Justice of the Peace (standard:horror, 1740 words)
Author: radiodenver	Added: Oct 28 2004	Views/Reads: 3447/2365	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Just another hang'n

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

fixture of oak and hand carved features stood with authoritative 
presence as he walked past.  Gill followed Mort into the room and up a 
cramped, narrow stairway, halting at another massive wooden door with 
thick iron bars.  Mort inserted a single key into the bolt and pushed 
open the door. 

“In here.”  Mort ordered, motioning towards the open door.  The space
beyond the door was dark and Gill hesitated.  “C'mon now, don't make 
this difficult.”  Mort whispered with a sympathetic tilt of his head.  
Gill proceeded through the narrow doorway into long dim hallway and 
Mort followed, locking the door behind them.  “Down here.”  Mort 
escorted Gill to a cell door, again opening it with the single key he 
clutched in his massive and weathered hand. 

The door slammed and Gill found himself interned in the cramped room,
with a mere single barred window to explore.  Gill approached the 
window and wrapping his hands around the bars, peered through the 
opening.  Below this window, amid an empty dirt yard stood a gallows 
and a single shallow grave.  Above the dirt hole, a single wood cross 
was visible and upon that cross he could see carved, his name.  
Horrified and confused, he grasped the bars of the window, focusing for 
hours on his grave astride the gallows in the yard below. 

The lock of the door slapped its cold sound.  Gill turned as an ominous
man, six feet tall with a spindly frame, the Judge, gazed upon him with 
cold resolve. 

With nary a glint of emotion or movement, Gill surveyed the pallid
Judge.  The Judge had thinning white hair, cut short and groomed to a 
light wave on the right of his gaunt head.  His eyes were light grey 
and hollow, with a pronounced and lengthy gap between his cold and 
hardened eyes.  His bulbous nose and long white chin whiskers stood in 
prominence on the front of his ghastly pale face.  Large sculptured 
ears hung from the side of his head like brittle handles upon a pottery 
vase, his obscured narrow lips projecting a scurrilous grin as he gazed 
with indifferent purport at Gill. 

“What have we before us?  What shall we do about this man standing here
before us?”  The Judge said, looking at Mort now standing beside him. 

“Your Honor.  We have Gill McClure here before us, and before we proceed
Your Honor, it may please the court to know that Mr. McClure was the 
horse thief we talked about earlier.” 

“What say you to this Mr. McClure?”  The Judge asked. 

“Judge, your honor, I've had no trial.  Why am I here?” 

“Son, you're accused of being a horse thief.”  The Judge replied. 
“We'll have no horse thieves here so we're sending you back to where 
you came from.” 

Mort grasped Gill with a cold hard grip and forced him from the cell,
down the narrow stairway and into the yard of the gallows.  Climbing 
the stairs of the gallows, Gill gazed downward to the empty hole and 
the lazy swirls of dust blowing across the yard.  Mort placed Gill over 
the trap door.  A hood, smelling of sweat and puke, was placed over his 
head.  Swallowing hard as the noose was tightened around his neck, the 
knot pressing firm against his ear, Gill's knees buckled. 

With a slight flick of his hand, the Judge gave the signal.  The trap
door swung downwards and Gill felt the rope around his neck tighten 
ever so slow as he fell through the opening. 

A moment later, Gill lost consciousness. 

/////*\\\\\ 

”Go ahead and cut'm down Jake.  He's been up there long enough.”  Boss
Johansson said from atop his horse.  “That son-of-a-bitch won't be 
stealing any more horses out this way.” 

The Boss, as he was referred too by his ranch hands, was an enigma.  A
large and neatly dressed man, he rode, ate and slept with his crew, but 
would only communicate directly with Jake, his foreman.  The crew 
followed Jake's orders as if the Boss had given them directly.  At two 
dollars a day, working for the Boss was a well paying job in these 
parts.  The Boss and the crew had been chasing Gill for three days when 
they finally caught him sleeping along the bank of Sweetwater River. 

“You reckon we should take his body back to town?”  Jake asked. 

“The man can rot out here with the buzzards; don't fret about taking him
anywhere.  Just drag him over yonder and dig a hole to cover him.”  The 
Boss replied. 

As his eyes opened, the only thing visible to Gill's blurred vision was
the contour of a man wearing a hat.  Jake returned the gaze and tipped 
his hat back. "Boss, this ole boy ain't dead.”  Jake said. “Reckon 
we'll just have to hang him again.”  Said The Boss.  “Go fetch that 
damn horse and grab more rope, the old ones too short.” 

Gill, still in a state of confusion, was lifted to his feet by Jake and
a few of the crew.  With the rope securing his hands behind his back 
still in place and his feet still tied together, Gill was unable to 
resist. 

“We gonna hang'ya again, you horse thieving scum.”  Jake said staring
directly into Gill's eyes.  Gill was raised to the horse from which he 
fell.  Another rope was found and placed around his neck and the horse 
was led into position beneath the thick cottonwood tree branch.  Jake 
tossed the rope over the branch, next to the first rope that had been 
prematurely cut and then tied it to the trunk of the massive tree. 

“You're going to take another trip to hell boy.”  Jake yelled, slapping
the rump of the horse.  As the horse bolted, Gill felt the rope around 
his neck tighten ever so slow as the horse darted from beneath him.  He 
slid off the back of the animal and dangled, his body swinging above 
the ground from the rope tied to the cottonwood tree. 

A moment later, Gill lost consciousness. 

/////*\\\\\ 

For some strange reason, this place looked familiar.  As he stood
outside the gate, Gill McClure directed his gaze along the curved arch 
of an entrance to the cold grey brick building. 

Beyond the iron gate, a pale red sandstone path beckoned the way to a
large oak door, ten sinister steps above the ground. 


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