The Grave

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Tags: Crime, Western, Ghost Story, Lesbian, Love Story





In an overlooked cemetery on a lonely hill that no car ever drove past, one grave stood empty.

The man in the long gray coat climbed off his horse and took off his wide-brimmed hat, hanging it on a headstone. The rusted spurs on his old boots clicked as he walked. He bent over the hole in the ground. Somewhere on the other side of the flat, scrubby countryside, coyotes yowled at the cresting moon.

All of the dirt was piled at the graveside. The tilted stone nearby was so old that the name had faded away, but the man in the gray coat recognized it anyway. He’d been to this grave before, talked to the woman who was buried her, and knew her entire story.

Now she was gone. A parole breaker; a fugitive.

Sometimes the dead walk with the living for a time. Sometimes the man in the gray coat allowed it. But it’s only supposed to be for a little while; they always have to come back. When they don’t, then he chases them.

He sighed, a tiny sound, too small for most ears to hear, but incredibly weary. Thenhe ran his fingers through the cold dirt. Nothing had been here for a long time. He’d taken too long getting here, and she could be anywhere in the world by now.

There’d been so much other work to do. Always so much work…

But he was here now, and he‘d find this woman and bring her in, however long and far she‘d run. He had no choice.

He replaced his hat and slung himself into the saddle. His horse was a gray colt that could run as fast and as long as he wanted without tiring. Now he whipped the reins and off they went, never slowing. No matter how fast they went across the flat, sharp-stoned plain, the wind never disturbed the man’s coat.

Somewhere out there, a fugitive was running. So all night and all day until he caught her, he’d run too.

***

The rain was coming down in sheets and Billie had just turned off the neon sign when the diner’s door blew open and the stranger came in.

She was a woman about Billie’s age, barely dressed and soaked to the skin, black hair clinging to her face. She tried to say something but couldn’t speak for chattering teeth, so all she did was standing there rubbing her arms and dripping on the floor.

Normally Billie threw out anyone who tried to walk in so much as a second after closing. She worked hard all shift long and closed the entire place by herself, so she wasn’t obligated to put up with anybody’s shit.

But this time she took one look at the drenched, ghastly figure in the doorway and immediately went to put on new coffee. Then she went to the kitchen and came back with towels for the stranger and one of the spare kitchen uniforms nobody had ever worn.

“You can change in the Ladies,” she said.

“Thanks,” the stranger stammered out, then slunk off.

Billie glanced outside when she shut the door; nothing out there for miles except the long, scrubby badlands, and the black ribbon of the potholed highway. She locked up, pulled the blinds, mopped the water from the floor, and was just pouring the coffee when the other woman came back.

It was just the two of them here, and only one light was still on in the place, turning the diner into a gray shadow land. The strange woman held her coffee tightly, trying to get the feeling back in her fingers. She drank it like it was life itself. She’d cleaned herself up as best as she could, although the clothes didn’t suit her.

Still, Billie saw that she was pleasant looking, and either a bit older or a bit younger than her first impression, though for some reason it was impossible to tell which. Billie took off her apron, poured a cup for herself, and said:

“So, who are you and what the fuck did you think you were doing out there?”

The stranger sighed and said, “I’m Blanche.” Billie cocked her head.

“That’s a nice name. Old fashioned.”

“I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl,” Blanche said, insert smile. “I got caught in the rain. You’re the only place around for miles.”

“Twenty one miles, actually,” said Billie. “Along the main road, at least. But you weren’t walking on the road, you were walking across the badlands.”

Blanche furrowed her brow. “How’d you know?”

“Your jeans were covered in mud right up to the knee. It’s the kind of mud you get when rain mixes with the lousy dust out there. What were you thinking? Trying to commit suicide the slow way?”

The other woman seemed to retract all at once from the scrutiny, and Billie actually thought she might bolt for a second.

“I was…look, I don’t want to be ungrateful, being as you probably just saved me, or at least saved me from having to break in here for shelter and sleep in a booth. But I don’t like a lot of questions.

