Lynn: Dos Corrientes

Written and drawn by Horrorbuns.

"Say, stranger, you ever heard of Dos Corrientes?"

I down the last bit of my warm beer while I wait for a response that won't come.

"Well, can't imagine anyone has at this point. For all I know the place is probably burnt to the ground by now. I'd wager most folks here haven't had the supreme displeasure of steppin' foot in the state of Texas. But that's where I come from. Little piece of shit near El Paso. Easy to miss. Worst little town you never did visit."

I motion to the bartender for two glasses of whiskey. The white wolf behind the bar nods and obliges without a word. This ain't a story I've had the chance to tell too often, so figure it'd make for a nice treat. I shift in my seat to get a better look at the marten seated next to me. Got some real fancy clothes on for being in this shit-hole of a bar. Sticks out like a sore thumb, but he doesn't seem scared off like most folks would have been at this point. He's not from around here. It's nice to actually talk to folks every now and then. I offer a glass his way.

The marten politely declines with a wave.

"Thank you kindly, but I don't drink."

"More for me then."

"To answer your question, I can't say I've heard of the place, no. I take it there's a reason you're not there now?"

"Lots of reasons. But I don't wanna talk your ear off or nothin'."

He shrugs, "Not much else going on tonight, indulge me?"

The marten watches as I take a sip and he offers a warm smile. It's hard for me to recall the last time I'd seen anything of the sort. Can't help but wonder if there's something more to it, but best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The sip turns into a long gulp and I take a moment to wait for the burn to clear.

"Well, in that case, suppose the best place to start is at the beginnin'."

Times were rough even before I came into the picture. Mom and dad were settlers out in west Texas. They tried for cubs before, but without getting into the particulars, it never quite worked out for them. Then along came me, the biggest damn baby you ever done seen. Mom, however, did not survive the ordeal. Died right there giving birth. Now, I could always tell dad harbored some resentment, but never outright blamed me for her death.

Despite all that, we had a pretty quiet life out there. I tried my best to help where I could, but I can't imagine what it must've been like for him raising me all on his own. Couldn't have been easy. I learned pretty much everything I know now from him. Learned how to be self-sufficient. Learned how to be tough. Living off the land was hard, but we made it work. Then one day he just… disappeared.

Didn't tell me nothing, didn't take nothing with him. He was there when we went to sleep, but come morning, he was just gone. Didn't take his boots, didn't take his shotgun, nothing. Just an empty bed, neat and made as if he'd never been in it. I must've been what, no more than 12 years old at the time. Left on my own with no idea where he'd gone. He's left me on my own before, but he always told me well beforehand. Waited damn near two weeks staring at the door, praying to God that he'd walk through like nothing happened. I realized that he weren't coming back. Not this time.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Father Brandon. Always looking down on me. Me, the poor wretched soul; 12-years-old all on his lonesome. No family to call his own. It felt like I was part of his grand plan for bigger things and movin' onto better places than Dos Corrientes. If he could somehow save me, maybe he'd get some sorta better deal from the higher ups. Hadn't been going according to plan for him, I'd reckon. Made sure of that. Didn't have much say in the matter when they finally brought me into the orphanage, neither. I'll admit, having a place to sleep and food to eat was nice at first, but that didn't last long. Trouble had a habit of following me, even then.

"Hmm? Are you just going to sit there and pout? Please explain to me why there are 5 boys now with missing teeth. We've talked about these outbursts before, have we not?"

I grumble under my breath. "Weren't me who started it.."

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

His words are stern and booming. I look up. Can't even remember what Father Brandon's face looked like now that I think about it. All I can see is… that thing latched onto his shoulder. Some kind of black smog that's coiled itself around him. It's like an impossible animal I haven't seen before. More like a nightmare that found its way into the daytime. Its features are hard to distinguish through the smoke. Only real thing I can make out is a set of claws, sinking deep into the priest's shoulders. That, and a grin. A smirk. It was mocking me while I stared at it. It knew I could see it, but Father Brandon couldn't. Could he not sense it at all?

"Well?"

"I said it weren't me that started it. They was makin' fun again."

"I didn't ask who started it. Do you even remember what we talked about the last time this happened? You cannot be starting fights with the other boys because they're being rude. You're better than that. We're better than that. We are NOT wild beasts. There are rules if you wish to continue living here, and I expect you to obey them."

I can feel the blood drip from my nose down onto the fur of my arm. The one eye that ain't bruised is staring past him as he talks down to me.

I didn't even ask to be here.

"Every time you have one of these little… outbursts… It reflects poorly on me. I have been working so hard to bring you to see salvation, yet you continue to push it away. God abhors violence and neither He nor I will tolerate such behavior in His house. The more you give into these urges, you move ever farther from the light of His grace. This will not happen again."

He clears his throat and adjusts his collar.

"Are we clear?"

