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Souls of the Saguaro

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Souls of the Saguaro



"They say hundrits of years ago the first saguaro cactus grew as punishment on a darned Spanish captain."

The boys stopped talking and looked over at Cookie. Except for a torrent of cuss words aimed at the fool who complained about his cooking, Cookie rarely spoke a word.
Seeing them interested, the large man leaned against the wagon wheel and began his narrative.

"Met an old Indian squaw once back in Texas when Texas was young enough to be my uncle. Seems that when her grandpappy was a boy, the folks down in these parts had themselves this Spanish army captain who was meaner than rattlers in a fryin' pan. Came to Mexico by one of them Spanish army boats...he was a donkey-steader or somethin' like that. He always had a hankering for gold. Kill yuh for it if yuh didn't give it tuh him for free. One day he goes walkin', wondering where tuh get more gold, when he feels a rumble, and sees a flash of yellow light just over the hill. He runs over and sees a cave filled with plenty 'nough gold tuh buy all of Californy!!

"Seeing this,the Spanish captain runs over and sees a family of Indians near the cave. No sooner do they see the captain, when the father of the family blows a whistle and the cave shuts as if it weren't there at all! The captain gets madder than a wet hen that folk was hiding gold from him, and threatens tuh kill them all. But they say that they protected this gold....see, this was gold with a curse. Made greedy folk get greedier and murderous. Only honest folk could have enough tuh pay off their needs, and no more.

"As yuh boys can guess, the captain gets his army and moseys over tuh the cave. The family gets frightened at the sight of the captain and his boys armed with swords and muskets. The captain gives them one last chance, but they refuse to give up the cursed gold."

Cookie stopped to roll a cigarette. No one dared ask what happened next. To do so would stop the tale for sure, and bring the wrath of his friends upon him.

With a freshly lit cigarette in his mouth, Cookie continued: "The captain got madder than ever and ordered the family tuh be buried alive, starting with the little ones first.

"The soldiers dug a pit for each family member. Each time one got buried, and captain would demand the cave tuh be opened, but they refused. Then the mother was thrown in, then went the granny, and grandpappy. But it stayed shut.

"Then, only the father was left. The captain laughed at the father, saying he would have the hill dug up until the gold was gotten. The father spit in the chief's face and jumped in the pit himself. They say you could hear the muffled screams of the children for days after the earth was thrown over them.

"Well, the soldiers spent weeks digging up the hill, but no gold was found. Not even a nugget worth two-bits. Angrier than hell, the captain went back to his fort.

"As time passed, small sprouts of cactuses began tuh appear in the same spots the family stood. But these was a different lookin' than any one had ever seen. Tall, and thin, with arms stretched upwards as if trying tuh pull themselves out from the darkness below, maybe trying tuh reach glory land where  the good Lord is....

"Not only that, but they seemed tuh spring up in wherever the captain had killed an innocent person.

"Shortly afterwards, the fort found itself surrounded by saguaro. Nobody got scared until the wind would blow at nights. The screams and moans of hell couldn't be worse than what them soldiers  listened tuh. Worse were the voices callin' out, 'Come tuh us.....come tuh us." The soldiers knew these were the souls of the murdered folk, but the captain laughed at them. He got a sword and walked over tuh the nearest saguaro. But no sooner did he step too close tuh the saguaro, when the tall plant snatched him up. The other saguaro swayed wildly in the breeze of howling voices. The captain screamed for mercy as the sword-long spikes dug into his armor, his blood pouring down tuh the earth below. No foolin' that the soldiers ran in terror from the sight!

"When they finally had the courage tuh return, no trace of the captain's body was seen. Instead, fruit, as red as rubies was seen growing here and there on the saguaros. The next day the fort was abandoned, and none, not even peaceful Indians, have settled in this here valley."

A long trail of smoke drifted up from Cookie's mouth, into the desert night.

"Or so they say......many folk good and bad have tried settlin' in parts were the saguaro grow in numbers, but they all seem tuh disappear soon after....leaving the saguaros standing tall.

"So when yuh hear the wind moaning at nights, it's not the wind, but the souls of those consumed by the saguaros. Listen carefully and danged if yuh don't be wantin' tuh go where they say!"