“I’ll be as honest as I can: I got in real bad trouble and had to get away. I’ve got no money, no car, I don’t know anybody, and I’ve got nowhere to go. Can’t even tip you for the coffee. If you want me to throw me out you can go right ahead and I guess I wouldn’t blame you, but that’s just about all I can say about myself for now.”

It was evidently more than Blanche was used to saying all at once, and it seemed to leave her a bit winded. She looked up once and then, seemingly embarrassed, sought refuge in her cup again.

After a minute Billie shrugged. “Okay, fair enough. You need a place to stay? I’m not far away. You need to dry off faster, though, I’m not letting you in my truck looking like that.”

Blanche blinked. “Seriously?”

“Look at my face: Do I look like someone who is ever not serious?”

“But you don’t even know me. What if I’m dangerous?”

“Are you?”

“Um…”

“Good enough for me.”

Billie closed everything down again, then the pair of them sprinted to the back parking lot, where Billie’s truck was the only thing remaining. The dashboard clock said 1 AM; she kept forgetting to set it back after daylight saving time, and now it was actually less trouble to wait for everything to Spring Forward again.

The old truck bumped and jostled over the lousy country road, but Billie never noticed anymore, and Blanche didn’t seem to mind either. The land in either direction of that narrow strip of highway was dark and flat and nothing else.

They rode in comfortable silence for a minute and then Billie said, “I know I agreed not to ask nothing, but this trouble you’re in? It’s not following you, is it? Just so I know before I put you up.”

Blanche was quiet for a moment longer than Billie would probably have liked, but eventually said, “If it is, then it’s a long way behind.”

“All right. You some kind of drifter?”

“Guess I am now.”

“I’ve thought about just picking up and leaving where I am sometimes. Even done it once or twice over the years.”

“I was in…a real bad spot. I could’ve stayed, but…” She trailed off again. Billie put a hand on her knee, briefly.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” she said. “Whatever happened, I’m sure you did right leaving. Lots of people don’t ever leave then they should, you know? Then you end up trapped.”

“For eternity.”

“That’s right. So forget about whatever it is, at least for tonight. Deal?”

The stranger nodded. “Deal.”

Billie knew, of course, that this wasn’t the smartest idea, taking a strange woman home with who-knew-what behind her. But the frenzied pace of the windshield wipers made it impossible to imagine turning anyone out into a storm like this, and where else could Blanche even go?

Billie always liked to take risks anyway. She wasn’t exactly proud of the circumstances that all of her risk-taking had delivered her into, but she wouldn’t take any of it back if she could. So why change now?

Her place was a one bed apartment at a development on the edge of town. They were supposed to be three buildings like this originally but they’d only finished the one, and hardly anyone lived even here now.

“Why so empty?” Blanche said as they trunched up the steps. There was parking for five times as many cars as were here, and a glance was all it took to tell that most of the homes were uninhabited.

“This place turned out to be a money laundering scam. Hard to trust the construction after that.”

“So why do you live here?”

“I like to be alone,” Billie said, unlocking the door and throwing her keys on the end table. “Present company excluded until the rain quits.”

She swept her hand across the Spartan interior with mock grandiosity. “Make yourself at home. If you’re planning to rob me there’s $300 in the drawer, take that instead of the china.”

“I’m not going to rob you.”

“That’s good, I was lying about the money. And the china. I do keep a gun around, though, so don’t make me shoot you. That one’s not a lie. Are you hungry?”

“Am I!”

The fridge had only breakfast fixings, so they ended up making late-night omelets, which Blanche insisted on helping with and proved very good at it.

“Not bad. I could get you a job at the diner,” Billie said between bites, both of them seated at the coffee table. She’d broken out the whiskey too; Blanche looked like she needed it. The ice settled in their glasses as they talked.

“I haven’t had a job in longer than I can remember,” Blanche said.

“What do you do for money?”

“Nothing. Just look at me.”

