Teeth Like Daggers
and Hooves of Thunder
By Geordan Melton
“Dangit Darryl!” The Deweys had barely made it back to their
quaint little home before they were already at each other's throats.
“I didn’t even do anything!” Darryl immediately whined. The
day was already rough, the trail they rode on was rougher, and Dixon had no
competition when it came to riding Darryl’s hide. Their parents had perished
when the sickness from the nearby town of Deville took hold of Sol Rojo and
decided not to let go.
“That’s the problem, you idiot. You didn’t feed the fire
before we left!” That was plain clear to see as they approached a well-made
barn to put up their haul, and the distinct lack of smoke. They had gone on the
short ride to town to grab a few essentials to last them until they went back for
their next delivery, along with bags upon bags of corn. As they opened the
doors, Dixon ran over to the ‘shine maker, and felt its brass to make sure it
was still warm. The barn was built next to a river that gave them the water they needed for the still. All they had to
do was get some corn and they could make all the clear un-aged whiskey they
could sell. They tried doing like the other rot-gut makers and try to make
actual alcohol from potatoes and even grow barley, but this is what they grew
up on and it was what they were known for. Hell, if it wasn’t for Marcus, the
town wizard, suddenly taking a keen interest in them, the twin brothers
probably wouldn’t have been learned to read.
“This is why you still can’t spell cat without sounding it
out, you can’t even remember to do the simple stuff that keeps us from going
hungry!” Dixon mumbled.
Darryl was annoyed at the constant pestering. “I ain’t that
dumb! Marcus said something about us having a natural knack for growing lemon
trees or something...”
Dixon snapped. “It’s chemistry you hair-brained simpleton!”
“Ooh, amazing! You read one book from cover-to-cover, and
suddenly you start using big words!”
“At least I can use big words! Cuz if I can
use ‘em, that means I can read them, and if I can read them, that makes you
five cents short of a nickel when it comes to any amount of whatever you got in
that head of yours!”
Now Darryl had heard enough and threw his bag of corn to the
ground. “And you’re a jackass!”
At this point Dixon had stopped re-fueling the fire he made
and started walking towards his brother to turn the verbal abuse into physical.
Before he could hit him, Dixon noticed out in the distance from the barn doors,
a small brown blur moving about on a hill. That’s also about the time he
realized the Sun was setting soon.
“We ain’t got time for this right now, Darryl. There are
coyotes on the hills.” All the anger in his voice was replaced by dead
seriousness.
Darryl spun around to look out the same barn doors. “The
hell! Didn’t we just see them runnin’ around the other day? Maybe this time it
really is just a coyote.”
“Yeah, but I ain’t going to put it on faith. Let’s get
everything locked up and head for the house.”
The brothers started moving faster, ignoring the constant
ribbing coming from one or the others. They didn’t always act like they liked
each other, but they were both keen to not see the other one get eaten by some
bi-pedal dog monster. Were-coyotes attacks were numerous, and there were even
rumors that a tribe of Longhorn Men had been seen in the area. They didn’t
really do anything after dark anyway.
…
Sitting in the dark, every weapon was either nearby or in
their hand that wasn’t currently occupied by a jug being passed between them. They
both wore boots and pants, dirty from the ride, with Darryl in long sleeve
button up while Dixon sat shirtless, the shine heated him up to where he had to
do what he could in the boarded-up home. The two of them were born seconds
apart, but Dixon was a bit shorter and skinnier, while his brother looked like
the definition of corn-fed. There was a small kitchen with a wood stove, and a fireplace.
All the furniture they had was four chairs, two of which they now occupied, a
table, their beds, and that was about it. The basement they had leaked but held
everything they decided needed to be close to the house. Why anyone would have
a basement in Texas confused most of the people in town, but the house had yet
to collapse into the ground. Darryl suddenly got a little bit flustered and
broke the silence of the small home.
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Another swig from the
jug was taken before passing it to his brother.
“Huh?”
“You are constantly poking me and calling me either an
idiot, moron, or dumb. Do you really think I’m a symbol-den?”
