A Fistful of Horror - Tales Of Terror From The Old West by Kevin G. Bufton (Editor)

have to sleep in his bed. But she did. Every night since the first, she did.
    Earl fell asleep curled up next to the extra pillow, and dreamt of her soft skin, the curvature of her breasts, and the hard peaks of her nipples.
     
    ***
     
    Earl awoke to something cold and hard pressed against his temple, and an earthen smelling hand clamped firmly over his mouth.
    “Shhhh, I’m going to let go of your mouth and you’re not going to make a sound. Understand?”
    “Mmmmmfff, hmnffff,” he affirmed against the foul smelling hand.
    “Good.”
    The hand left his face and a match was struck. Out of his peripheral vision he saw a face covered in blood and grime. Along with the dancing shadows the flame produced, the effect made him think of what a demon would look like standing amongst the flames of hell. But demons didn’t carry guns, and demons didn’t sound, or smell like, Clarence.
    “Howdy, Earl!” he said as he lit the bedside lamp. “So nice to see you again! Make some room for an old friend,” he said as he took a seat on the bed beside him. “You know, that was a pretty nasty little spill I had there. Whew! I thought I was a goner. You know, that knocked me out cold? That wasn’t very nice, Earl. It wasn’t nice at all.”
    “C-C-Clarence, I’m sor…”
    “Didn’t I tell you not to speak?” He cocked the gun and pressed it into his cheek. “Don’t make me have to tell you again, Earl. Okay?”
    Earl nodded.
    “Good. I’m almost ashamed to admit that I’m not here on a social visit,” he said, resting the gun in his lap. “I’m here on official business, I’m afraid. You see, I met your friend in the cellar. He told me all about you and your arrangement. Told me how you weren’t all that good about holding up your end of the bargain. How he had to sneak up here one night and steal that filthy whore straight from your bed while you slept…”
    Earl groaned and buried his face in his hands.
    “Don’t tell me you didn’t know? Come on. Deep down inside, you knew. Ha! You knew alright! And you still kept him starving in that damned cellar! Well, you know what, Earl…” he said as he pulled his hands from his face, “me and him are just alike. That’s right. We both get thirsty, we both have needs. I promised to never let him go hungry again, and he promised me the bar, Earl. Your bar. You can talk now, if you like.”
    “I-I-I’m s-so sorry, Clarence. I’m sorry. Please…”
    “Earl, just because I say you can talk doesn’t mean I need you to blow smoke up my ass. Stop apologizing for something that clearly was no accident.” He sighed and began tapping the revolver in his lap. “You know, on second thought, don’t talk. All I need you to do is sign the deed to this place, and, as far as I’m concerned, you get to leave this place alive. Here,” he said, placing the deed and pen on his chest, “sign.”
    Earl grabbed the pen, thought about ramming it into Clarence’s throat, but an agonizing pressure exploded behind his eyes, leaving one singular impression: SIGN. His shaking fingers scrambled to open the document and he scrawled his name as fast as he could. When he was done, the pain was gone. It left him panting and crying into his pillow.
    “Thanks, Earl. That’s mighty generous of you. I do believe you and I are even.” He stood up, folded the deed, and shoved it in his front pocket as he made his way to the door. “It’s been a pleasure. A pleasure indeed.”
    “So, you’re not going to kill me?” he said as he sat up in the bed.
    Clarence stood in the doorway. One hand rested on the doorknob and the other, the gun hand, rested on the frame. “No…I don’t see where that would be profitable. I’m a business man now. There’s just too much risk in crime. Besides, I have to go see to my inventory. Can’t do that and hide a crime before first light anyway.” He looked over his shoulder, straight into Earl’s eyes, and gave a hellish, red-faced grin. “Of