Billie did. Now that she was inside, dry, and fed, Blanche’s stark pallor was fading into a flattering, rosy glow around the cheeks.

“How about you?” she said. “What do you do, other than waitress and rescue people?”

“I take classes at the city college. Theology mostly.”

“What are you going to do with that?”

“Pray.”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough that I ought to have finished college already but not old enough to worry about it.”

“Staying up this late isn’t going to make you miss class in the morning?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Oh,” Blanche said, as if she genuinely didn’t know. Then she leaned back, half reclining on the couch and sipping the whiskey. The kitchen uniform was too small, so the pants hugged her legs and the shirt rode up when she moved, revealing bare belly.

“You live here alone?”

“I like to think I’m my own best company.”


“But no boyfriend? Girlfriend?”


“Do I strike you as the type for friends?” Billie said. But she was aware that she hadn’t looked away from the small, revealed bit of bare flesh.


“I dunno,” Blanche said. “Trying to figure that out. Look, I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but, well, you’re helping me out a lot here. Maybe I can do something for you?”


“Your hands are cold,” Billie said. Blanche had put one of them on her leg.


“We can warm up. Is this too forward? I’m just no good with people. And it’s been a long time. But I think I’ve still got the knack for it.”


Blanche leaned in, and Billie very nearly closed her eyes and leaned in for the kiss as well…


But she pulled back at the last second, causing Blanche to miss. Then she stood up and made a big show of stretching and yawning.


“Okay, guess it’s a good thing we got that out of the way before bed,” she said. “You don’t mind taking the couch. I’ll get you a pillow.”


She made the short trip to the bedroom and stripped the topmost blanket off. Then she stopped, bedding all in a bundle in her hands, hung her head a fraction of an inch, and sighed.


This was a really, really bad idea. Her worst one all night. But…


When she opened the door again Blanche was already standing there. Billie dropped the blankets and pulled her into the room and a kiss all at the same time.


They started fast, tugging and pulling at each other’s clothes as best they could without breaking off from the long, hot, fast open-mouthed kisses. Blanche pushed Billie's hand between her legs and pulled Billie down on to the bed on top of her, dragging Billie's other hand up her body. Her too-small, makeshift clothes rode up easily.


Blanche nipped Billie’s lower lip. Billie felt Blanche's breasts roll under her hands, and Blanche growled a little encouragement as Billie's pressed harder. Their bodies ground against one another, hips and thighs bucking. The rain pounded the roof, and once or twice lightning turned the windows blue and white behind the cheap blinds.


Billie kicked and struggled and threw her clothes aside. She was wet, and she pushed Blanche’s hand between her own thighs while Blanche kissed her neck, tongue tracing the curves and sinews flesh while her fingers went to work. Billie trembled, moaning under her breath: "More, please..."


Blanche's arms wrapped around Billie's waist, hands caressing her hips and then grabbing her ass with both hands, pulling them against one another. Then Blanche slid one finger inside of her, then two, and Billie twisted on the bed. "Oh god!" she said. Blanche pushed all the way in and then twisted them, once, and Billie buried her face in a pillow and screamed.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Blanche. Billie nodded without taking the pillow away. Blanche pushed and Billie‘s body jerked and they writhed together, and then she did it again, her other fingers splayed on Billie’s thighs until Billie thought she might break apart for shaking.


They kissed again, and then Blanche‘s lips wandered down Billie‘s neck and cross the plains of her body, her mouth tickling the smooth flesh of Billie’s collarbone and the rise and fall of her breasts. Billie reached around and squeezed Blanche’s ass, sliding the ill-fitting pants down her thighs and grabbing as much of a handful as she could. She was whispering:


"Take me, take me, take me…”


Blanche’s kisses went lower, across Billie’s rippling abdomen and then down the lines of her hips bones. Thunder rolled outside. Billie bit down on her lip and then, thinking better of it, grabbed the pillow again and bit the corner of that. When Blanche tugged her panties away and kisses the wet spot between her thighs she bit down as hard as she could to smother a scream.


