Coyote Hill - rough draft - part 1

Coyote Hill

Ms. Hunter Ash

Working title

08/20/15

Jake

Jake Carter leaned on a shovel and pulled out a bandana and wiped his face of the ever present sweat and looked around.

He almost moaned. He had been digging most of the morning and it was approaching noon and it didn’t feel like he had made much progress at all.

He put the bandana away and dropped the shovel. With a sigh he bent down and picked up a “grave marker” and replaced it in the now-open slot. Jake added some of the ground back around the marker and a couple of the hardpan rocks he had dug up for stability.

It was something he had done four times before that morning.

This was taking longer than he had anticipated, he thought.

Jake smiled widely when the back door to the main building opened and Laura stepped out with a tall glass of iced tea. Before moving to the deep Southwest Jake had never really liked iced tea or hot tea for that matter but after moving to the desert, he was learning to love the thirst quenching beverage. He was also careful to balance that with plenty of water throughout the day.

A person could dehydrate very damn quickly in this place.

“Thanks!” he said as his wife handed him the iced tea. Without a word both of them moved in under the eaves of an old wooden building on the side where the sun couldn’t reach at the moment.

You didn’t stand in the sun very long if you could help it.

“Slow going,” Laura commented and Jake nodded.

“I’ve got five done,” he said. “Only seven more to go.”

He could see her almost flinch from the irritation in his tone. He felt the irritation going from minor to medium.

“Do we really have to have 13 graves?” Laura asked, a frown crossing her otherwise beautiful face.

Well, Jake thought it was beautiful. He knew his friends thought Laura was nice looking but she wasn’t a supermodel nor was she built like an overly endowed Pamela Anderson at her….peak of popularity. Jake didn’t care, Laura was beautiful with beautiful green eyes, auburn hair and a well-balanced, defined face. No, she wasn’t a supermodel but she wasn’t one of the wallflowers at a frat party who had been dragged there by well-meaning friends.

Besides two families running a restaurant, it was a given that the kids would marry, right? It made business sense and the marriage worked and there was only some minor irritations at times.

“Come on, hon,” Jake said. “The tourist love that touch the old man said. Besides, the graves aren’t real so there’s no bad luck.”

“There’s thirteen things everywhere here,” Laura complained.

“I didn’t know you were so superstitious,” Jake commented and took a long pull at the iced tea.

“I wasn’t until we moved here,” Laura said as they glanced around the desert “attraction”. Rumored to be the desert hide out of a semi-famous gunslinger and the “Boot Hill” in the area of bad men, the place had taken in its fair share of small money on Route 66 in the 1960s and 70s. The 80s and 90s had been a time of breaking even and then came the millennium. Things had gone downhill and the major interstate freeways weren’t the only thing that had badly damaged the tourist trap, bad management, frequent turnover of owners and bad feelings with a local tribe of Indians had helped send the attraction into the red very quickly.

Now people were curious and anxious to drive the old fabled highway roaming from Chicago, Illinois to Santa Monica, California. Most were in their 40s-60s, anxious to relieve part of their youth and also included those who wanted to pretend they had been there. All of them wanted to grab part of the energy of the old and treasured highway.

Jake thought they were chasing a brass ring that was always going to be just out of reach. You couldn’t “recapture” something like that. All you could do would be to add the weakly found energy to your own memories. There was nothing from the past that you could touch really, Jake believed. The dead were dead and whatever energy, vibes, magic or mojo that had existed on Route 66 was long gone and the efforts to revive it were like trying to raise a corpse into a zombie, you sure as hell weren’t going to get the original person back, you were going to get just the shell.

The ironic part? He and Laura were trying to entice those tourists to stop and drop a few dollars into their pockets by offering some of the “magic” that had been Route 66.

A tourist trap that offered up a museum of relics from the Old West from branding irons to mannequins dressed in western and Indian clothing. There was the “graveyard” with colorful names on the tombstones and even more colorful stories on plaques next to the graves. There was a barn where a local blacksmith worked his trade for a cut of whatever profit the items he made on the site that the tourists liked. He also made items for sale to locals like branding irons and horseshoes mostly.

