HOW THE WEST WENT TO HELL
BY ERIC S BROWN
KINDLE EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Pill Hill Press on Kindle
How the West Went to Hell
Copyright © 2010 by Eric S Brown
VISIT WWW.PILLHILLPRESS.COM FOR THE BEST IN SPECULATIVE FICTION!
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
* * * * *
HOW THE WEST WENT TO HELL
* * * * *
Prologue
One year before Reaper’s Valley
Baalon raged against the chains that bound him. His muscles strained for freedom but the shackles were too strong.
His plans had been so carefully lain. He’d followed his foe across the United States, all the way to the western edge of the continent. He was so close to bringing down his enemy and long time rival.
The only thing he hadn’t counted on was the priest.
Somehow, the religious man had known what Baalon was from the moment he had first entered the town of Highwater. The men of the town rallied to the priest’s call and met Baalon with all the force they could muster.
Baalon’s wounds had healed, though they had been many. The bullets which had torn through his host’s body had left his clothes in bloody tatters, reducing his borrowed form to a mangled mass of shredded meat so damaged he had been rendered unconscious.
The priest was wise, sickeningly so. He instructed the men of Highwater to chain him while he was passed out and his body fought to repair itself.
Now, Baalon had reawakened to greater danger than he’d ever faced. Five men stood around him in a circle, their rifles and shotguns leveled at him should he make a move they didn’t like or the chains break and set him loose.
They were not a threat—the priest was his sole concern.
The good Father Paige of Highwater emerged from his church with his dog-eared copy of the Bible and a crucifix in his hands. Baalon hissed with fury as the priest drew closer to where he stood, shackled. Father Paige knelt before him and looked him in the eyes. Baalon snarled, exposing his fangs.
Father Paige fearlessly held his ground and pressed the cover of the Holy Scripture to the flesh of Baalon’s forehead. Baalon reared back his head and howled with pain as the cross etched into the leather binding singed his skin.
Father Paige retreated a step and opened his bible. He read passages from the good book and whispered prayers. Baalon’s struggles against his bonds grew more furious. His body spasmed and shook as he felt the cleansing power of God wash over him. Baalon’s eyes blazed a sinister shade of green as he continued to howl and scream. “No!” he begged the fates, his voice hoarse, “I am so close!”
Father Paige moved closer to finish the rite of exorcism that would cast out the spirit from the man he occupied. Baalon cursed. “You fool! I am not the threat you feel in your midst. He is here and he will unleash the very wrath and darkness of Hell itself upon you and your followers! You must set me free if you wish to live,” Baalon warned the priest.
“ Your lies will not save you, demon,” Father Paige told him calmly. “Your taint will be gone from the poor man’s soul you have stolen.”
“ I am not lying,
BY ERIC S BROWN
KINDLE EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Pill Hill Press on Kindle
How the West Went to Hell
Copyright © 2010 by Eric S Brown
VISIT WWW.PILLHILLPRESS.COM FOR THE BEST IN SPECULATIVE FICTION!
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
* * * * *
HOW THE WEST WENT TO HELL
* * * * *
Prologue
One year before Reaper’s Valley
Baalon raged against the chains that bound him. His muscles strained for freedom but the shackles were too strong.
His plans had been so carefully lain. He’d followed his foe across the United States, all the way to the western edge of the continent. He was so close to bringing down his enemy and long time rival.
The only thing he hadn’t counted on was the priest.
Somehow, the religious man had known what Baalon was from the moment he had first entered the town of Highwater. The men of the town rallied to the priest’s call and met Baalon with all the force they could muster.
Baalon’s wounds had healed, though they had been many. The bullets which had torn through his host’s body had left his clothes in bloody tatters, reducing his borrowed form to a mangled mass of shredded meat so damaged he had been rendered unconscious.
The priest was wise, sickeningly so. He instructed the men of Highwater to chain him while he was passed out and his body fought to repair itself.
Now, Baalon had reawakened to greater danger than he’d ever faced. Five men stood around him in a circle, their rifles and shotguns leveled at him should he make a move they didn’t like or the chains break and set him loose.
They were not a threat—the priest was his sole concern.
The good Father Paige of Highwater emerged from his church with his dog-eared copy of the Bible and a crucifix in his hands. Baalon hissed with fury as the priest drew closer to where he stood, shackled. Father Paige knelt before him and looked him in the eyes. Baalon snarled, exposing his fangs.
Father Paige fearlessly held his ground and pressed the cover of the Holy Scripture to the flesh of Baalon’s forehead. Baalon reared back his head and howled with pain as the cross etched into the leather binding singed his skin.
Father Paige retreated a step and opened his bible. He read passages from the good book and whispered prayers. Baalon’s struggles against his bonds grew more furious. His body spasmed and shook as he felt the cleansing power of God wash over him. Baalon’s eyes blazed a sinister shade of green as he continued to howl and scream. “No!” he begged the fates, his voice hoarse, “I am so close!”
Father Paige moved closer to finish the rite of exorcism that would cast out the spirit from the man he occupied. Baalon cursed. “You fool! I am not the threat you feel in your midst. He is here and he will unleash the very wrath and darkness of Hell itself upon you and your followers! You must set me free if you wish to live,” Baalon warned the priest.
“ Your lies will not save you, demon,” Father Paige told him calmly. “Your taint will be gone from the poor man’s soul you have stolen.”
“ I am not lying,
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