Billie breathed in short, fast pants as Blanche licked up and down her and then spread her lips apart with the expertly applied tip of her tongue. Billie felt the hot wet sensation inside of her well up all at once. Her limbs wanted to go to rubber but instead she wrapped her legs around the other woman’s head and dragged her fingers through Blanche’s hair and pressed down.


Billie tilted her head back as her eyelids fluttered. She watched the reflection of lightning in the window blast the walls and ceiling blue-white now and then while her body slowly came to a boil. Blanche’s open mouth pressed tightly against her and her tongue twisted and flickered against her.


“More please…” Billie whispered, her grip tightening and fingers tangling in Blanche’s hair. “Just a little bit more…”


“Like that?” Blanche whispered. Billie arched her back.


“Oh god…”


“More like that?”

“Oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck, oh god…” She kicked, shivered, moaned, tossed and turned, and beat at the mattress. In their turmoil they’d shoved almost all of the blankets off, and the sheets had come free too. Billie sat halfway up and dragged her fingers up Blanche’s back as her body drew every single sensation into the center of itself and then released it all in one long, slow tide of satisfaction, leaving her sweating and panting.


Blanche sat up and, indelicately, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. When Billie stopped shaking for a second she pulled her down for another long kiss. Their bodies nestled against each other in the dark.


Breathing hard, Blanche said, “So. You do that with every strangle girl who comes in from the rain?”

“So far.”

When Billie looked at the time she saw that the storm had knocked the power out. With the lights off in the bedroom they never noticed. They lay together in comfortable silence for a few minutes more until Blanche looked up and commented, “Hey, the rain stopped.”


“No it didn’t,” Billie said, and kissed her again.

***

Billie wasn’t surprised when Blanche asked to stay a few days. She’d assumed that was the point all along. She was even, perhaps, agreeing to be used a bit, on the perverse grounds that whatever was happening in Blanche’s life was obviously more interesting than her own.


What did surprise here was that Blanche continued to stick around, and even that Billie wanted her to. In no time at all they were as used to each other, as if each had always been there.


Although it had only been a joke, Billie really did get her a few diner shifts; the manager agreed to pay in cash and not ask many questions after Billie leaned on him a bit. Blanche turned out to be handy around the house too, fixing up things that the dodgy, money laundering original construction of the apartments hadn’t done well in the first place.


After a month or two she was able to find fairly regular work doing odd jobs, which suited her better than cooking. Billie fixed her up with a guy who provided fake IDs and social security numbers. His normal clientele were illegal immigrants, and although he was obviously curious about Blanche he didn’t ask questions.


The one thing Blanche wouldn’t do was ever talk about exactly what happened the night they met. Whatever kind of trouble she was in seemed to be of the “the less you know, the safer you are,” variety.


Naturally, this worried Billie. Equally naturally, she decided not to care. Life was too short.


With the extra money Blanche brought in they were able to afford a nicer apartment, although in the end decided they both preferred a decent trailer so that they had the option of staying on the edge of town. Neither of them was comfortable surrounded by people.


Their only real trouble was that Blanche was an insomniac. “Whenever I fall asleep I’m afraid I’ll never wake up again,” she explained. But Billie’s arms around her at night in their tiny bed seemed to provide comfort enough, and having Blanche around made it easier for Billie to deal with her own bad dreams.


Winter turned spring and then summer. One morning Billie was in the shower, singing to herself; she never used to sing, never even particularly liked to have music around, but since meeting Blanche it became a habit.


Blanche yanked the shower curtain open and dropped her towel, stepping in. “Hey!” Billie said. “There’s not enough room in here for two.”


“Then let’s only take up enough space for one,” Blanche said, pinning her back against the tile with a kiss. They stayed in until the hot water turned cold, then toweled each other off in the tiny, cupboard-like confines of the bathroom. It was a good morning. A beautiful morning.


But that was the morning everything changed.


Billie was smiling her way through breakfast. Omelets; they made them once a week, a private ritual that neither ever acknowledged.