“We were crazy,” Laura said softly.

Jake looked at his wife and he was relieved to see she didn’t appear to be angry or regretful. He’d describe her expression as…rueful.

“Well, it had been a wild idea,” Jake admitted. For some unknown reason both he and Laura had been enchanted with the dilapidated, dusty old place when they had stopped on a whim the year before. They had settled onto a covered patio with sandwiches, chips and sodas they had purchased from the nearby tiny town and they had talked with the owner.

Jake almost chuckled to himself. The old man was like something out of time. He was the classic old west old man, or any old man in small towns with his dark green work pants, button up shirt showing very faint stains that the washing machine had lost a valiant fight against. Gray beard, eyebrows and hair (all needing a trim) and the fact that he looked…grizzled.

Jake and Laura had listened with interest to the history of the place, the truth about the graves and some of the “antiques” and the fact that the old man wanted out. He had a daughter up in Idaho and he was done with the desert.

It turned out that Jake and Laura were tired of the winters of the north and were becoming “snow birds”, those from the north traveling to the south, west and south west to escape the winters filled with snow, ice and back breaking work.

Most snowbirds were retirees but Jake and Laura worked in the family business that Jake wanted to run but that wasn't likely for another 30 years if either father had a say in things, damnit! The couple had worked out vacation times with members of the family, they’d be gone in the winter and would work the restaurant the other three seasons.

Other than flying home for Christmas, of course.

They had started out in California in a rented small RV, more like a camper but slightly more comfortable and they had hit the roads to Route 66.

Jake smirked at himself. Yep, they had been part of that group of people trying to catch magic on the old highway. It had worked in many ways, he and Laura were closer than ever and the stress of being part of running a restaurant had faded with the wave of their hands as they had boarded a plane in Michigan in a light snowfall to land in Los Angeles and be hit with warm weather in late November.

After touring most of California and Nevada, they had dropped back down into California at Barstow and then headed out on Route 66. Venturing off at Oklahoma, they had dropped to explore the south, ending at the Keys off of Florida where their coats and sweats were going to gather a lot of dust.

Even after settling into the beach life both Jake and Laura had found themselves talking about the tourist trap and the old man.

Jake had surprised them both by suggesting they check it out. They could have the place open in the winter when the tourists were around and closed in the summer when living there was impossible. If the business was profitable enough they could think of hiring someone to run the place in the summer.

Laura had laughed but then had grown thoughtful.

A year later their family was covering for them at the restaurant during the last of the summer months while the young couple fixed the place up and settled in after buying the place, driving the old man to the airport in a major city 3 hours away and changing the locks on the buildings, except the barn and blacksmith toolshed, of course.

“G-d, we’re nuts,” Laura said.

“We are but it’s an adventure,” Jake said. “We know Route 66 will never be what it was but the numbers are good for a small profit if we run it right. With the internet we can expand the site’s footprint with tourists and we get to be warm in the winter months while our families are freezing.”

Laura nodded. The desert was warm even in the winter and the old weather reports showed there were occasions when they might get snow but nowhere near had the amounts Michigan received.

“I’m still not dressing up in a bonnet and long skirts,” Laura said firmly.

“Only when we rent out the place for weddings, parties, proms and old west re-enactor weekends,” Jake said. He was actually looking forward to wearing period clothing. He wouldn’t dress up like a gunslinger or farmer. As a sheriff maybe. As an afterthought or even with no real thought at all, he pulled his phone out of its case on his belt and quickly checked to see if there were any new messages. It was set to vibrate and play a tune when he got calls and messages but you never could tell.

“I think you pay more attention to that thing than to anything else,” Laura complained.

“Yeah? Well I miss my brother and I like getting the stupid little joke things he sends. What else is bothering you?”

