Xaverick's eyes snapped open, the sun's warm embrace washing over him. His heart pounded in his chest, the vividness of the dream clinging to him like a damp shirt. He sat up, the room spinning for a moment before his vision cleared. The cabin was exactly as he had left it, the only sign of his nocturnal visitor a faint scent of sandalwood that lingered in the air.
The whiskey glass was still in his hand, the amber liquid long since evaporated. He threw the glass aside, the shattering sound jolting him fully awake. He scanned the room, his eyes lingering on the door that stood ajar. The dream had felt so real-Dorian's arms around him, the weight of his body on the bed. Xaverick swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away as he stood up and stretched his cramped muscles.
"Welp, let's get to work," he said with a forced cheerfulness, his voice echoing in the silent cabin. He stoked the embers of the fireplace, the flames licking at the kindling before roaring to life. The warmth spread through the room, chasing away the last vestiges of the cold night air. Xaverick grabbed a mug of coffee, the strong aroma waking him up more effectively than the harsh light of day.
With Betty safely back in her pen and his chores done for the morning, Xaverick decided to visit the local sheriff to get the lowdown on Dorian Blackwood. The townsfolk had always talked about the family in hushed whispers, but he had never paid much mind to their stories. Now, with Dorian back in town, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there was more to him than met the eye-or rather, more than his teeth and his fancy clothes revealed.
The sheriff's office was a small, cluttered room with a desk that had seen better days. Sheriff Jenkins sat behind it, a mountain of a man with a thick mustache that curled upwards like two waxed snakes ready to strike. He looked up as Xaverick entered, his eyes wary. "What brings you in here, son?"
Xaverick took his hat off, revealing his sweat-stained forehead. "It's about Dorian Blackwood," he said, his voice low. The sheriff leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning in protest. "What's he up to, bringing his fancy ways back to our town?"
Sheriff Jenkins sighed, rubbing his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "I reckon he's just here to collect his inheritance," he said, his eyes never leaving Xaverick's. "But I've got a few of my boys keeping an eye on him. Can't have folks getting spooked, especially with the stories that still go 'round."
"What kind of stories?" Xaverick leaned in, his curiosity piqued.
The sheriff leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "The kind that give children nightmares," he said gravely. "You know the old tales of the Blackwoods-how they dabbled in the dark arts, how they had dealings with things that go bump in the night. Some say Dorian's father had a hand in the disappearance of several townsfolk back in the day."
Xaverick's gut twisted at the thought. "But that's just superstition, right?"
The sheriff leaned back, his eyes weary. "Maybe," he said, his voice filled with doubt. "But it's best not to take chances. Just keep your wits about you, and stay away from that mansion. It's bad news, that place."
Xaverick nodded, his mind racing with questions and fears. As he left the office, the heat of the day slapped him in the face like a wet towel. The town looked the same, but the shadows now held secrets that seemed more real than ever before. He decided to take Sheriff Jenkins' advice-keep a safe distance from Dorian and his mansion.
Days turned into weeks, and Dorian Blackwood remained a constant, unnerving presence in the town. Xaverick avoided him as much as he could, but the whispers grew louder. People spoke of strange occurrences at night, of cattle found drained of blood, and of shadows that flitted through the moonlit streets. The townsfolk grew more restless with each passing day, and the tension was as thick as the dust that hung in the air.
One morning, as Xaverick stepped out of his cabin, he noticed something was off. The air was eerily still, and even the birds seemed to be holding their breath. He walked over to the pen and called out for Betty, but she didn't come running as she usually did. His heart sank as he saw the gap in the fence where she had been. He knew in his gut that this wasn't just another of her usual escapades.
With a sense of foreboding, he set out to find her, his boots echoing through the deserted town streets. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting long, spooky shadows that stretched out like fingers trying to grab him. Xaverick's hand hovered near his gun as he approached the edge of town, where the Blackwood mansion loomed like a malevolent force. The last place he wanted to go, but it was the only place she could have gone to.
As he neared the mansion, something glinted in the early morning light-a trail of blood, dark and fresh, leading up the gravel path to the mansion's doors. "Oh, God no," he whispered, his voice cracking with dread. He broke into a sprint, the blood on the ground pulsing like a crimson river, guiding him closer to the source of his fear. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could feel his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The blood grew heavier as he approached the mansion, staining the rocks underfoot. The once majestic building looked like a rotten tooth in the mouth of the countryside, decayed and threatening. Xaverick's hand was firm on his gun, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. He didn't know what he would find, but he knew he had to get inside. Betty's safety was all that mattered.
As he reached the grand entrance, his breath caught in his throat. There, at the foot of the mansion, lay Betty's lifeless body, a gruesome sight that brought bile to his throat. But she wasn't alone. Dorian Blackwood and Sheriff Jenkins were standing over her, their expressions unreadable in the early light.
"What...the...FUCK, BLACKWOOD!!" Xaverick shouted, his hand shaking as he pointed his gun at Dorian.
Dorian's eyes grew wide for a brief moment before narrowing into thin slits. He took a step back, his handsome features twisting into a snarl. "Put that down, cowboy," he warned, his voice dropping to a menacing growl.
"Why should I?" Xaverick said, his voice trembling with anger and grief. "You've killed my Betty!" The tears that had started down his cheeks now fell in earnest, mixing with the dust and sweat on his face. His finger tightened around the trigger, his body poised to pull it.
Dorian took another step back, his expression a mix of shock and something else-something that looked eerily like regret. "It wasn't me," he said, his voice low and even. "Look at the wounds, Xaverick. They're not from a human they're from an animal."
Xaverick's hand wavered, his eyes flicking from the gun to Betty's torn body. He noticed the ragged edges of the wounds, the way they didn't match the neat punctures he had seen in the stories. His heart squeezed in his chest as the reality of the situation set in. "But... but why?" he whispered, his voice choked with sobs.
Sheriff Jenkins stepped forward, his hand reaching for the gun. "Now, now, son," he said gently. "It's not Dorian's fault. Looks like a wild animal got to her."
But Xaverick couldn't hear him. The world had narrowed down to the thunderous beat of his heart and the agonizing pain in his chest. He had loved Betty like she was his own child, and now she was gone. He dropped to his knees, his sobs tearing through the stillness like a tornado. The gun slipped from his fingers, thudding to the ground, forgotten.
Dorian's eyes widened, and he took a step back, his own hand moving to his chest in a silent gesture of sympathy. The sheriff knelt beside Xaverick, his large hand resting heavily on the cowboy's shoulder. "It's all right," he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll figure this out."
Xaverick pushed the sheriff's hand away, his eyes snapping up to meet Dorian's. "I blame you, Blackwood," he spat, his voice thick with grief and accusation. "Everything was fine until you showed up with your fancy clothes and your fancy talk. You brought this curse upon us!"
With a roar of anguish, Xaverick leaped to his feet, snatching up his gun. "So long as you live, I never want to lay eyes on you again!" He fired into the air, the shot echoing through the stillness like a funeral bell tolling for his friendship with Dorian. Without another word, he turned and sprinted back to his cabin, the rage coursing through his veins like fire.
To be continued....
