Cedar Sanderson is doing N'inktober, so I'm going to follow along and do what I've been trained to do by the Raconteur Press Postcard books: come up with a story to match her visual prompts. I can't guarantee that I'll have a complete story for every image, but I'm going to at least try to come up with a scene, a start, or an idea!
Psychopomp Angular
The creak of rocking chairs slowed, then stopped, leaving behind the faint sound of the wind and the drone of the last insects of summer. The attention of the two old men sitting on the front porch of the Belle Fourche Mercantile was anchored in the west, where an oversized gray wolf was padding slowly down the street.
“Huh. Will you take a gander that there, Vern.”
“That’s certainly something you don’t see every day, Clem.”
“There was that young hippie lady who passed through oh, a month back or so. You recall her?”
“Yup. Nice kid, if a little weird. Chattered on and on about all the places she had to be.”
“Where’d she finally decide to go?”
“Texas.” Vern sniffed, tasting the air. “Smells like rain.”
“Stands to reason.” Clem nodded down the road. “Critter like that, I expect a storm follows with him.”
“Or Hell.” Vern hawked and spat off the side of the porch. “Seem to recall the preacher saying something about that once.”
Clem nodded slowly. “True. Rain or Hell. Though I do admit —”
“Hmm?”
“If it were a choice, I’d be happier with the rain.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
They sat in silence, contemplating the difference between rain and Hell as the wolf approached. It was didn’t so much stroll down the middle of the street as flow. Neither man could actually catch it doing something so crude as moving. It simply went from there to there, as if all of reality could only force itself to glance at it sideways for a moment before looking away again.
The two old friends started rocking again by silent agreement. Their motion generated the slow creak of wood on wood to accompany the wind. As they went, the wolf’s change in position harmonized with their rhythm, blinking forward with each cycle of the chairs. Once, twice, three times they rocked and the wolf flickered forward. In no time at all it was there in front of them at the bottom of the Mercantile’s wooden steps, intense green eyes boring in to theirs.
The chairs slowed once more, and stopped.
The wolf sat slowly, eyes still locked on theirs. It opened its mouth, panting, showing off brilliant white teeth and a black tongue.
Clem cleared his throat. “Afternoon.”
Vern inclined his head. “Something we can do for you today?”
Water. They both heard the word. It didn’t come from the wolf, though. It was the sound of the wind, and insects, and a crackling hum of electricity from the power lines all combining in just the right way to make the world speak that word for it.
Vern nodded slowly. “Round back. Jason has a rain barrel back there, full of sweet water. Uses it for his own kitchen. I’m sure he’d be happy to spare a drink for a visitor.”
The wolf flickered. It was gone, then back, water dripping from its jaws. The long black tongue swept out, pulling the last of the water in.
The wind shifted. Much obliged. You two are remarkably calm.
Vern chuckled. “This here’s Belle Fourche, North Dakota. Geographic center of the United States. You’d be surprised what turns up here. We’ve seen a thing or two.”
Really.
Clem shrugged. “We’ve both got some time under our belts. You’re what now, Vern? Eighty-six?”
“Eighty-five. A good month younger than you, and you know it. Both old enough to recognize Death when he strolls down the street.”
Off in the distance, a mockingbird chuckled. Death? The wolf blinked, slow and lazy. I am Death, of a sorts. I am a guide for those who are called to abandon the realm of men.
“Ah.” Clem cleared his throat and stood up slowly. “Well, I suppose it’s been a good run. Been nice knowing you, Vern.”
“Sit back down, you daft fool. He’s obviously here for me.”
I am not here for either of you. I seek another.
Clem eased himself back down into the chair. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to keep Vern here out of trouble a little while longer.” He hesitated before continuing, “Someone from around here?”
No. There are others of my kind who deal with mortals. I seek something intangible. A concept. An idea that has been recalled.
Vern raised his eyebrows. “Truth be told, I’m not sure we can help you with that one.”
You may yet. The wolf raised its nose and sniffed at the air. Every sound - the wind, the insects, even their own heartbeats - stopped, a skip in the sound of life that was over almost before it began. She was here, once.
Vern and Clem glanced at each other. The wolf sighed.
You know who I mean.
“Might,” Clem aid slowly.
Speak.
The words bubbled up, unbidden. Clem tried to hold them back, and failed. “There was a young lady. Passed through a while back.”
“Seemed nice enough.” Vern frowned. “There’s plenty of ladies out there, though. You sure you got the right one?”
She wore bright colors. Flowers in her hair. Laughter on her lips.
Clem slumped. “Sounds like maybe you do.”
What name did she give you? Speak!
The two men answered in unison, pulled along by a compulsion instilled by the wolf’s command. “Hope.”
Ahhh. The wolf shifted without moving. Tell me. Where do you think she was going?
Was it a trick of their imagination, or was there they faintest of emphasis on one of those words? Perhaps. The two old friends started rocking again by silent agreement.
“I think…” Clem spoke slowly, tasting his words. “I think she might have talked about going north at one point.”
Vern nodded. “Yup. Canada.” He met the wolf’s eyes. “She meant to go to Canada.” He pressed his lips together to keep from saying “eventually.”
Hmm. Canada. The wolf stood and turned, then looked back at them. Interesting. I could have sworn that her trail led south to Texas.
Clem coughed. “Did a bit of hunting in my youth. Tracking can be tricky, sometimes.”
Indeed. I am sure I’ll find her. His eyes bored into Vern’s. Eventually. He turned to go.
“What’s going to happen?” Vern blurted out. “When you find her, I mean?”
The wolf stopped. When I find her? Then I will take Hope from the realm of men.
“Ah. Pardon me for saying so, but I’ll be praying it takes you a good long while.”
Oh, it’s already been ages. The wolf turned, mouth open in a canine grin. I’m sure there will come a day when I can’t find a couple of old men willing to face down Death to keep Hope in the world. Today, though? Today, I think I shall head for Canada.
They watched as the wolf trotted up the street the way he had come. When he turned to head north at the intersection past the old church, maybe it was their imagination. Maybe it was a trick of the light.
For the rest of their days, though, the two men took every chance they got to tell the story of when they saw a wolf wink.
This is approaching perfection. Damn, man.
Two old men facing down death. I had tears in my eyes. I absolutely love the way you take a stereotype and turn it into real people, instead of mocking it. I wish I could write like that.