He pauses. He makes a motion to turn around. Father Brandon's not even facing me, but I see that thing sneering at me from its perch. He stops and turns his head one last time.

"Are we CLEAR, Lynn Grayson?"

"...yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes… sir…"

"Good. Now get yourself cleaned up. Just because you're banged up doesn't mean you get out of your chores for the day."

Things weren't always this way. I hadn't always been seeing this stuff. That smoke critter was just one of the weird things that started happening. I kept noticing little things here and there. Learned pretty quick that no one else was gonna hear anything about them. "Oh it's just Little Lynn looking for attention again". "Oh poor Little Lynn's got it so hard". "Something ain't right with that Little Lynn".

At this point, I figured there must be something wrong with me. But thinking on it, I realized something. All of this started when dad disappeared. Out in the wild you see weird shit that you can't pin down but in a busy little town like this? No, there's too much going on for something like this.

I still remember the night I left though. To this day, I can't figure out if what I saw was some sort of dream or not… but I can see it clearly. It's night time, maybe past midnight. I already made up my mind that I was leaving for good. I had nothing but my name and I was sick of this rotten town. So, I gather up what little I have and try to sneak my way out through the chapel. Problem is, I don't sneak so good, so of course I knock something over on my way out.

Shit. Someone's gonna catch me for sure. I try to quickly pick it back up before someone shows up. And sure as shit, when I get back up, I see him. I see it. I can just barely make out who it is from the moonlight pouring in through the window, but Father Brandon has appeared in an instant. I don't even piece together how he'd gotten there. From what I can see in the darkness, he's just staring at me from the lectern. Facing me without saying a word, but he's got that… thing on his shoulder. I cover my mouth with a paw to keep from screaming when I realize what's happening. The creature is perched on his shoulder, and biting into his neck with its terrible, toothy maw. I stand there, watching in horror as this thing pulls flesh from bone, grinning the entire time. It's like it's making sure I watch as it tears the meat from Father Brandon's neck. All the while, he just stands there with a blank stare. No screams, no nothing. That's when I hear the devil speak. It's the priest's voice but… it's not him. That thing is copying his voice. It's all weird and jumbled, but I can still hear it though. That voice is still bouncing around in my skull to this day.

"Lynn Grayson… what… do you have… to say for yourself…"

Through the shadows, I can see its sick smile. It's watching and waiting. Enjoying my silent terror as it continues to feast.

"Lynnnn..nnn….."

I don't remember much after that. I scrambled. Terror was the only thing moving my feet at that point. I needed to put as much space between me and what remained of Father Brandon as I possibly could. I ran all the way back through the cold desert night back to our abandoned house. Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure how I got there. No idea how long I'd been running. I managed to break in through the boarded up windows and crawled in my old bed. Didn't care how far gone this place was, I just felt safe. All I remember is the feeling of the churning in my gut as I curled into a tight ball. Trying to forget that voice, but it's all I could hear as I finally pass out from exhaustion.

Next thing I know, it's morning. I could feel the sun coming through the rotten wood. I got a good look at what remained of my childhood house. Hadn't been that long since I'd been taken into the orphanage but… it felt like this place aged. More cobwebs and decay than I remember, but this is gonna be the last time I get to see this house.

I grabbed my dad's gun. Gave it a once-over like he'd shown me, making sure everything was in working order. Figured it'd be helpful on my journey, since there's not a damn thing to my name at this point. Just some kid making a run for it out west. I knew that this place didn't want me here. It's like everything was telling me I didn't belong.

Didn't know where I was heading next. Managed to hop trains, lay low, take odd jobs, stay out of trouble, got into trouble, got into more trouble, and finally came to a conclusion of where I wanted to be… anywhere but there. Anywhere I could be alone. Somewhere I didn't have to explain nothing to nobody. So I got as far west as I could and… well, ended up here. Explaining everything to somebody I don't rightly know.

I'm starting to feel those drinks. My cheeks are warm and I get comfortable as I lean on the bar with a heavy sigh. Feels like all that weight I'd be carrying around might've been lightened, if only just a bit. The marten next to me is leaning his head on his hand, probably bored out of his mind. Listening to some big dolt share his pointless ghost stories. All while being sober, at that. He sits up, realizing that the story's reached its end. We lock eyes and I see that smile again. Damn he's a good actor. I'll give him that. Even if he's just pretending to listen, it feels nice to talk. Then I feel a slender finger caress my paw. The marten gives me a coy grin while I down the rest of my whiskey.

"Well… anyways I ought to head out. Appreciate the company and all. Maybe I'll see you around next time in town."

He grabs my wrist as I start to get up. I hesitate.

"Why not stay the night? As luck would have it, I have a room here. Surely you must be hungry after all that…" he pauses. "How about I show you what's on the… secret menu?"

"Where's the harm?" I think. "It's just one night… I'll be back out by myself soon enough."

Without exchanging another word, I nod and let him guide the way.