“I just wish the local Native Americans would talk to us,” Laura commented as she reached for his empty glass. “We’ve offered to remove the mannequin and donate the Indian clothing back to them.”

“They still want that old grave marker gone,” Jake said. “The old man said it was the one thing that every tourist seemed to love, a cowardly gunslinger Indian with a curse on the place.”

“A made up story that insults Native Americans,” Laura pointed out.

“Oh to hell with Political Correctness,” Jake grumbled as he put his straw hat back on. “Next they’d want us to close up totally because in the old days white men fought with Indians and we shouldn’t focus on that. Or they could lend a hand to some groups in the South that want that rebel flag eliminated from history totally.”

Laura laughed softly and kissed her husband’s cheek. “Don’t stay out here too long, it’s getting much too hot for us Yankees.”

Jake nodded and picked up the shovel. They had to get ready for the tourists coming through and that meant resetting the “tombstones” and plaques, replacing some boards in the barn and out buildings, clearing the sewer lines that fed into a septic tank. Jake made a mental note to get some stuff to shock the tank.

It was probably item number 89 of the TO DO list.

And it bothered him that Laura's laugh sounded forced and she practically oozed reluctance. Why? She had wanted to do this just as much as he had! Now she was reluctant? Because of Indians?

They had argued over some things over the years, of course, what couple didn't? He chuckled to himself as he remembered how she had tried to threaten him after he had thrown a cup across the room. She had even threatened to leave if he ever aimed anything at her or actually hit her.

As if she'd do anything.

# # # #

Jake sat down at the same picnic table they had eaten at over a year before. He and Laura were sharing a bowl of popcorn and both wanted to be outside now that it was twilight and the heat was beginning to cool down.

Laura sat down opposite him and reached for a handful of the buttery goodness. “How much did you get done?”

“I got two more done before it got too hot,” Jake said. “I moved inside and worked on dusting the museum pieces, the big ones like the old plow, printing machine and stuff. Oh hey, I brought in the paper for Indian Joe, it’s getting faded, could you type up a new one to fit in the holder?”

“Indian Joe,” Laura said with a frown and took the faded piece of paper. “Indian Joe, one of the fastest guns in the territory and one of the most notorious cowards. Indian Joe robbed stagecoaches, trains and two banks in his short career. Born of a white man and Indian squaw, Indian Joe grew up hating his mixed blood and hating white people. He was quick and deadly with the pistol. He was known to shoot people even when they weren’t armed or resisting. Once, when a posse was closing in on him and his gang, Indian Joe, using his wily Indian ways, slipped away in the dark, leaving his men to be captured. He was also well known as a back shooter and card cheat. He met his end when he was finally captured by a brave lawman and was hung. He was crying and screaming on his way to the gallows and swore he’d never rest until his name was cleared of being a coward.”

Laura set the paper down. “Jake, this is really offensive and you know it. Wily Indian ways? Mixed blood, white people? If the story were true or if it wasn’t about a Native American I wouldn’t protest but I can see why the Native American hate this thing.”

“Would it be less racist if it was a white guy?”

“Yes, it wouldn’t even be mentioned,” Laura said, nodding her head. “Let me rewrite it.”

“Okay, just don’t take out the Indian part,” Jake said. “Tourist love it.”

“Oh all right,” Laura said softly. “I’m taking out the word ‘squaw.”

“Sure,” Jake said as he glanced over the story. “I bet old Indian Joe would be rolling in his grave if he were real. Did you paint the public bathroom like you were going to?”

“Yes, took me all day,” Laura said. “Instead of that g-d-awful salmon pink we now have Western like colors and clean walls. Let’s hope they stay that way.”

“I don’t think any teens traveling with their parents are going to mark up the walls in this small of a place,” Jake said. “I’ll finish up the graves in the morning and give you a hand with the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” Laura said as she looked out over the desert and the purples and reds that mingled with the tans and oranges. “Sure is different than Michigan.”

“Amen,” Jake said. “You missing home?”

