Salem Strom the Dead Man

By Gary Mark Lee

Salem Strom a confederate captain during the civil war returns home only to be branded and killed by his father who blames him for losing the war but he is brought back to life by Old Ben a slave on his father plantation and who Strom looked upon as a second father, little did he know that Ben was steeped in the dark arts and voodoo and using his power he raised him from death and now Salem wanders the earth seeking out the old man to lift his curse for even though he can feel pain and suffer all the agony of death with the rising of the moon he returns to the land of living, now he travels the earth and with the help of his mystic sword, Life Taker, set in the late 1800’s Salem goes to New Orleans were he meets a woman of the night and an ageless vampire, in the Wild West he must battle winged creatures who live on human flesh, in San Francisco he partners with a young woman who has a deadly secret, on the high seas an ancient beast rises up from the depths, and in the far east he must run from cannibals, the middle east is a strange land for a southerner and filled with demons of the darkness, even the land of Egypt can’t stop him from seeking out knowledge that might help end his suffering, if you enjoy battles with Demons, Vampires, Werewolves and hell spawn, you will enjoy Salem Strom, The Dead Man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Mark Lee
• Release date: Dec 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781005003456

Gary Mark Lee

Gary dedicates all his books to his loving wife Margaret who always believed in him. Gary Mark Lee was born in Pasadena California in 1947; he graduated high school then went into the entertainment field. He worked for many special effects companies in the mid 1908's then went into the theme park design business, he has worked for the Walt Disney Company, Warner Brothers and Universal Studio's and others. All three of his "Nomads of Gorn" trilogy are now uploaded and have many 5 star reviews, we hope the you will enjoy them. He and his wife live comfortably in the Riverside area of Southern California and enjoy watching old movies and having friends over to enjoy their extensive backyard where Gary has constructed a full size version of the Nautilus submarine from the Disney movie "Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea". Gary has written a number of movies scripts and short stories, all the illustrations in his books were done by him.

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Salem Strom

The Dead Man.

Know this, these tales concern the life, death and what came after for the man known as Salem Strom, his is not a contented story for he was touched by the dark fates to wander the lands as an outcast from all that is holy.

Chapter One.

The Dead Man.

The road from Bishops Gate to New Orleans wasn’t a path that trod after sunset, stealthy cutthroats and vile brigands lay waiting around every shadowy turn and the blackened surrounding woods were littered with the decaying carcasses of unlucky travelers who failed to heed that warning. As the darkened sky opened its thunder locks the hard ground became soaked in pounding summer rain, one brave wanderer made his way up the treacherous winding highway. He was tall and his worn black frock coat covered a strong hardened body, made so by the chances of nature and the open road. A matching wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over his face but in the bright flashes of lightning one could make out a pale chiseled face and dark penetrating eyes, those eyes had seen many sights that were not meant for men. The wind blew against his unfeeling body revealing an ivory-handled revolver, a long bone-handled bowie knife was tucked into his wide brass buckled leather belt, his tall Calvary boots had seen better days as did the rest of his garments, but there was something about the man that set him apart as just another penniless vagabond. From the fearless gate of his stride to the uncaring attitude that seemed to surround him, gave notice that this was someone you didn’t confront for he promised a blood-stained fight in return for very little hard coin.

Two more crashes of thunder broke the darkened sky, from the glow the weary traveler could make out a tavern sign just ahead, and seeking shelter from the vengeful night the dark man pulled his hat lover and quickened his stride.

The Black Horse inn was a gathering place for those misbegotten souls that had not yet paid for their hellish crimes, the Law held no sway here, and few if any entered the tavern who didn’t have a heavy price on their hellish heads. Due to the storm, the roadhouse was filled and the air hung heavy with acrid smoke and the bellowing laughter of drunken men and women. Revelers mixed with the usual constabulary of skilled assassins and light-fingered thieves. Overpainted ladies of easy virtue, mingled among the mass of sweaty patrons, offering their womanly talents to anyone willing to part with a silver or gold coin.

A large fireplace burned at the back of the room as oil lamps bathed the chamber in a soft warm glow, old soldiers or deserters from the thirty years ago war between North and South sat together in an uneasy truce that might be broken at any moment by a slight about each other’s bravery or sexual prowess.

