Click-Clack

Chloride, Arizona

1880

The scorpion crawling over his face brings Dustin Racklin back to consciousness. Wheezing, and hacking up blood, Dustin realizes he’s near death.

He recalls being ambushed, shot in the leg, side, and through the lungs by two sidewinders and a boy he called his kin.

Dustin had robbed the one o’clock stage out of Jacinto along with Deke Drummond, Deuce Railey, and JoJo. The calculating, thirty-eight-year-old Deuce was a dandy, but also a master planner, and twenty-eight-year-old, foul-tempered Drummond lived to see people shrink away from him and his fast draw. Dustin’s seventeen-year-old, doe-eyed cousin, JoJo, whom he’d rescued from his abusive father, was simple-minded and green but good with horses.

Twenty-six-year-old Dustin had been a drover, a store clerk, and a blacksmith. His 6’ 4” height and dead calm often led to his getting a wide berth, but he was just as apprehensive about people as they were about him. Deuce had enlisted him because he knew the backcountry like the front of his hand.

Now he was going to die in it.

The gang got away with $60,000 without firing a shot. Things got dicey when Dustin asked for his cut twenty miles outside of Chloride. His so-called friends gave it to him in bullets.

He can feel his blood spilling underneath him, frying in the sun. A flock of vultures circles overhead, occasionally giving him some respite by blocking out the sun.

A figure moves into view, standing over him.

“Tsk… Tsk. You’re about done in, fella.”

The woman kneels, offering him water from a canteen. Her soft blue Victorian-style dress and turquoise squash blossom necklace give her an angelic appearance.

Dustin gulps down the water. “Thanks… Can you say a few words over me?”

The dark-haired woman peers down at him with a glint in her violet eyes.

“You don’t have to go to the bone orchard. I can save you.”

“Why?”

“Where I come from it's Black Friday. It’s a day of discounts, sales, and bargains. And I’m prepared to give you a special deal.”

“Don’t waste your time. I’m all done in…”

 “Do you want to kill the men who dry-gulched you?” the woman asks.

“…Yeah…”

“Then swear allegiance to me. And swear that I can have their souls.”

“Forgive me doubtin’ you, but you look like a real lady, and judging by your appearance, I’d say you ain’t done much dirty work with your hands. And I ain’t no hard rock either. I’m near dead. We don’t measure up to Deuce Railey and Deke Drummond in cruelty. They’re big nuts to crack.”

“I can change all that,” the woman replies, touching the elaborate necklace. “The turquoise stones in this necklace make me immortal.”

“…I must be delirious…”

“You heard right, Dustin.”

Dustin coughs up a wad of blood. “How do you know who I am?”

“I know all about you Dustin. Born in Oakridge, Kansas, first of three siblings, one boy and two girls. You left home when you were seventeen. All the money you made you sent home, never knowing typhoid had killed everyone but your brother, who died in a bar fight in New Orleans. You got a job as a clerk for Brimar Stage Company two years ago. You were a faithful employee until Deuce Railey showed up with the idea of robbing the stage. And now your blood is seeping into the sand. Do you want to be saved?”

“Yeah.”

The woman turns her hand over. A scroll appears.

“Sign this contract.”

“What are you lookin’ for in return?”

“You must never betray me. And you must help protect me and my sacred necklace. I’ll lose my immortality if it’s stolen or destroyed. Now make your mark.”

“I can’t. I’m too far gone to even lift a finger.”

“Then allow me.”

Dipping Dustin’s finger in his blood, the woman makes an X at the bottom of the contract.

“You can read it later,” she says, dropping it next to him.

The woman presses her hands against Dustin’s chest. A warm, invigorating feeling washes over him.

“You can stand up now.”

The woman helps Dustin to his feet.

“Who are you? Jesus?”

“Quite the opposite, Dustin. I’m Click-Clack.”

“What kinda name is that?”

“My father gave me the name. I’m Dutch. When I was a girl, I used to wear wooden shoes that made a noise, ‘click-clack’ when I walked across the porch. Our family came to America in 1680.”

“You don’t look two hundred years old.”