“It’s simpleton.” After a swig and a deeply furrowed brow,
Dixon tried to create a good answer that was still honest. “Well, no not
really. I, at least, don’t think so.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know.” Another swig, then a pass. “I mean, when it
comes to all that stuff with numbers and arithmetic you seem pretty darn decent
at, but you do so much dumb stuff it overshadows it, yah know?”
Darryl paused. “Dumb stuff? Like what?” Swig, pass.
“To start with, forgetting to feed the fire. There is the
fact you have a hard time with anything that has more than two syllables. Don’t
forget the time you-” Dixon was cut off by a long and menacing howl in the
distance. The two boys might have been incapable of walkin straight a few
seconds ago, but they were at their feet and felt as sober as the judge. They
ran to the windows hoping to be able to see something in the darkness. The moon
was out but not full enough to light the landscape. The furthest they could see
was a few short feet outside the house where the fires burning inside
illuminated the dirt and grass. After a few short moments the couple of horses
they owned whinnied and cried, followed by yelps from the attackers catching a
hoof or two to the chest.
“They’re in with the horses!” Darryl hollered out and
began to un-board the front door.
“What in the sweet hell are you doing?” Dixon tried to get a
grip on his brother.
“Well, we can’t just leave ‘em!” With a quick flurry the
deadbolt, bar over the door, and the several chains were undone, and he was out
the door.
Moran! He didn’t even grab a lantern! Dixon snatched the
closest one and stood on the front porch. He could hear his brother yell out
and then a crack from a rifle shattered from out of all sounds. There was a
sharp howl followed by barks and growls then a dreadful silence filled with
horses still screaming. Dixon couldn’t stand by and started to start walking
out to his dumb brother before he ended up seeing a shadowy figure running his
way.
“Darryl?” All he could hear was the pounding of feet coming
his way.
“Get inside! Get inside now!”
Dixon took three quick steps backwards into the house, propelled
by his brother slamming him inside. Dixon set down the light, Darryl threw the
bar over the door. In a rush of fingers, he locked everything back up. He took
big breaths and put his back to the door. They eyed each other, with shared terror.
“What the hell got into you?” Dixon scolded him.
Darryl wiped the sweat from his forehead and rolled up his
sleeves. In one hand was a revolver like the rangers used, and the other had a
wand he was allowed to learn how to make after Marcus had shown them both how. He
stepped back and pulled the hammer back on the gun and looked at Dixon.
“I was hoping there was only one.” His eyes darted around
the room.
“Really? And?”
Darryl swiveled his head between the windows and the door.
“There wasn’t.”
The house suddenly began to implode, the two windows next to
the door and the three that each had their own wall in the four-walled home.
Glass propelled from each surface that had outside shutters latched from the
inside. Howls, panting, and clawed paws could all be heard filling the house as
the onslaught of teeth and boney fingers scratched at the wood keeping them
out. The boys opened fire and tried to use spells they had practiced, going out
of their way to remember not to use fire on the home that was nothing more than
dry tinder. Battle cries rang out, and yelps came after every string of
lightning and fired shot that found its mark. The door tried to hold out the
intruders, but constant banging could be found from the exterior. After what
felt like an eternity, everything went quiet. In the lull, each of the Deweys
decided to start taking count of ammunition.
“You think they’re gone?” Darryl reloaded an old war musket
and started tucking bullets in the now empty revolver. The wand itself was
getting hot enough to burn his hands and he set it down on the table.
“I hope so. We ain’t got much left and all that lightning is
starting to make me go blind.” Dixon said, also reloading a coach gun and ramming
a few shells into the lever action they had saved up to buy.
“You sure it ain’t the shine?” Darryl tried to put on a weak
smile as Dixon took a quick swig and shot him a dirty look. There was a banging
coming from outside, but instead of it falling on the house, it was obviously
being used on the doors of the basement. A final crack of wood came next, and
the rushing of something underneath could be heard.
“Well, that ain’t good-” was Daryll’s last words before the
floor beneath him succumbed to the small
but strong hands of the light brown Were-coyotes.
“Daryll!” Dixon sprinted to the doors that led to the
basement, which shattered open as he got close. He could hear cursing, yelping,
and strings of lightning accompanied by cracks of revolver rounds down the
stairs, but Dixon had his own problems. The creatures were only chest high, but
as mean and ornery as if they were three times that size. The first one
received the butt end of the rifle while the next caught the barrel and lead.