In the far corner sat a giant of a man well known to anyone who made the Black Horse their shelter for he was a person not to be trifled with and someone that wise men gave way to, he went by the name Mad Murphy for his temper had the same size as his stature, LARGE, no one exactly knew where he came from but when he arrived, he quickly took over the leadership of the local murderous gang in charge by cutting out the heart of the former ruler and eating it! The last part was looked upon as an exaggeration but no one dared come forward to dispute it least he find himself on a dinner plate, he had a broad cruel face with pig-like eyes and a mouth that seemed to be permanently fixed in a scowl, his hair was reddish as was his bulbous nose a result from too much drink, his garment was once of fine make but now worn and scared like the man who wore them, he had only one redeeming feature about him, he killed his enemies quickly to devote more time to his primary passion, drinking.

Another round! Murphy called out in his growling voice as he pounded his great ham hand on the oaken table, And be quick about it!

Gathered around the worn oaken table with him were his companions in corruption, a small squat man by the name of Frog, so named as his body and warmth reminded one of those slime-covered dwellers of the swamp. He had bulbous eyes and a wide mouth that further added meaning to his name and his face was in a constant state of wetness from perspiration that always seemed to be there, next to him were the bloated bodies of the well-known Bradly twins, dirty, dumb, suspicious and dangerous, each one seemed to live for the chance to outdo his brother in death, debauchery and gluttony not necessarily in that order, they weigh-head ended and always had their greasy mouths filled with food of some sort or another, the last of this unpleasant gathering was Pieu, half Indian and half devil, tall but thin with a worn drawn in the face and long braided hair he loved the slow kill with a knife and fashioned the scalps of his victims into a ghastly vest that he wore about his reddish body with pride, the motley group now sat playing face cards as they waited for the buxom barmaid to bring then their libations.

What’s the bet? grunted Frog as his sausage-like fingers clutched soiled playing cards. More than you have laughed Borden the slightly younger half of the Bradly twins. And more than you’ll ever have added Brent the older but no wiser brother.

Frog ignored the insults and turned his beady eyes to Pieu, Are you in or out?

The sullen Indian grunted once but said nothing as he placed a silver coin on the wine-stained table.

Frog was hesitant about asking his leader if he was going to pony up or not but was glad when the big man put two dented coins on the growing mound of currency. With no other wagers coming forward the fat little man laid out his cards for all to see.

Kings high looks like the pot is mine, he said smiling as he reached for his reward. Hold it! Murphy called out then showed what he was holding, three aces and with that, he pulled the pile of soiled currencies to him and added them to his already mounting treasure, it was not that he was a skilled poker player it was the fact that nobody dared call him out on his cheating, as he counted his winnings he once more shouted for his drink, What’s keeping you! then turned to see a shapely tavern maid by the name of Easy Mary standing next to him holding a dented brass tray with several foaming tankards of sour ale.

Here you go, she said in her lilting voice as she placed the drinks on the heavy table, Mary was a regular fixture at the Black Horse having grown up there because her father was the owner of the establishment, she had cut her teeth on callus drunken men and was well versed in all the devious ways of relieving them of their ill-gotten gains.

Will there be anything else? she asked with a well-used smile.

No Murphy grunted as he took a deep draft from his mug.

Mary shook her tasseled red air and before she could ask anyone else at the table the tavern door opened with a blast of cold air and in walked a dark-dressed stranger.

The wary men about the room put their nervous hands-on gun hilts or knife handles as they watched the tall intruder shake the rain from his dark garments and hat, then slowly made his way to the end of the long bar and stood with his back to the wall half-hidden in the shadows, seeing that he was alone and not some heroic officer of the law looking to make a name for himself they returned to their mindless chatter and games of chance.

Mary was sure that she had never seen this man before and her memory was very good, for she made a point of knowing who could be taken for a coin or two with a pretty smile or promise of warm flesh, but even if this man was unknown to her she made her way through the crowded floor and stood next to the dark man.

What can I get for you stranger, a glass of our best, or perhaps you’re looking for something warm and friendly? Mary positioned her shapely frame to show off her best attributes, but the stranger continued to gaze straight ahead and paid her no mind.

A glass of Kentucky whisky if you have it, the tall man said in a low voice.

Coming right up Mary replied, the name is Mary if you need something else and she rubbed her fingers over the man’s hand then drew back as if she had touched fire, You’re as cold as ice she blurted out and hearing this the man turned his head towards her so that she could see his face. His long hair was white as snow surrounding a face with hard chiseled features, his eyes were sullen and dark as a raven’s wing and his skin was pale as a corpse, to say that he was handsome would not be untrue except for his hair and skin coloring but the most striking thing about him and would surely make any lady of the night think twice was the jagged scar on his left cheek, a large S the markings of a slave.