Click-Clack smirks, continuing her tale. “The Anasazi Indians killed my parents and brothers in Illinois and took me prisoner. A shaman took pity on me and raised me as his own. He gave me the necklace and taught me the Anasazi’s magic. But when I began studying the darker side of their magic, the Anasazis cast me out. My master then took me in.”

“You’re a slave?”

“We’re all slaves to something, Dustin.”

“Don’t stand there and tell me you expect me to kowtow to you just ‘cause you saved my life.”

“No. I’m here to help you get your revenge. All I want are your enemy's souls.”

“Fine. But it’s a fair bet Deuce and Drummond will perforate me again if I try to kill them.”

Click-Clack’s voice rings with confidence. “You can’t be harmed as long as I’m with you.”

Dustin cackles. “What kinda flimflam show are you runnin’ Click-Clack?”

Click-Clack turns her hand over. In her palm is a derringer. Before Dustin can stop her, Click-Clack pumps two bullets into his chest.

Dustin looks down at the crimson spot spreading across his shirt.

“You saved me to kill me?” he asks, clutching his chest.

“Take your hand away.”

Dustin looks at his shirt. The blood spot fades, disappearing.

“I’m hungry,” Click-Clack says. “Let’s get some souls.”

Deke Drummond leans against a lamppost, casually smoking a cigarette. A stagecoach pulls up to the hotel across the street and a fancily dressed couple get out, hurrying inside when they see the surly-looking man in black with a scar on his face staring at them.

Drummond laughs to himself, impressed with the fear his craggy appearance can cause.

Puffing on his cigarette, he nearly swallows it when he sees Dustin ride into town with a beautiful woman.

Drawing his gun, he blocks Dustin’s path.

“I may not’a kilt you the first time, Racklin, but I’ll make dang sure ta settle your hash this time! Step down and die, spook!”

Dustin slides out of his saddle, the blood draining from his petrified expression as he looks to Click-Clack for help.

Click-Clack touches her necklace. “Don’t fret, Dustin. You can’t be killed as long as you’re with me.”

“That’s not gonna stop Deke from tryin’.”

The two men face off.

Drummond glares at Dustin, grinding his teeth as if Dustin was between them.

Drummond beats Dustin to the draw but doesn’t fire, blinking sporadically.

He sees two Dustins, then three, then half a dozen Dustins standing infront of him with their guns drawn.

The crowd gathered to watch the shootout mutters among themselves.

“What’s this, a square dance?” a cowboy shouts as Drummond starts to look everywhere but at Dustin.

“Don’t just stand there gaping at him. Plug him!” Click-Clack urges.

Dustin draws a bead on Drummond. The first bullet skips in the dust in front of him.

“You’re a lousy shot,” Click-Clack comments.

Drummond continues to twist around, trying to draw a bead on the multiplying Dustins.

Dustin’s second bullet hits Drummond in the jaw, exiting out the top of his head.

Deuce and JoJo come out of the saloon in time to see Drummond fall face first in the dust. They quickly retreat into the saloon.

Deuce takes off his bowler, wiping the sweat from his bald head. “I know you Racklin’s are hard-headed, but Dustin should be dead.”

“I’m kinda glad he’s okay. He rescued me from hell. I wanna apologize to him,” JoJo says.

“You really are a special kind of idiot, aren’t you?”

The toe-headed blonde shrugs his shoulders innocently. “My Pa always said so.”

“We tried to kill him,” Deuce says. “An apology won’t carry much weight.”

“Maybe we should get outta here. Dustin is an even-tempered sort, but when he gets his dander up…”

“I’ve got the money. I’m not letting Dustin run me out,” Deuce replies. “He wants to come looking for it, let him. We’ll divvy the cash up tomorrow morning. Tonight, I’m gonna spoil myself. I’m gonna have a poke with some fine filly. You go back to the hotel. You sleep alone with your fears while I sleep on fine linen with the finest calico queen in this pig sty.”

Dustin and Click-Clack enter the Grapevine Hotel. Spotting Click-Clack, the impish clerk fidgets with his stiff collar, adjusting his tie.

“We’d like a room,” Click-Clack says, batting her thick eyelashes. “Mister and Misses Racklin.”