Blanche, wearing only her robe, sipped coffee and looked out the window. It was going to be a lovely day, Billie thought. Maybe they’d go for a drive. Or maybe they’d just stay in. Or maybe—


“Hey,” Blanche said, squinting a little through the sun haze outside. “Somebody’s coming up the road.”


“It’s not the landlord again is it?”


“No.”


“The sheriff?”


“Not unless he’s taking the job too seriously these days,” Blanche said. “It looks like…a guy on a horse?”


Billie went to the window too. She blinked. It really WAS a man on a horse. And he was coming right for them. And—


“Oh shit…”


A sudden wind whipped across the badlands and slammed the trailer, and the whole thing shuddered like an earthquake. The door blew open with a bang, and the dishes went rattling and papers went flying, and everything was topsy-turvy.


When the chaos settled, the strange man was standing just outside. He wore a long gray coat and old-fashioned spurs and a wide-brimmed gray hat, under which it was impossible to see his face. Everything about him seemed to be gray, although maybe it was just the dust from countless hours riding hard across the lifeless, listless plains?


He’d left his horse back at the roadside. Billie expected to see a holster and an antique gun at this hip, but he didn’t have anything. He was, however, carrying an old, rusted set of manacles.


Blanche stared. She’d somehow managed to hold onto her coffee cup through all of the commotion, but she dropped it now. The cup didn’t break, but it did spill all over. She didn’t look at it.


The man in the gray coat raised his head a degree or two. “It’s time,” he said. It was a normal sounding voice, but it made Billie shiver anyway. He took one step forward, spurs clinking, and repeated, “It’s time.”

Blanche went pale, as pale and scared as the night she first showed up at the diner. “I…I…” was all she could say.


“You were supposed to come back,” the man continued. “I only let you out for a little bit, and then you’re supposed to come back. But you ran, and now I’ve got to bring you in. Those are the rules.”


It took Blanche a while to find her voice again. “I…I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, mister," she said. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, or even what the fuck you’re wearing. But if you don’t get out of here I’m going to call the sheriff, and before he gets here I might just blow your damn head off myself if I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.”


The man said nothing and did nothing. Blanche raised her voice. “I said get the hell out. I’ve got a gun in here. I’m not afraid to—”


Billie put a hand on her shoulder. “Baby, it’s okay. Let me handle this.”


She pushed Blanche aside and stepped out of the trailer, her shoes crunching in the dust. “It’s not right,” Billie said. “I can’t go back now. I’ve…I’ve got too much to live for.”


The gray man shook his head. “You’ve stolen three years in the living world that shouldn’t have been yours. Come along quietly and be happy you got away with that much.”


Billie stood up straight. “It’s not right,” she said again. “I died before my time. It was murder. I deserve to live again.”


“It’s not up to you,” said the gray man. “I take everyone when their time comes. Sometimes I let you out for a while, but only for a while. Now I‘m taking you back.”


“Billie?” Blanche said, her voice a pitch-perfect note of horror. “What are you talking about? Who is he?”


“I…Blanche, I’m sorry I never told you. I mean, how could I? And I never expected…”


She trailed off. The wind whipping up a whirling gray dust storm everywhere. Blanche came halfway out of the trailer. “Where’s he taking you?” she said.


“Stay out of it,” said the gray man.


“Like hell,” said Blanche.


“Blanche, wait—” said Billie, but Blanche was already gone inside, slamming the door behind her. The man in the gray coat held up the shackles.


“It’s time,” he said.


Billie hung her head. “You‘re a bastard,” she said, putting her wrists out.

“No one ever said death was fair.”


He was just about to clap the irons on when the trailer banged open again and Blanche appeared with forty-five in tow, holding it two-handed and pointing it straight at the man in gray’s head.


“Stop right there,” she said. “I can use this thing. I’ve done it before.”


“I know,” said the gray man, turning fully toward her for the first time. “I was there. I saw it all. Do you want me to describe it to you? Even what happened to Jodie after you pulled the trigger?”