“And the snow? Nope,” Laura said with a smile. “I just hope this works. I never in a million years thought I’d own a Wild West tourist trap complete with Boot Hill. Thirteen graves, 12 of them inside the fence and one outside.”

“Only white men were buried in most Boot Hills,” Jake said. “That’s what the old man said.”

“The font of wisdom,” Laura muttered and looked up at the small mound and the “graves”. Prominent outside the fence was one tombstone.

“You ready to go in? Your favorite show will be on in 10 minutes.”

“Yeah,” Laura said, tearing her eyes away from the graves. Jake had been doing a good job, she reflected as they stood up and he grabbed the bowl of popcorn. Instead of just planting the tombstones he was making small mounds for each grave, not large ones like a new burial but small ones. It gave the graveyard an eerie feeling.

She smiled at her husband and walked inside ahead of him.

Laura didn’t stop to look at several photos on the wall, in their personal space out of sight from the tourist areas. Family photos, wedding photos, some photos of she and Jake on their honeymoon and travels and some of friends from highschool and college.

Laura never stopped to look at the one of her best friend in highschool.

Jake really hated that picture and any talk about Brittany. He also hated the fact that about once a year detectives came around asking the same questions they had asked in the summer between their junior and senior year. The summer Brittany had been found beaten to death with a tire iron.

The fact that Laura and Jake had been broken up at the time and that he had dated Brittany for a nano-second kept detectives coming back year in and out. There were few clues and Jake’s family had supplied an alibi but still the detectives kept coming.

She knew he hated being accused in their tones of voice and questions and wondered if their move to the Southwest was also a means of leaving that behind them.

# # # #

Dark Are the Shadows - 10/28/19

Dark are the Shadows (rough draft - meaning you'll find typos, occasional plot holes and changes from one draft to another. Let me know where I screw up and I'll fix 'em)
Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and Dark Shadows cross-over
by Ms Hunter Ash

Copyright stuff: this is for entertainment purposes. No infringement of copyright is intended.  The canon characters belong to their individual creators and production companies.  Original characters are mine, thanks.

rating: PG-13
Pairings: Barnabas/Julia, Willow/Tara, Xander/Anya, Giles/Angelique

Note: I will be posting and back-dating the earlier parts of this tomorrow or the next day.  Right now I want to keep the progress going.

I love feedback, btw.



# # #

Giles was sitting at the table in the Magic Box glancing through some new books that had come in. The increase in severe mental illness among the population was bothering him.

Xander was helping Anya unpack another box of books while a young man wandered through the store. Giles had glanced at the blonde youth with a somewhat scruffy beard and had dismissed him as a tourist.

The boy glanced over at the books Giles was looking through with obvious curiosity.

"Uh, are all those magic books?" he asked.

"Private selection, the books for sale are against the walls over there and there," Giles said.

"So all these books got spells in 'em? Turn people into frogs, things like that?" he asked.

Giles glanced up over his glasses and he saw Anya and Xander stop stacking books, roll their eyes and shake their heads.

"Yeah, we're building a race of frog people, it's a good time," Xander quipped.

"So, uh, you all witches? Hey, don't do a spell on me now," the young man said with a laugh.

"Is there something in particular you were looking for?" Giles asked as he stood up. He was seriously hoping he wouldn't have to ask the kid to leave...face first through a closed door.

The door opened and Buffy, Tara and Willow entered laughing among themselves.

"Hey, what'd you know?" the young man said loudly.

The three girls stopped and looked at him. Giles wasn't surprised by the expression of curiosity from Buffy and Willow but Tara's expression of alarm did cause the Watcher to pull his glasses off.

"What's the matter? You don't have a hug for your big brother?"

"Brother?" Willow asked as she looked at Tara.

"Willow, this is D-Donny," Tara said.

Willow moved closer to Donny. "Hi."

Donny shook Willow's hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"And, and these are my-my friends," Tara stammered.

"What, you all hang out? Wow! That's more people that you ever talked to in highschool," he declared.