Dustin and Click-Clack glance at the ledger as Dustin signs in, noting that Deuce and JoJo are among the guests.

Dustin lets out a tired sigh as the pair settle in their room.

“You get some rest. I’ll go to the dance hall and hire on as one of the girls,” Click-Clack says. “That’ll help us get closer to Deuce. Besides, I’ve always wanted to be in show business.”

“Yeah, your figure’ll attract Deuce like bees to a cowpie. Sorry. But Railey’s a good time Charlie. If Deuce is anywhere in town, he’ll be there.”

Click-Clack pauses in front of the undertaker’s office, which is closed for the day. She can smell Deke Drummond’s still fresh blood inside and envisions his once-beating heart. Checking the street, she waits for a pair of women to head into Miss Sheehan’s Dress Shoppe before breaking in.

Standing at the end of the bar, Dustin pulls the brim of his hat down over his eyes, whispering to Click-Clack. “There’s Deuce. I don’t see JoJo. Just as well.”

“I’ll lure Deuce upstairs. When you see me get him into a room, wait a minute, then bust in.”

Click-Clack saunters over to the table where Deuce is playing cards. He’s immediately taken by the stunning brunette in the brightly colored, off-the-shoulder ballgown dress wearing an intriguing turquoise necklace.

Deuce tips his derby. “Well, you cut a swell, miss. I’ve been working a cold deck all night. Looks like my luck is about to change.”

Minutes later, Click-Clack guides the infatuated train robber upstairs.

Dustin bursts through the door, his gun drawn.

Looking down on the bed, Dustin barely holds back the bile rapidly making its way up his throat.

Deuce’s body is torn open from his stomach to his chest, his eyes frozen wide in horror.

Click-Clack sits on the bed, her lips covered in blood, munching contentedly on Deuce’s heart.

“Your money is in the dresser,” she says between bites.

Dustin’s stomach churns. “Why did you gut Deuce?”

“Didn’t you read the fine print in our contract? You and I travel together. You eat food. I eat souls. I kill people for their souls. You help keep me from getting caught and keep me from harm.”

“Fine. Wipe your mouth and let’s get out of here.”

Dustin puts the sack of money in the closet.

“Bye the bye, you leave my cousin alone. He’s just a gentle fool. He was the only one who didn’t try to kill me.”

“But he’s still got a soul.”

“I’m getting’ outta here in the mornin’, and so are you. That’s the final word, ‘cept which side of the bed you want, Mrs. Racklin. One more thing. Gimme that necklace that protects you from harm.”

Click-Clack gives him an odious stare. “Why?”

“I been betrayed once. And if you really are a devil, you can’t be trusted. If you know you can die, you’re less likely to put me on your menu.”

She reluctantly pulls the necklace from around her neck.

“Zoet dromen.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s Dutch for sweet dreams.”

Click Clack waits until she hears Dustin snoring, then slips out of their room.

Dustin wakes up to the sound of a gun clicking.

“That’s him,” the clerk says, hiding behind Marshal Chase Ketchum’s broad back. “He came in here with a dark-haired woman, real pretty with funny eyes.”

“So, where is this honey?” Marshal Ketchum asks.

Dustin looks around the room. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

The heavy-set Marshal grunts disapprovingly. “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of JoJo Racklin. Your own cousin, shame on you. I know you were one of the four men who robbed the stage. I’ve got the money you hid in the closet to prove it.”

“You a doctor?” Marshal Ketchum asks, locking the cell door.

“No.”

“Then how’d you pull Deke Drummond’s heart outta his chest?”

“I shot him. That’s all. You said it was self-defense and cleared me yourself. The last time I saw Drummond, he was being carted away to the undertaker in one piece. I didn’t take his heart. I couldn’t. I ain’t got the stomach for such gore. A woman named Click-Clack took it. She’s a devil.”

“She’d have to be. I can understand your wantin’ to keep the money all to yourself, but why take their hearts?”

“I told you, Marshal, a devil did it. She’s a soul hunter.”

“Balderdash. So, where is this she-devil?”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up. Just follow the trail of bodies.”