Blanche blinked. “How—?”

“Blanche, put that away,” Billie said.


“There was nobody there,” said Blanche. “Nobody saw that. I don’t know how you know that name or how…you’re a damn liar.”


“Blanche, you can’t hurt him! He’s—”


“You’re a damn liar,” Blanche said again, and when the man in the gray coat began walking in her direction she squeezed the trigger.


The gun went off with a little pop, and then there was the ping that everybody in the world recognizes from cheap westerns: a ricochet.


Billie knew (from experience) that a bullet never hit you hard enough to really knock you down. When people fell, it was something they did on their own, because they knew they were hurt.


That was how Blanche fell now. She crumpled, like a scarecrow cut from its pole. Billie screamed and ran to her. She grabbed her and shook her and said, “Baby! Tell me if you can hear me.”


“I…I…”


“Hush up,” Billie said. “Let me see how bad it is. Oh…oh, baby, look, you’re going to be fine, okay? It just grazed you.”


“I can’t feel anything,” Blanche said, panicked, but Billie shushed her.


“It’s just shock. You’re scared. You’ll be all right in a second. I told you, it’s a graze. Barely anything.”


“The next one won’t be,” said the man in the gray coat. Billie hung her head.


“You bastard…” she said again.


“This is your fault. The dead can’t be loose with the living. It only makes trouble. Now come on.”


Billie stood. Blanche grabbed her hand as tight as she could. “Billie, no! Stay with me.”


“I’m sorry,” Billie said. She was climbing onto the back of the gray horse now. The dust storm was dying down, but there seemed to be a span of infinite grayness between them anyway. “I’d stay if I could. I promise I’ll come back to you. I’ll find a way. I’ll—”


But if there was anything more after that it was gone, because they were gone. Suddenly it was night, and Blanche was alone.


***


In an overlooked graveyard on a lonely hill that no car ever drove past, the man in the gray coat led his prisoner to the one empty grave.


“Hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said. “All the trouble you caused.”


Billie scowled. The grave yawned open, as if reaching out. Billie stood at the lip of it. The ground beneath her looked like a bottomless pit. Her empty coffin strained upward.


“You can’t do this to me,” she said. “It’s not right.”


“No. But it’s justice.”


The gray man shoved her in and the coffin swallowed her up. She thrashed at the bottom of the grave, but the harder she struggled the tighter her chains became, and they hissed like serpents in a nest. When she’d finally worn herself out all she could do was spit.


“This won’t hold me,” she said, panting, her hair plastered to her face by sweat and the grit of trail dust. “I’ll get out again. You’ll never hold me, you hear?”


“Well see,” said the gray man. Then he snapped his fingers and the pile of loose dirt jumped up and poured into the grave all at once, filling the hole to the top. The crooked old headstone stood up a little straighter.


“There now,” he said, dusting off his hands. “Everything back where it should be.”


The grave made a weary sound, like a sigh, and then every grave on the hillside sighed too, so that the dirt over each trembled. It was a cry of solidarity, prisoners calling out to one of their own, all of them equally convinced of the unfairness of his or her own incarceration.


“Quiet,” the man in the gray coat said, and the graves all went silent. The quiet was a peaceful thing.


But he had only a moment to enjoy it before he felt a tug in another direction. Somewhere out there, he had more work to do. Always so much work…


The man in the gray coat climbed back into the saddle, whipped the reins, and in seconds he was gone, riding off into the world of the quick and the dead, and leaving only the grave behind.

 

Interesting. Very well written, very atmospheric.

That was a crime I'd never considered before. The author lets you think that Blanche is the fugitive, then switches that around, worked for me. I had a few questions, but I was either wrong or they got answered. A few technical issues, but nothing which detracted from the story. Overall, very good.

 

Wow,loved this one...very well written
The switch also very creative, had to scroll up thought it was a mistake with the names .thank you for the story,good luck
Top shelf!

 

Excellent story, creepy plot, some hot sex and a twist at the end.