Tears of anger fell from the face of the brother, as he heard yells of pain,
and growls were growing quieter.
“I’m coming bubba! I’m coming! Just wait a bit longer!
Please!” Dixon begged.
Everything stopped as the house slightly shook. The sound of
hooves on the ground, heavier than a horse. The two last Were-coyotes that held
Dixon from saving his brother turned their head and sniffed the air before
turning and taking to all fours out the hole they had created.
Dead silence. Dixon couldn’t even hear Darryl’s curses and
damnations he was putting upon the creatures that had dragged him down into the
darkness. Dixon slowly made his way to the top of stairs and pointed his wand
into the darkness, illuminating the small amount of basement he could see with
its tip, like a hooded lantern on the end of a stick. As he peered into the
bowels of his own home, his heart dropped. He couldn’t find his brother.
Dixon choked back a sob. “Bubba?”
Before he got a chance to go further down the steps, the
door exploded inward. In an instant the light was extinguished, and the wand crackled
with energy just waiting to be released. A large cow head with a pair of horns
that stretched past its own shoulders peered into the home. As their eyes
connected, it slowly made its way through the tiny-to-him opening it had
created, carrying a stick with a pointy stone at the end that had to be the
ten-foot pole people refused to touch certain things with.
“Get back!” Dixon hollered, tears still fresh on his cheeks.
The standing Longhorn looked him in the face, body still too tall to not be
hunched over in the human-sized home. The Longhorn slowly put the spear in his
hands on the ground, extending an abnormally buff and human arm out to him,
palm facing him. He then walked over to where the jug of spilt moonshine lay on
the ground, sniffing its opening then bellowing a deep moo out the door it had
busted down.
Dixon lowered his weapon slightly, looking confused. While
he was distracted, footsteps started slamming against the stairs and the once
lost Darryl appeared, a little bloodier than before. Dixon almost completely
forgot the giant bovine in their kitchen.
“Oh thank God.” He collapsed on his brother and was
immediately met by groans.
“Easy now, easy now. No overgrown dog is going to get the
best of me.” As Dixon let go, Darryl picked a canine tooth out of his shoulder
and nodded towards the bull in the room. “The hell does it want?”
“No idea.” Without much warning, the bull picked his spear
back up, and motioned with his large head to follow him outside, scraping the
ceiling as it did. There was a large crowd, at least ten or eleven in all, of
the Longhorn Men. Among them was a bison that towered an extra foot above the
rest. Something about him made it look as if he was ancient.
The Bison spoke. “This. Help. Me. To see. Beyond.” He handed
the jug as carefully as possible back to Dixon. “You. Make. Sight water?” it grumbled
in a deeper voice than any man they had ever heard.
“You can talk?” Dixon felt uneasy with this new fact.
A short gruff sound came from the bison, that could’ve been
mistaken for a laugh. “Still. Learning.” It held up the jug that the first one
had brought to him. “Soft-skin. Make. For me. We. Protect.”
Dixon looked around. There were small Were-coyote bodies
that surrounded the house and dotted the ground further out. There really
wasn’t any room for negotiation. “Okay. Deal. Under one condition.”
The bison snorted. “Condition?”
“Yes, like a thing you got to do if you want the sight water
or whatever you called it.” A semblance of understanding seems to wash over the
behemoth. “Bring us wood for the house and the thing that makes the moonshine.”
The tall thing must have been able to see for miles and
looked about the destroyed house and towards where the smoke rose from the
still. “O, kay.” It extended a hand that showed it must have made a deal before
with another person. They had an awkward handshake, and the herd began to move
away and when they had gone over the nearby hills, one stayed behind and sat on
the hill that overlooked the entire homestead.
“You sure that was smart? They could rip us apart if they
wanted,” Darryl confided, still eyeing the one left behind.
“No, but at least we don’t have to worry about the dogs
anymore.” He kicked the nearest one. “Too bad we didn’t hit more in the head
though.”
“Why?” Darryl began to limp back inside.
Dixon turned the nearest one over with his foot. “I’m sure
we could’ve gotten a couple cents for the pelts.”
They laughed. Darryl looked back at him and stopped chuckling
long enough to take a seat. “Idiot.”
