Product Description
Dead in the West is the story of Mud Creek, Texas, a town overshadowed by a terrible evil. An Indian medicine man, unjustly lynched by the people of Mud Creek, has put a curse on the town. As the sun sets, he will have his revenge. For when darkness falls, the dead will walk in Mud Creek and they will be hungry for human flesh. The only one that can save the town is Reverend Jebediah Mercer, a gun toting preacher man who came to Mud Creek to escape his past. He has lost his faith in the Lord and his only solace is the whisky bottle. Will he renew his faith in himself and God to defeat this evil or will the town be destroyed?
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Frozen with fear, Matt had backed into the cell and pulled the door shut. The Indian tied the strand with the ears on it around his neck, walked over, and put his face against the bars. Matt let go with both barrels of the shotgun. The Indian's head jerked back a foot, then returned to stare through the bars. The shotgun pellets hit him just beneath the nose and down his chest. The little balls of lead dripped out of his flesh and rang on the floor. The Indian's laugh wasn't quite as loud as the slurping and sucking and chewing that was going on behind him. The Indian took hold of the bars; and slowly, with a smile on his face, he began to bend the bars apart. He put his head through the space he had made and grinned at Matt. Matt dropped the shotgun, pulled his revolver, and put the gun to his own head. He cocked back the hammer. Closed his eyes. And hesitated. But just for a moment, then he pulled the trigger. Matt's hand was snatched away; and the bullet slammed harmlessly into the back wall of the cell; and Matt, his eyes wide open, saw that the Indian was in the cell, holding the revolver's barrel, smiling at him. The Indian snatched the revolver away. It clattered across the floor. The Indian opened his mouth. His teeth winked silver-white in the dim light made by the moon's beams struggling against the clouds and the rain, and the flickering lamp light. The Indian's jaws opened wider, and wider. There was a snapping sound as they came unhinged like a snake's. A loud hissing sound came up from the Indian's throat, and the head snapped forward, engulfing Matt from chin to nose. Matt screamed, and inside the great mouth it made the faintest of echoes as it rushed down the Indian's throat. There was a nauseating crunch as gouts of blood sprayed from either side of Matt's face. The Indian, who had been leaning slightly forward; straightened his head; and as he did, he lifited Matt--kicking--off the floor. The Indian shook his head like a dog worrying a bone, and Matt flopped like a wet rag. A last shake of the Indian's head, and Matt's face came off, and Matt splattered to the floor and slid until his head hit the far wall. He was lying face up, and there was no face. His forehead had collapsed, and his ears seemed perched on the edge of a pre carious cliff, like inept climbers about to tumble in. A ragged hunk of flesh poked out from beneath the Indian's big, sharp teeth; and then with a quick gulping motion, it disappeared into the maw that was the man-thing's mouth. An instant later the Indi an spat out a stream of Matt's teeth, like a sick man disgorging too mant after dinner mints. The Indian turned his bloody face towards his followers and smiled to see that Caleb was standing up, guts dripping from his belly, the wound showing backbone in its wet depths as well as a gnawed rib. Lifting his head to the ceiling, the Indian let forth a demonic howl that sent bloody spittle clear to the ceiling.