I must admit at first I thought the author had got the names mixed up halfway through the story, but after reading the comments I went back and re-read it and now it makes sense.

There's a few typos if you want to nitpick but overall this is great stuff. Shortlist for sure.

 

Okay, so I'm going to do this in two parts. The first will cover grammar, a pet peeve of mine. The second part will cover the writing itself.

Grammar:

1. The man in the long gray coat climbed off

When there are two adjectives, in this case, long and gray, that modify the noun that follows, you place a comma between them.

2. Always so much work...

An ellipsis should have a space before it, and a space after it. When you end a sentence with an ellipsis, you follow the same rule, plus you add a period at the end of the sentence. Yes, it looks odd, but it is grammatically correct.

Always so much work ... .

3. When they don't, then he chases them.

Be careful with mixing tenses. "He chases" doesn't mix with "he'd run" or "there'd been".

When they don't, then he would chase them.

4. “I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl,” Blanche said, insert smile.

I'm not sure what rule "insert smile" breaks, but it stopped me like a brick wall. It's almost like a stage direction or notes for an actor in a play. Change "insert smile" to "smiling" and I would have sailed on past.

5. If you want me to throw me out
hardly anyone lived even here now
She swept her hand across the Spartan interior (should be spartan)
said Billie, but Blanche was already gone inside (had instead of was)

There are a number of mistakes like this in the story. It appears that the story was not proofread before submission or perhaps skimmed. That's really a bad idea because it's very difficult to proof your own work as you are typing the story. You need to re-read it at least once. The best way to do it if you are doing it yourself is to read it aloud. I realize that's not always possible. But it helps eliminate errors like this because as you stumble across words, you'll realize there's a problem. Sometimes people say that they didn't have enough time to proof it. Make time. It's important.

6. Semi-colon abuse

Semi-colons connect two clauses that could be sentences on their own. They need to be related to each other too. There are far too many semi-colons in the story, making it awkward to read.

Omelets; they made them once a week, a private ritual that neither ever acknowledged.

If you are ee cummings, then you are entitled to your own writing style and generally won't get called out for it. Otherwise ... "They made omelets once a week, a private ritual that neither ever acknowledged."

Story:

Absolutely loved the story! I too got tripped up by the ending and had to go back, twice. The author has a good grasp of description to put you right in the scene. I thought the sex was't the best that I'd read, but decent.

It's the first story that I've read, and I'm hoping the rest are of similar quality. Very good. Can't express how much I thought it was so authentic. This part of the review is shorter, but should weigh far more than the above. It's difficult to teach someone how to pull the reader in. Technical writing can be improved over time.

Good job! :-D

 

I'll tell you what this is; its a worthy entry, that's what this is and what ever beats this, if any thing does, will be pretty damn special.

 

I was a little leery of this one just because of the title. It was very well written and a very good tale. If there was a few grammar mistakes I didn't take much notice. I did notice the sex scene, I like bit more detail, but I'm not complaining. The end took me by total surprise, nice twist!

 

I loved the story...it sucked me in hoping it would be an old Western (I'm a sucker for Westerns), what with the horse, wide brimmed hat, spurs and gun, etc., but even though it was more modern, it was an excellent read. It threw me a bit when the switch took place, but it was a great twist in the plot. Some technical stuff, already mentioned, but nothing that detracted from the story. Very well written.

 

I don't really care about errors when a story is this well told. I know I'm supposed to care, because this is a writing challenge, but when a story is good, you overlook them. Two thumbs up!

 

It looks like I saved the best two stories for last. Great job. I loved the twist. Thanks again for your submission.

 

Wow.

Like others, I thought the writer had mixed up the names at first, but after reading the story again I understood the twist. There's a definite Stephen King feel to this thing. The "gray" man reminded me a bit of the man in black from The Stand. Eerie tale, well told. There were a few typos that may have been found with further proofreading and were probably easier for a reader to find than the writer him/herself could.

I loved this. Good luck in the voting, though I question if you'll need luck to score high.