Cookie flicked the last of his cigarette off into the sandy soil. The boys waited expectantly just in case Cookie had more to say. They didn't believe a word of it, but on nights like this, Cookie could spin yarns more entertaining than a city man trying to fit in with the West.

But Cookie seemed to have lost all interest in saying anymore. All his attention fell upon rolling a new cigarette between his fingers. The cigarette finished, he looked up at the boys. The light of the fire danced off Cookie's gold tooth. "What's the matter, Hank?
'Fraid of a little ol' cactus hug?"

The boys roared with laughter at the sight of Hank's wide eyes. "Aww! Yuh ain't foolin' me with your old wives tales!" The youngest of the group protested. "Yuh probably made it up yuhself!"

The campfire burned low, and soon everyone was asleep. Except for Hank. He was taking the first watch.

The cold desert air was silent. Everything for miles around could be clearly seen beneath the white rays of the full moon. Hank held his Winchester loosely in his hands. They hadn't had any trouble for days. He walked over and tossed a few sticks onto the dying fire. Small flames jumped up, strengthened by a faint breeze.
Hank whirled around. He was certain he heard something. The faintest of voices, hushed, subtle, yet clearer than words shouted in his ear. He stood still and listened. The breeze died away. Minutes passed before Hank shrugged and laughed softly for acting like a child.

Then it came. Long, sorrowful, enchanting, seductive. A wailing of thousands kissing into his ears three simple words: come to us. An innocent request, gone before it was even present.

Hank looked across the moonlit desert. Their was nobody in sight. Then his eyes fell upon a distant lone figure. A giant of a man standing boldly atop a ledge half a mile from the camp.

Curious, the young man walked forwards, rifle ready in his hands. About half way there, the tall figure could be clearly seen holding both its arms upwards as a welcome to the cowboy. Hank paused. A grin of almost relief crawled across his dirty face. 'Hank, yuh fool!' He laughed nervously to himself. 'I'm losing muh edge if I'm gonna let Cookie's story get the better of me!'

He turned back to the campsite. The open air grew colder.

Come to us!

The words drifted slowly about the now freezing air; soothing, warm words. Embracing with comfort for one who lived a life or hardness.

Come to us!

Hank continued on, helpless to question the call. Each step made him less alert to his surroundings. Each step seemed to bring him closer to an unknown yearning for happiness. Each step forced him to breathe in the subtle breeze swirling about him.

Come to us!  The urge to resist was forever gone. Before he knew it, the giant was right before him. Tall, silent, with arms stretching for the sky, the mighty saguaro loomed high above him. Dark as the night sky was, the saguaro was an even darker slash across the stars.

Come to us!

A small call of warning came in the form of a horse's nervous whinny. Hank turned his face back at the campsite. Why had he wandered so far away? Reality and sense pushed through the doorway of his head so recently cluttered with lies. He turned a step towards his friends, but it was already too late.

Herculean arms wrapped around him, pressing him tight. Hank tried to shriek as long spines pierced through his shirt, but the arms tightened their grip until no air could escape his lips.

COME TO US!

Hank swung a spurred boot into the saguaro's trunk. It shivered in pain. Again the boot attacked, mad with rage to escape horrifying death. But this time the saguaro was ready, catching the boot with a wicked spike; pinning Hank's foot to motionlessness. The spines dug deeper through his arms and chest. His bones snapped; poking out of his skin alongside the spines. His voice was dead; tongue dried and stuck to the roof of his mouth, throat hoarse with pain, and lungs gasping for breath.

JOIN US!!

The last thing Hank remembered was his hand reaching one final time for non-existent help. His fingers clawed the cold air; waving madly with dust sticking to his bloodied fingers.

Then, all in sight fell into the black, painful shadows of eternity....
Well, I wrote this last week after seeing a picture of a cactus [link] submitted by the very swell :iconnfaas:, we ended up collaborating, with me writing a short horror story, and she painting a picture to go along with it : [link] Be sure to check it out!
I'd have the picture above my own submission, but the laptop is on strike over that; soon though.
My very first FINISHED short horror :hooray:
Thanks for looking.
:jester:
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