memory than by sight. Most of the lanterns were put out since the operations were still on hold.

Finally, at the mouth of the Indian chamber, they stopped and caught their breaths.

Richie yanked the leather backpack off and sat with his back to the tunnel wall. “I don’t think they saw us. Do you hear anyone?”

The other boy only shook his head, still too winded to speak.

“We take it all.  The miners will think the injuns took it all. My Pop told me that the sheriff tell them to not even think of making one step near the town or the mine. The injuns will never know what happened. Your father can either send the items to his church or drop them off secretly to the injuns. Everything safe and secure, you know.”

“All right. Give me a minute before we go in.”

**** 

 Matthew brought the horse to a slow trot. A campfire was burning ahead. Several Indians were sitting around it, enjoying a late meal. Three small teepees were erected behind them.

He eased off the saddle and tied the horse to a nearby tree. He didn’t want to surprise or alarm them by riding up unannounced. He swallowed hard. The entire trip there he debated on what to say or what to ask. Now that he was right in front of them, he was shaking and completely tongue-tied. He wondered if he should have asked the sheriff to escort him. Being all alone now seemed foolish.

Yet if I don’t speak with them, the situation within the mines will undoubtedly get worse. I have to learn more to help everyone out of this mess, he thought.

Shrugging his shoulders and craning his head to the left and right, he tried to work out some of the stiffness. The moon beamed high over head. The night was getting late.

Sighing with anxiety, he began to walk toward the camp.

“Hello? Hello there. I am not—” A thin, young warrior stepped out of the shadows on his right, an arrow already knocked in his bow.

“Stop!” the warrior ordered with a very thick accent. Then he cried out several words over his shoulder. Quickly others ran to them.

The pastor was grabbed by both arms and swiftly taken within the light of the campfire.

Matthew immediately recognized the Indian, the only one to remain sitting at the fire. It was the lone warrior who had appeared at the mines.

“It is late for you to come out. Did something happen in the mines or did the sheriff send you?” the older man asked. He was heavier than the others, with some gray at his temples. One of his ears was missing and a long scar ran through it and down to his neckline. His accent was not as bad as the other’s had been.

“I am not here for the sheriff directly. I am Pastor Matthew Albright. I wanted to speak with you right away. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

The Indian nodded, then gestured for the pastor to sit across from him. “I am Harva Giiwedin, a voice for our people, the Chippewa.”

A lone wolf howled then several others joined. They were distant but his horse and the tribe’s horses all whinnied and pranced about. The night grew still again.

“I know you spoke earlier with the sheriff and I’m sure you are aware that the miners stumbled across one of your burial sites. I wanted to ask you about it. In my time at the Church, I learned a lot about the Chippewa and other tribe cultures. And in the books and pictures, I never seen a burial site quite like this.”

“You were not meant to see it. No man, white or red, was meant to. You must understand that this is not a burial site.”

“What do you mean? I saw remains. Skulls. Is it an altar or for another religious purpose?”

Halva shook his head. He stopped, lifted up a small cup and drank from it. This was the moment, Matthew spotted the fact that the man was trembling and sweating. He was terrified.

“It is not for prayer. It is a prison!”

“A prison?”

“Yes, but not for our world. It is a prison to hold the evil spirit within. I asked the sheriff if the miners had disturbed the grounds. Was he honest with me? He said that they had not entered the area only looked in.”

It was the pastor’s turn to be anxious. “I will not lie to you. They did not mean any disrespect or mean to cause any offence but the miners did go in—”

“Did you see the area? Were there four long…statutes?”

“Yes, the clay monoliths? They were marked with the elements Air, Earth, Fire and Water, Except…” he paused then looked down at his hands and he finished with trepidation. “The Air one was damaged at the base. I’m not sure how or when.”

Halva moaned. “This is very bad. I was afraid of this. Oh curse you white men! Hasthra has been released!”

He motioned for one of his companions then gave some heated instructions. The other raced off and began rummaging inside of their teepees.

“Again, I do apologize for the miners. They were not trying to cause any issues. Who is Hasthra?”

Halva had regained some composure. He ignored the pastor’s question and asked his own. “Has anyone been hurt or gone missing?”

“Yes. A foreman was killed. The sheriff is looking into it.”

The other younger warrior returned carrying a deer hide bag. He gave it to Halva.

“You are a religious man you said. A Christian pastor? Then I trust I can give you this to protect yourselves and your people.” He handed over the bag.

Matthew opened it and saw a slender engraved wooden rod with a large rock mallet tied to the end. It was a war club, he had seen a few in drawings. This one, however, had a highly polished and engraved quartz stone in the center. Painted symbols decorated the face of the stone. Laying next to the wooden club was a rolled-up parchment.

“This is the iŋyaŋ iŋjátʾe, a powerful weapon to ward off the evil spirit. It will attract the spirit but then if beaten with the iŋyaŋ iŋjátʾe it can be contained till you restore the prison.”

“Wait. What evil spirit? You are going too fast. Tell me what is this all about?”

Sighing out loud, Halva spoke slowly but sternly. “Your people have broken one of the four guardians to a spiritual prison. Hasthra is a dangerous entity that came alive through a powerful curse of murder and vengeance. It will not ever stop devouring souls. I do not know all the words to explain or to convince you of this. I can only give you a weapon—”

“Why me? Why aren’t you going in there since you know how to stop it? You know what this thing is.”

“The sheriff made it clear that we could not enter the mines under any circumstance. He said the miners would attack to protect the property. It would be the same if the townsfolk, spotted us in the borders of town. He said the only way to preserve peace is if we let him handle it. We thought it would be safe since he swore no one entered the prison ground. We were heading back to report to the elders. I was a fool to accept his word!”

“I see. But will this thing,” Matthew pointed to the bag. “Will it restore the prison or can the spirit be destroyed?”

“No, the iŋyaŋ iŋjátʾe will keep Hasthra at bay for a while, but a new prison must be made along with the skulls of any of its victims. The papers there will show you the symbols you must surround Hasthra and its victims. The symbols will hold it inside the quartz. Most important step: you must keep anyone from disturbing the ground ever again.”

Shaking his head, Matthew said, “How? The mine company, the town, they will never accept that. They own that land and want to mine it!”

“Only death can be found there now.” His words were whispered low.

“I am not a warrior though, Halva… I am a man of God. I am not sure I am right for this.”

“You have to be. If I or my men go there, then you will have more bodies and bloodshed. The Chippewa do not wish to curse the white man with Hasthra, but we will not lose lives and souls for them either. Your people trespassed on sacred grounds. And lied to us as well as spurned our efforts to aid. Now they will have to resolve this themselves.”

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I would love to hear from you again on this. Are you excited to find out what happens to the wild west town of Kingston? You’ll never believe the ending and the horrific curse that befalls the land of 1417 Weatherly Lane, Kingston, MN 80954…