 

Yes, I agree, with a bit of Clint Eastwood's "Man with no name" thrown in for good measure.

This is such a good story that I think it will do well in the voting.

 

A really well told supernatural story with a little crime thrown in. There were some errors, but nothing that kept me from enjoying the story. I liked the twist at the end. This could have been a episode from "Tales from the Crypt".

 

Last story on the reading list, but certainly a worthy contender for your vote. Read!

 

I loved the first line- it definitely made me interested and drew me in from the off.

I noted a couple of mistakes - her instead of here and, "thenhe" which needs a space.
Strangle instead of strange after the sex scene.
You also had "insert smile" after the line -

"I'm an old - fashioned kind of girl" Blanche said,
which had me wondering why ? If you left it in by accident as it didn't seem as if it was styling.

(Sorry but I know some prefer to know those little things for reposting)

I loved the twist - you definitely had me believing that Blanche was the "escaped prisoner" I think that's why you chose the names you did ? The old fashioned name amongst other things (no job longer than she could remember , not knowing the day, never sleeping etc.) leading the reader to think she'd be the one from a different era.

Im not in to girls but the sex, was hot - the growl had an effect - it's a weakness of mine.

I loved the story, to me it was an homage to the movie "Ghost Rider" that had a vein of romance running through it too though of the more stereotypical protagonists.

The writing was easy to read smooth and expressive you lead us exactly where you wanted. We were puppets and you and you were a great puppeteer pulling our strings right until the final scene then, wham ! The twist, brilliant as I previously stated.

I'd definitely read further escapades of the rider. A superb read , I devoured it a little like Blanche

In my faves. Very well done, well written and a unusal take on the subject matter- an unearthly, supernatural crime

Great writing and good luck in the comp. Luvs xx

 

Very well thought out story, easy to read even with the few mistakes I picked up.

 

This story was inspired by two radically unalike songs: “The Unquiet Grave” by goth folk duo Faith and the Muse and “I Spit On Your Grave” by the country metal band Ghoultown. There are also some fairly obvious elements of ‘50s horror comics mixed in.

I’ve wanted to write a western ghost story for years, but it never quite worked out. This plot went through many, many, MANY revisions over the years and usually involved a man or a woman (it went back and forth) coming back from the dead for revenge--a stock plot--and then running off to start a new life, necessitating a supernatural chase.

I nearly gave up on it more times than I can count, but the image of Death as an old west-style lawman implacably chasing down the runaway dead was too appealing to ever completely abandon.

Eventually I decided to streamline the plot, stowing the revenge business and just making it (essentially) a story about a relationship. Eventually I merged it with a different story about a woman who falls in love with a ghost without knowing it, and the two stories turned out to complement each other pretty well.

I originally wanted to name the characters after old west outlaws, but none of the notable women bank robbers and stagecoach bandits of the era had a name that felt right for the characters. So instead they’re both named for Depression-era criminals, Billie after the girlfriend and occasional accomplice of John Dillinger and Blanche after a member of the Bonnie & Clyde gang.

It actually never occurred to me that the slightly similar names might lead to confusion about the twist at the end, but it looks like everyone more or less sorted it out. Something to think about in future drafts.

This story takes place around the San Timoteo Badlands in Southern California although not near any real town I know of. It would probably be better to place it somewhere with more flat terrain, say, Nevada, or even parts of Wyoming, but I rarely pick a setting outside of California unless it’s 100 percent necessary. I’ve heard filmmakers say that the terrain is the most important thing in a western, so I did my best to play it up.

Thanks for reading everybody.

 

I liked this a lot. I posted elsewhere that I was having trouble with the theme as crime and criminal are generally unpleasant. One of my strategies was to use crime which was not unpleasant. This story did just that, the "crime" was sympathetic, and so are the characters. It's the lawman who's the baddy of the piece.

A very well deserved win.

 

I liked the way this story began. For some reason I have always been interested in cemeteries, the older the better. I have never seen any ghosts though.