Strom Mary blurted out under her breath as she is slowly back away from him, the tall man said nothing and quickly pulled his wide-brimmed hat lower over his face, the tavern maid quickly moved to the far end of the counter and in a few moments whispering began to move through the smoke-filled tavern, a name was heard over and over again, a name that many had heard of but few took as anything of substance.

Strom, Strom, Strom over and over again until it reached the ear of Mad Murphy. Strom?’ the big man said, Salem Strom? That’s only a legend, a bigger story to frighten children. Frog was not so certain, I’ve heard of this devil, a white demon that walks like a man, best not go looking for trouble. We’re not afraid, Borden said turning to his brother, are we? I’m not afraid of any man Brent replied quickly. Frog smiled a bit, Do you know who Salem Strom is? he asked.

The older Bradly twin shook his oversized head, Why should I, one man is just like another. And they all can die when you put a bullet in them added his younger brother. Frog took a large gulp of his watered-down wine and then wiped his dripping mouth with the back of his greasy hand, Ah yes that’s just the point, they call him The Dead Man. Being superstitious as they were the two fat men looked at each other than at Frog, What are you talking about? Borden asked with a bit of a tremble in his words. Seeing that he had them where he wanted Frog sat back in his chair and slowly fingered the lip of his tankard, well the story goes that he died and was somehow brought back to life and now he travels with the devil at his side and anyone who stands in his way ends up dancing to the devil’s music in hell.

Hearing the word Devil made the hairs on the misshapen heads of the Bradly twins stand on end for although they were grown they possessed the courage of a child when it came to the subject of witchcraft and demons. I’ve seen the devil, the normally silent Pieu said, He rides a black horse and has two wolves as his companions. Was he your father? Brent laughed trying to break the fear that gripped his overstuffed body. But the Half-Indian was quick to reply, at least I know who my father was and my mother didn’t lay down with a pig-like yours!

The Bradly twins reached for their weapons but a rock fist came crashing down on the oaken table Enough! Murphy shouted, I’m not scared by some weak woman story, I’ll get to the bottom of this right now taking a deep gulp of his brew he stood up and made his way towards the unknown man at the end of the bar.

A silence fell like a blanket over the nervous patrons as they watched their black-hearted leader approach the dark man, a few even placed bets on who would come out the victor in the oncoming confrontation but mostly just waited for whatever was to come.

The big man quickly crossed the rough wooden floor and stood next to the stranger, planting his heavy booted feet firmly, who the hell are you anyway? he asked so that all could hear. At first, the stranger said nothing then he spoke in a voice that only Murphy could understand, and it consisted of just two words.

Leave me.

At first, the big man didn’t know what to make of such a thing for most of the time the men he confronted asked to be forgiven for whatever slight they might have said or done, or they begged for mercy but this answer was something new to Murphy and he wasn’t sure just how to reply.

What? he finally spoke, what did you say?

The man at the bar stood up revealing his true height and it was equal to Murphy and perhaps a bit taller, but the big man had a least fifty pounds in his favor and he considered that something that couldn’t be overcome. I said leave me alone, the stranger said but this time his voice held a goodly amount of menace.

Hearing a chuckle or two from the underdogs about the inn Murphy gathered himself up and drawing back his huge fist he shouted, I’ll teach you to talk like that to me!

But his bosting was all the time that Strom needed to prepare himself and ducking the wild swing of the big man he drove his left fist into the soft belly of his opponent and struck his jaw with his right, Murphy grunted from the blow to his midsection then staggered back from the force that smashed into his jaw, he stumbled about then crashed into his gang’s table and overturning it so that money was mixed with ale all over the floor.

KILL HIM! Murphy shouted as he tried to gain his footing and hearing this the two Bradly twins drew their revolvers and began shooting wildly.

A bullet whizzed past Strom’s ear as he pulled his gun and taking careful aim he placed a bullet into the hearts of the brothers, they went down like poleaxed bulls as blood ran in torrents from their penetrating wounds.

An instant later the tavern was in chaos, patrons hurried for cover or took the opportunity for revenge against someone who had wronged them, bullets flew about the room as Frog found cover under an overturned table along with Mary. Fire from overturned lamps spread out like spider webs and smoke began to blur the vision of those who were trapped inside.

