Red Rabbit

by Alex Grecian

Word of the bounty on Sadie Grace spread quickly: one thousand dollars to any man who could kill the notorious witch of Burden County, Kansas.

Ned had traveled with less agreeable personalities than Tom, and he had learned long ago to shut them out when they talked, unless they had something useful to say.

“We’re gonna hang you, sure,” Charlie said, “but you could at least be civil until then.”

Charlie pulled the trigger and George stopped shouting. He blinked at Charlie in surprise. “You shot me,” he said. “Well, I said I was gonna shoot you.” “Yeah, but you really shot me. And you didn’t give me a true three count, neither.”

“Well, there’s the law and then there’s justice. They ain’t always the same thing.”

“Do you think you’ll see them again?” Joe said. “Your wife and boy?” “Heavens,” Mr James said. “I certainly hope not.”

We have been through a haunted forest and a cursed ranch. Our donkey died, we lost our wagon, and Moses was nearly killed by some sort of a devil. We have encountered a great many unsettling things in a very short span of time.” “Well, heck, anything’s a coincidence if you look at it right.”

No, she decided, the books were useful, too. They, more than anything else, reminded her of who she really was. She was not just the widow, or the traveling companion, or the ward of a strange child whom she barely knew. She was Rose Nettles, and no other label was enough.

“I wished I knew for sure if I was going crazy,” he said. “That might be a comfort.”

Joe thought back on all the times he had entered a room and forgotten why he was there. As if his memory had skipped a beat. He wondered how many spirits had touched him, and how many he had walked through, oblivious to their presence.

“I was not judging. Only saying what I think.” “That’s judging.” “Well, then, what is so wrong with judging?”

“All I wanted was to sit on my porch and fall asleep in the sun,” he said. “Then you should have stayed home,” the Huntsman said.

She had a life. But she had gradually begun to realize that she had overstayed her welcome, and that she would eventually lose all the things she loved, whether she stayed or not.

“Please be careful, Mr Burke,” Rose said. “Mr Hemingway and I have seen a portent of death.” “Portents don’t scare me, Mrs Nettles. They don’t hurt as much as a bullet.”

“I had worshippers then, and I did many terrible deeds, Mr Cassidy. I laid with beautiful women and they gave birth to horrors. I laid with beautiful men and planted the seeds of war. A king displeased me, and I marched against him. I conjured a plague of insects that consumed his army. I took his harem for myself, and I ate the children of his courtiers. There are still statues of me, you know, buried under stones deep in the sand, put there to ward off death and bad luck. Oh, I miss those days, Mr Cassidy. So few people pay me the proper respect now.”