"How did you... Why did you come?" Tara asked.

"Well, duh, birthday girl! We came down in the camper and we've been all over the campus," Donny said.

"We?" Tara asked.

Everyone turned to look at the door as the bell above chimed and a middle aged man and young woman walked in.

"Hey, Dad, look what I found!" Donny said as he gestured towards Tara.

"Uh, Dad. Hi," Tara said softly and hugged her father awkwardly.

"Here's my girl."

"S-such a surprise," Tara responded. "Cousin Beth."

"Hey, Tara."

"Someone from your dorm said I might... find you here," Mr. Maclay said as he looked around.

"Oh, these are, these are friends. This is Mr. Giles, uh, he runs the shop," Tara said quickly.

Giles stepped forward and shook Mr. Maclay's hand. "How do you do?"

"Pleasure," the other man responded and looked at Tara. "Well, I don't mean to interrupt your plans, I know we've come up on you kind of sudden but I thought we could have dinner."

Giles shook his head slightly as Anya and Willow glanced at him. He saw Xander grab Anya's hand. "I believe Tara has some plans out of town and just dropped by to let us know she, Buffy and Willow are leaving."

Mr. Maclay frowned. "We've come a long way."

"M-maybe we could do something at A-Angel's place," Tara said after a moment.

"If you're sure your plans can be changed," Giles said, giving the girl an "out" if necessary.

"It's okay," Tara said.

"All right," Giles said. "We can pull something together."

"I'll call Quentin and they can get things rolling on that end," Buffy offered.

"What you've got more friends than these? Wow!" Donny exclaimed.

Giles put his glasses back on. "Actually Tara is an amazing young woman. We're lucky she's friends with us."

Giles resisted winking at Willow at her look of gratitude to him.

"Well, tell us where to go and we'll meet you there in an hour?" Mr. Maclay suggested. "We're double-parked right now. Tara, walk us out. Nice to meet everyone."

Donny followed Mr. Maclay and Beth to the door and waved. "Nice to meet you all, see you in a bit."

Buffy frowned with her hands on her hips as they watched Tara step outside. She moved closer to the shelves near the door.

"I see that witch-star around your neck, Tara," Maclay said as Donny and Beth headed towards an older RV up the block. "You don't even try to hide it anymore, do you? I'd hoped maybe you'd gotten over the whole witchcraft thing. That if we let you go, you'd get it out of your system. Students told us to look for you in that store. That... place."

"I didn't... I didn't k-know that you were coming," Tara said softly.

"Of course we came!" he snapped. "We haven't heard from you in months. Your birthday is here and you know what that means."

"No, it doesn't," Tara protested.

"You're turning twenty, thats the same age as your mother when she... do your friends even know?"

"They k-know a lot," Tara said.

"You lying to me? Tara, you're coming home with us, you know it's the only way."

"Home?" Tara repeated.

"You can't control what's going to happen," Maclay said firmly. "You have evil inside of you and it will come out. Letting yourself work all this magic is only going to make it worse. Where do you think that power comes from?"

"It's not evil, it doesn't feel that way," Tara said.

Buffy almost smiled to herself. There was definitely the capacity for evil in Tara now that she was a vampire but she had a feeling Maclay didn't know that.

"Evil never does. We'll leave in the morning," he declared. "Your family loves you, Tara, no matter what. How do you think your friends are going to feel when they see you?"

Tara stepped back inside the shop with a frown.

She looked at Buffy. "Y-you heard."

"Slayer hearing," Buffy admitted. "He doesn't know you're a vampire, what is he talking about?"

"Let's go b-back to the mansion b-before they get there," Tara suggested.

"Let's go," Giles agreed. "Anya, just put the money in the safe, we'll run the register tape in the morning."

"Who is riding with whom?" Xander asked. "I've got my pickup."

"I've got my car and Buffy has her Jeep," Giles said. "I'm going to stop for blood and meat at the butcher's and then pick up Joyce and Dawn."