Salem heard move bullets sail passed his head like an angry paramedian at the stranger, Strom returned fire until his gun was empty bringing down a man with each shot the returned his colt to its holster.

Murphy was still a bit dazed by the blow that he had received but Pieu crept through the arid smoke towards the tall man holding his bone-handled knife in his callus hand, Strom’s eyes burned but he could still make out the wily Indian making his way towards him and seeing his weapon was a blade he holstered his empty guns and drew out his long Bowie knife and braced his booted feet, a moment later the Indian was on him screaming a wild war cry and eyes wide with the killing madness, Pieu’s knife-edge grazed the left arm of the tall man but Strom’s blade found it’s mark and buried itself to the hilt in the heart of the wild man, Pieu gurgled horribly and blood poured from his mouth as Strom withdrew his weapon from his limp body but he had no time for rest as Murphy drew his pistol and fired wildly, Salem ducked the leaded onslaught until the big man’s gun was empty then Murphy fell upon him like a maddened bear.

Neither of the men said a word as they grappled on the wooden floor as the tavern exploded into a fiery tomb, Murphy managed to wrench the knife from Strom’s vice-like grip but it fell to the floor with a clang leaving both men locked with their hands around each other throats, they stood there for a moment like two titans in the glowing light of hell.

Seeing that their lives hung in the balance Frog and Mary rose from their hiding place and ran quickly for the door, the tavern maid stopping only once to gather up a gold coin from the floor where it had fallen.

Strom and Murphy continued their deadly dance each testing the other strength, the muscles on their arms stood out like cords of steel, and sweat beaded on their foreheads, then at last the Big man’s face began to turn red and he clawed at his neck to pry Strom’s steel-like hands from his collapsing windpipe, a moment or two later Murphy’s arms feel limp to his sides and seeing his opponent beaten Strom let go his grip and began to move towards the door but Murphy had still not had enough and he grabbed the coat of the tall man.

No one beats me! he bellowed and took another terrific swing at Strom’s head.

But this time the tall man lifted his booted foot and kicked the big man with all the force in his iron leg, Murphy spitting broken teeth staggered backward into the now roaring fire of the tavern, and in an instant, his huge body was consumed in fire, horrific screams filled the smoke black air as Strom quickly made his way out of what was left of the Black Horse Inn quickly taking up his knife from where it had fallen.

Sitting outside and covered in grime and dirt Mary and Frog watched the tall stranger emerge from the blazing inn and disappear into the darkness like a black demon of the night and both of them sighed in relief knowing that they would never see him again.

Chapter Two.

The Swamp

The snake-infested Swamp that lay near the outskirts of New Orleans was a dark and dismal place filled with merciless creatures that thrived on death and hid from the cleansing light of day. Towering moss-covered trees rose like malformed giants and spread out their many snarled limbs in a dark canopy so that sunlight was only hinted at and shadows were the way of things. Buzzing and biting insects infested the vile stinking air as sharp-fanged snakes and crawling vermin slithered and skulked through the myriad slime and muck. Spotted Panther and armored skinned alligators eternally battled for supremacy, but everyone knew that death ruled the land.

Into this godless place ventured Salem Strom, a name that meant nothing to the hungry creatures of the swamplands for one human was as good a meal as another. What mad reasoning would drive a man to enter that forbidden world? They had no care but it grated on the mind of Strom.

For two days and nights he wandered through the accursed quagmire living off of bloated frogs and slim covered snakes and fighting off hungry alligators until he could go no further sitting down on a half-submerged tree stump he rested his weary frame for a time, he cleaned his pistol of invading muck and slim as best he could and oiling it with toad bile, he honed his stout knife on a rock making sure the edge was razor sharp then than the work was done he closed his weary eyes but kept his right hand on his pistol grip in case he was set upon by anything that wished him harm. Salem slowly drifted off into a half-sleep where visions from his haunted past came flooding back to haunt him.

He had once been the carefree son of a wealthy plantation owner and lived the life of the rich and privileged, he drank deep red wine and tasted the best that the land had to offer, he could handle a pistol and blade with the best of them and his success with the ladies was a legend among the gentry. His stern father was one of the richest cotton planters in the South with hundreds of dark-skinned slaves working day and night to make him even richer, this didn’t sit well with the young son for Salem took pity on those