Crescent Smile ~ John Marston Story

☆. 𓍊𓋼𓍊 ☽Chapter 3☾ 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

(Unedited)
Word count: 2313
{Listen while you read?~I recommend Scavenger On The Wind by Mangy Bones}
(A/N: For all of us mourning the lost of our John and Arthur edits on TikTok I'm right there with you cowpokes 😢)
☽✫. 𓍊𓋼𓍊. 𓋼𓍊»»——⍟——««𓋼𓍊. 𓍊𓋼𓍊.✫☾

John nodded, making her walk in front of him as they searched the backstreets. They moved cautiously, scanning their surroundings for any sign of life. It was then that they heard the muffled sobs coming from what was once a tailor's shop.

"Anyone here? Hello? Anyone here?" John called out, his voice echoing in the stillness.

"In here, mister," a small voice replied, shaky and full of despair.

"Come out, it's okay. Come out. I don't bite. Bad joke. I mean, come out." John called and Dixie slapped his arm as both tried to keep their chuckles at bay.

As a girl emerged from the shadows, her tear-streaked face told a story of horror and loss.

"They got my family, mister," she said, her voice trembling.

"And ours, I fear," Dixie replied softly, stepping closer to the girl.

"I saw my momma rip my daddy's face off and drink his blood. And they was happily married twenty years," the girl lamented.

"I'm sorry," John said, his heart aching for her as Dixie stepped into the tailor to comfort the woman and John kept an eye out not stepping inside.

"And we was so glad to see my momma, because she's been dead for three years from the smallpox," the girl continued, her voice cracking she stood up and grabbed Dixie holding onto her crying.

"Your momma was dead?" Dixie asked, her brow furrowing.

"And I saw her walk up onto the porch, then boom! She ate my daddy. He weren't, he weren't a bad man, ma'am. He weren't. Sure, he liked a drink, but he weren't bad. And sure, he liked the company of women, but he weren't bad, ma'am, he weren't." The woman continued to cry into Dixie's shoulder.

"No one deserves to have their blood drunk," John replied.

"I mean, he knew how to use his fist, and if a woman spoke out of her place, he reminded her of it and everything. And when my momma was dying, people said he was lying with her sister, but that weren't true, mister. It weren't." The sobbing woman cried towards John.

"But you said your mother was dead," Dixie interjected, trying to piece together the girl's story as she finally pulled the girl off her and walked back toward John.

"Her and Mister Braithwaite. He's been dead a year, and then yesterday he walked up that street eating dogs, and he loves animals. All the dead folk have come back to life, mister, only they ain't happy. Funny kind of salvation."

"All the dead folk?" John echoed, trying to wrap his mind around it.

"All the folk buried at the cemetery over by the churchyard," the girl answered, her eyes filled with terror.

"My God. I'm going to go have a look. You want to come?" John asked, feeling a strange pull toward the truth.

"No, I already seen my momma. I don't need to see any more of my relatives. Here, mister, take this." The girl extended her hand, offering him a makeshift torch. "If you can burn them, maybe you can put their souls to rest. And mister, if you see my uncle Mordecai, burn him! Burn him real good, ya hear?"

John took the torch, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily in the air. "I will," he promised, his voice resolute.

Dixie placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. "Stay safe, okay? We'll do our best to help."