The Demon (and Other Stories)

Campfire

The fire roared as sparks flickered with a genial curtsy. Little flecks of ash and soot settled on Farlin's leather duster. She gave up flicking them off awhile ago, simply letting the blemishes accrue along her coat arms — wasn't like it was in pristine condition anyways.

She turned her gaze to Gustav sitting on a rock across from her, entranced by the intricate flicker of the flames. The log he sat on strained under the weight of his massive frame. His usual bright demeanor was long gone, replaced by a sense of weariness that only accentuated his old age in the somber firelight. He always wore his emotions on his sleeve. It pissed her off.

"What is it this time, old man?" Farlin asked, caring little to hide her harsh tone, "You're killing the mood."

Gustav laughed, "I cannot believe you of all people just accused me of killing the mood, Miss Stoic. You're always scaring away my customers."

He twirled his speckled-gray handlebar mustache as he gave a superficial grin. It didn't fool her.

She ignored his teasing and pressed further, "Something's bothering you. I want to know what."

He sighed and dropped the act, "Just worrying about your new charge," he gestured to the boy sleeping, "He's tough and all, don't get me wrong, but gunslinging and bounties is a hard life to live — especially for a little kid."

"He ain't mine," Farlin scoffed, "getting rid of him as soon as I can."

They sat in silence as sprinkles of snowflakes fell gently into the fire. Farlin cleaned her revolver. Gustav straightened and stretched, breaking the silence.

"Y'know," Gustav began, "I was once like you: grumpy, irritable, angry. I thought I was the biggest badass this side of the Great Lakes. Of course, that meant being weird and off putting to most people I met, but I liked it that way. Point is, I was in a bad way riding with a lot of bad crews."

Farlin rolled her eyes and disregarded the jab at her demeanor, "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Relax, my friend. You'll see soon enough," Gustav reassured her, "Anyways, one night in an old run down saloon, I met a man I once considered a kindred spirit. And trust me, if you think you're a misfit, then you've never met this man before. Ragged and scarred, his face was lined with past battles and loss — a bounty hunter through and through.

He looked me in the eyes and said, 'Son, if you're running with me, then you better know I ain't care nothing for you or anyone. I've lost too much to care about anything other than what's mine.'

And I told that old man I didn't care as long as the pay was good. He smiled. We understood each other."

Gustav ran his hand through his beard before continuing, "We were some of the fiercest hunters around these parts. Mercy was barely an afterthought. The only thing that mattered was our — then aligned — interests. Now that man... he cared more for ghosts than real people. Always chasing retribution, losing everything until he became no more than a ghost himself.

I followed along of course. Why should I care about what he was becoming? A specter can be a specter as long as I got paid at the end of the day.

Well, he did end up getting vengeance, though in the loosest meaning of that word possible. He.." Gustav trailed off, vivid memories flashing in his eyes, "Let's just say his revenge wasn't... agreeable to me, and we came to blows. As I raised that stone over his broken body, he looked at me with emptiness and whispered, 'I don't feel nothing kid. Go ahead,' and so I did."

The old man let the words hang in the air before continuing, "In the end I learned something that day. Something that stuck with me all these years."

Farlin sneered, "A lesson? Old man, you know I couldn't give less of a damn about revenge. A fool's gamble that is."

Gustav shook his head, "No, my friend. The lesson: caring hurts, but the alternative is far worse."

Farlin didn't meet his gaze; even though her face was stoic and unreadable as always, Gustav could tell the story hit home.

Farlin sighed. Her sharp tone dwindled, "You're one to talk. Compassion ain't something you can afford in your line of work."

Gustav smiled sincerely, his voice drenched with lighthearted sarcasm , "Right, right. I suppose I wasn't compassionate when I took you in, fed you, raised you right, taught you how to be tough — though I probably should have been more austere while teaching you manners... Regardless, you're right: I didn't learn my own damn lesson."

"Cut it out," Farlin sneered halfheartedly, "We both know I don't care."

"Of course, of course!" Gustav smiled, "That's why you still keep that little old carving I made for you when you were sixteen. Even though you swore you threw it out the day after."

Farlin didn't know what to say, so she stayed focused on the fire.

"Well," Gustav slapped his knees, "I'm beat. See you tomorrow, my friend — ah, I mean business associate."

Gustav got up and retreated to his tent. His massive and pale silhouette disappeared into the cold autumn night.

Farlin fumbled in her leather bag and pulled out a little wooden statue of a bear. She caressed every intricate line as she stood up and stretched. She studied it until her gaze was inevitably drawn to the kid. She looked back at the bear once more before she shoved it back into her pocket. It wasn't worth stressing over.