"Then our usual modes of transport," Xander said. "Let's go."

# # # #

Giles held the door open for Joyce and Dawn as they helped carry boxes of meat and packaged blood. Buffy rushed over from the sofa to help and Joyce and Dawn stopped and looked at Willow and Tara.

The Watcher and Slayer realized they hadn't seen Tara since she had been turned into a vampire and both almost held their breath.

Tara and Willow glanced over and stopped talking. The young vampire witch bit her lip.

Barnabas turned from talking with Quentin and watched the interaction.

Dawn handed Buffy the box she was carrying and rushed over to tightly hug Tara.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and she had a feeling there were quite a few that joined her in that sigh.

Tara hugged Dawn with a wide smile. "I've missed you."

"Yeah? I'm in the same place, you know," Dawn commented. "You owe me...a mocha."

"Deal," Tara agreed. "How are your classes going?"

Everyone relaxed another notch.

Xander walked over and took the bags from Joyce. "I've got the coals heating up. Glad you guys are here, Mrs. Summers."

"Glad to be here," Joyce said. "Go do your manly thing, someone will show me around."

"Awesome," Xander said with a grin. "Angel, Cordy, Wes and Fred should be here in a few minutes."

"I'll put the extra meat and other in the fridge," Giles told Buffy.

The Slayer shook her head. "He is never going to get over being here with Angel at the same time," she muttered.

"Yeah, I bet him and Angelique sleep somewhere else in the morning," Xander predicted. "Where's Tara's redneck family?"

"They'll be here in a bit," Buffy said. "We should find out what's going on before they get here."

"Call the meeting," Xander suggested.

Giles stepped out into the main room and found everyone settling in and he walked over to stand next to Angelique, slipping his hand into hers.

"I...I d-don't know where to begin," Tara said.

"Wherever you need," Willow said. "We love you, baby."

"Absolutely," Dawn said firmly.

"M-my family believes that my Mom was half-demon and that she couldn't control it," Tara said as she looked down. "That its inherited and comes out when we turn 20."

Everyone frowned but especially Barnabas. "We've heard that demons can't be changed into vampires," he said. "Especially since it requires someone to die in order to be changed."

'Really?" Tara asked with a hopeful expression.

"Absolutely," Giles agreed. "The Council has investigated this fairly thoroughly for some odd reason, perhaps to determine how to fight... cross-species."

Anya nodded. "It doesn't happen."

"You don't even have a demon because you became a vampire," Willow pointed out. "Your vampiresque stuff isn't the same."

"Besides, they probably won't approve of you being a vampire and sleeping late," Xander added.

Tara laughed and nodded. "No, they wouldn't. They won't approve of me being a vampire, about my relationship with Willow, my friendship with everyone and being a witch."

"Why on earth would they think your mother was part demon?" Giles asked.

"Probably a family myth to keep the women-folk inline."

Everyone turned to find Spike standing at the patio door.

"Really?" Buffy asked.

"Sounds like it," Spike said. "That's an ingenious way of keeping the family inline."

"T-they lied?" Tara asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"Well, we know you're not part demon and odds are your mother wasn't," Giles said.

"What are you doing here, Spike?" Buffy asked with a frown.

"I saw the lights on and wondered what was up," the vampire answered. "I thought Peaches might be here and I could get in a couple of jabs."

"He'll be here shortly," Giles informed the vampire.

"Who is everyone else?" Spike asked. "Vamps?"

"Some, others are werewolves that aren't fond of your kind of vampires," Buffy said.

"My kind?" Spike asked. "Oh by the way, did you know there's a lot of Lei-Ach demons around here? Kinda weird."

"Lei-Ach?" Buffy asked, turning to look at Giles.

"Demons that are fairly repulsive looking with oozing skin and they love death and destruction," Giles said.

"Sounds fun," Buffy grumbled. "I'll tackle some of them after dinner. There's blood if you can behave yourself. Remember, our guests bite, all of them."

"Joy," Spike said softly.