Click-Clack’s voice rouses Dustin from his sleep.

“Good morning. Are you just going to lie there, or are you ready to leave this doghouse?”

“How’d you get in here? The Marshal locked the door when he left.”

Click-Clack rubs her necklace. “If I want in somewhere, I get in.”

“Where have you been?”

“There’s an abandoned building at the edge of town. I hid out there for the night.”

Dustin looks between the bars at Click-Clack. She’s covered in blood.

“You didn’t have time to clean up? Where’s the Marshal?”

“He’s busy. The folks at the Palace went to clean my room and found Deuce’s body.”

“You should make hay while the sun shines. If anybody saw you go upstairs with Deuce, they’ll hang you.”

Click-Clack points her finger at the jail cell’s lock. It catches fire, sending sparks flying in all directions.

The door pops open. She hands Dustin the sack of money.

“The Marshal had it hidden in the stove. Amateur.”

“Ain’t this ironic. I could care less about the money, just my freedom.”

“You can have both,” Click-Clack replies.

Dustin stops short, frowning at Click-Clack. “…I told you to stay away from my cousin…”

“You really should have read the contract. I agreed to help you kill your enemies. That included your cousin.”

“Did you have to eat his heart?”

“It represents a person’s soul. Take it from them and you control them in the hereafter,” Click-Clack replies.

Moving to the gun rack, she tosses a shotgun to Dustin, taking one for herself.

She’s surprised to see Dustin train the weapon on her.

“You barely knew the boy,” Dustin says fighting back tears.

“What do you want to do? Stand here and blast away at each other? Marshal Ketchum is sure to hear the noise. So, let’s go.”

Click-Clack’s fancy shoes tap against the wooden sidewalk. …Click-clack. Click-clack…, as they beat a determined path to the livery stable.

A gentleman exiting the barbershop tips his hat at Click-Clack. Seeing the shotgun, he heads to the Marshal’s office.

Two tired cowboys who’ve been in the saddle all night exit the livery stable, whistling lasciviously at Click-Clack. She waves the shotgun at them, hastening their departure.

“You better put a muzzle on that mad dog,” one shouts at Dustin.

Firth Tipperly, the crotchety, mostly deaf proprietor of the livery stable, greets Click-Clack with a neighborly, “Mornin’ ma’am. That’s a mighty big skatter gun you’re carryin’.”

He displays his lack of front teeth as he smiles, lighting up his corn cob pipe.

Raising the shotgun, Click-Clack blasts Tipperly in the stomach.

The match flies backward towards several bales of hay.

Clutching at his exposed intestines, Tipperly groans as he falls to the floor.

Outside, everyone within earshot runs into the nearest building.

“What did you do that for?” Dustin shouts “He’s just a harmless old man!”

“He’s got no teeth. What kind of man walks around with no front teeth?”

Click-Clack kneels next to Tipperly. Ripping open his chest, she pulls out his heart, sucking on it contentedly.

“He’s not your enemy.”

“I’m hungry. And a girl’s got to eat.”

Unable to watch, Dustin saddles two horses.

He turns back to see Click-Clack feasting on Tipperly’s still-beating heart.

Marshal Ketchum blocks the doorway, a look of astonishment spread across his chiseled features.

“Animal!”

Pulling out his gun, he quickly fires three bullets into Click-Clack.

Turning toward Dustin, he empties his revolver at him. All three bullets miss.

Dustin reluctantly levels his shotgun at Marshal Ketchum blowing him off his feet.

Moving to Click-Clack’s side, he picks her up, holding her in his arms.

He looks down at the blood pooling in her lap.

“…You forgot to give me back my necklace…,” she whispers.

“I have it in my pocket. Does that mean?”

“I wasn’t protected when Ketchum shot me. Our contract states that if I die because you failed to protect me, then you have to take my place. You’re a soul hunter now,” Click-Clack whispers, closing her eyes.

Flames rage throughout the livery. The terrified horses whinny nervously. Dustin pulls them out from their stalls, releasing them.

Dustin watches the flames engulf Click-Clack’s empty husk.

Reaching into Marshal Ketchum’s chest he pulls out his heart, saving it for later.