"I'll start the meat cooking," Xander offered.

"Who's the new vamps?" Spike demanded as Buffy helped Xander carry the meat outside to the bbq.

"Go ask them," Buffy suggested. "They helped us recently."

"And they're munching on the old man and turned Tara?" Spike demanded to know. "They're the good guys?"

"There wasn't a choice with Tara," Xander said. "And don't bug her about it!"

"Giles can date who he likes," Buffy responded. "Those vampires have their souls without the gypsy curse."

"Souls? All four of them?"

"Yeah," Xander said and tried to resist smirking.

"How old are the vamps?" Spike asked with a frown.

"Go ask them," Buffy repeated.

Barnabas stepped out front and leaned against a large planter.

The vampire smiled when Tara stepped out of the house. "Hullo, needing some space?"

"Kinda," Tara acknowledged. "Are you okay?"

"Not particularly," Barnabas said. "Julia is upset."

"Because of Roxanne?"

Barnabas nodded. "What I didn't say to everyone is that I fell very hard for a Roxanne I knew in another timeband. Then I met a Roxanne in this timeline but she wasn't the same and she was a vampire that was preying on someone I cared for very deeply. We got our friend to safety and then we ended up tripping through time again and the Roxanne here disappeared."

"And the one that was in the other time-band died," Tara commented.

"Yes, both of them," Barnabas said. "Two different times. One died in the sun, the other in a fire. Or so we thought. She didn't die, she fell into the same portal but came here at different point in time. This Roxanne is the one I was very much in love with but I had discovered my feelings for Julia. We've been together as a couple since 1971."

"Do you want to be with Roxanne?"

"I'm with Julia," Barnabas said firmly. "It may be the same Roxanne I fell in love with but that was a life time ago and we've both changed."

"Tara?"

The two vampires looked to the sidewalk and saw Beth.

"I'll be close," Barnabas said softly and stepped back into the shadows and disappeared.

Beth walked up the walkway. "Where did that guy go?"

"Around to the backyard," Tara said. "Where's Dad and Donny?"

"Parking the RV," Beth said. "Thought I could get out and come help you."

"Help me?"

"To pack your things," Beth suggested.

"Beth, I'm not... I'm n-not coming back with you," Tara said.

"You're not?" Beth asked.

"No, my life is here."

"You... you selfish bitch!" Beth spat out.

"What?"

Barnabas's eyes narrowed from where he had rematerialized in the shadows in the foliage near the front door.

"You don't care the slightest bitty bit about your family, do you? Your dad's been worried sick about you everyday since you've been gone. There's a... a house that needs taking care of and Donny and your dad having to do for themselves while you're down here living God knows what kind of lifestyle!"

Tara's head ducked and then rose. "They shouldn't expect me to stay at home to cook and clean for them."

"Wait until your friends see the real you!" Beth exclaimed. "They'll see the truth!"

"They already know every truth about me," Tara said softly.

"You didn't tell them about the demon part of you, did you?" Beth demanded. "Don't you see how out of control you are? You've been lying to these people for a year! Did you put a spell on them? I'm gonna tell your father!"

"I told them tonight," Tara said. "And I didn't do any magic on them."

"You owe your family!" Beth stated.

"Sounds like you have fun on bingo night, right?" Spike commented as he walked out of the mansion and past them. "You get your corn out of jar?"

"What?" Beth asked.

"Forget it," Spike said. "Have fun, Tara. Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Spike," Tara responded.

"Wait until your dad hears this!" Beth exclaimed.

"Dad and Donny are walking up now," Tara said.

# # # #

Update

I'm going to be posting here somewhat regularly and trying to expand a twitter presence.  I'm not active on Instagram because I still have a flip phone (yes, call me a dinosaur.  I'm also a klutz at times and I've never broken this phone).  I will probably get one of the smart phones soon, however.

The Crowd Was Just for Him - short story

The was written a number of years ago but a good one to start off this blog, I think.  Hope you enjoy.

# # #

The Crowd Was Just for Him

Hunter Ash

(aka B. Cooper)

10/02/2006

ripperbard7@yahoo.com

Copyright 2006-2020

This is an original piece, no copying, editing or using any part without my permission.

This is rated PG

The corporal checked his line of Marines again. The plane was heading to another landing, another family waiting for their loved one. It was his duty to ensure that his men and women looked their absolute best.

These were Marines, after all. The best the military services had to offer. The best they had to offer America.

A quick sleeve over a highly polished shoe to catch a trace of dust, a slight twist of the USMC emblem, the Eagle, Globe and Anchor at the collar, each little detail important, perhaps not to an outsider but to a Marine facing their family or inspection, it meant everything. The rows of green and khaki, broken by shiny brass and polished shoes always impressed the corporal.

He was proud of this bunch. They were more quiet than the usual Marines heading home, home into the arms of their families after a long tour. This bunch had seen the worst of it, he thought. Door-to-door fighting, snipers, hostile civilian and the road-side bombs. Homemade devices that threatened to take arms, legs and send shrapnel through any helmet, possibly leaving the body alive but stealing the mind and soul of a soldier. His men and women had seen the worst and had performed like Marines.

The Lieutenant walked over with a frown. It was always his place to worry how his troops looked. The officers always depended on the NCOs to set things right but it was the officer that took the flak if things went SNAFU – Situation Normal, All Fouled Up was the polite translation.

“Which one for the first landing?” the Lieutenant asked the Corporal.

“Rodriguez, Sir,” the Corporal responded. “He always said that one day the crowd they showed on TV at the airport would be waiting for him.”

The Lieutenant inspected Rodriguez and smiled at the young man. “They are, they’re waiting just for you.”

He glanced at the Corporal. “Prepare for take off, secure your troops away.”

”Yes, Sir,” the Corporal responded and moved to secure everyone. Wouldn’t do to have someone or something slip when these men and women were heading to their families. It was going to be a long enough flight without worrying about his men and women.

# # #

The Corporal watched from under the belly of the plane, watching the family and friends as they waited for their Marine. Some waved flags but the heat of the California sun bouncing off the black tarmac made things seem oppressive, almost surreal.

He watched as the family waited anxiously, as if they didn’t believe that their young Marine was finally coming home for good. Coming home with medals, even. A Purple Heart, Combat badge, Deployment and more on that OD green jacket their Marine wore. They would be proud.

The Corporal sighed as the Marines came forward to claim one their own. A detachment from the local Naval base or Reserves, he wasn’t sure which. It was almost always the same. The nameless, faceless men in uniform moving to the plane and slowly bringing the casket down, quiet and solemn as they walked in rhythm. It took time to learn the men and women in those uniforms, the Corporal knew. They wouldn’t know his boys and women, they’d never have the privilege of serving with these Marines like he had. Learning about their families, their hopes, dreams and fears, learning their names, even their first names. Trusting each of them to be there when a door was kicked in on an insurgent bunch and bullets started flying.

No, they wouldn’t have the honor but they family would be proud. He’d tell them later. The Corporal knew the Lieutenant, Captain or someone always wrote a letter to the family saying how proud the Marine Corps was of their son, daughter, husband or wife and how they regretted their loss. The Corporal also wrote a letter to each family, adding personal details that he remembered of his boys and women. Each letter killed a small part of his soul, each death took another piece from him.

As a mother wailed, supported by a man that looked much too old to be the father in the picture Rodriguez had shown the Corporal, the young NCO sighed.

The Corporal wondered if there would be anything left to him when the action was finally over and all the Marines could come home on a plane to cheers, to flags waving frantically, to ribbons and ceremonies honoring their service to their country. To something other than a metal box, a flag draped over that box and the sound of Taps. To tears and sorrow from family and friends.

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I write original novels and short stories.  I also write fan fiction, mostly Buffy, Xena and I'm recently delving back into my first love: Dark Shadows.

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Ms. Hunter Ash