The Shadow of Saint Nicholas: Jeremiah Graves #1: The Forgotten Pages of Jeremiah Graves, The Undead Gunslinger, #1

By M. Benjamin Naves

The tales of bounty hunters and gunslingers in the old west are vast and full of details that change from person-to-person. It's American mythology at it's finest when in regards to the legendary heroes and ruthless outlaws; those who overcome evils at the hand of two pistols within their grasp. This is one of those stories, or at least, the first part of many to come. We are not within the world of the oh-too-familar Western, this ain't no story about a ranch hand defending his land, but instead this is story of a gunslinger who JUST WONT DIE. Due to his ties with both Heaven and Hell, Jeremaih "Tombstone" Graves is asked for his help days before Christmas to defend the innocence and hunt down the living shadow before he continues his reign of terror...KRAMPUS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: American Gothic
• Release date: Dec 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201700430

Book preview

A Novelette

by

M. Benjamin Naves

PROLOGUE...

Behold the majesty and grace; of loueing, cheerful, Christmas face...

You need to calm down, son. Herbert Smith said. Have you thought of saying the Lord’s Prayer before going to bed?

Young Matthew Smith shook his head, looking at both his parents, quizzically. No prayers of any kind will surely help him through this night; he was as sure as the rooster crows at dawn.

Well now, his father replied. That there be your problem, son.

A boy’s nightly prayers are important, my love. Masha Smith, the boy’s mother added.

But most importantly, Herbert continued, This kind of foolishness needs to stop. It will be the third night this week that you’ve awoken us with your— he paused. ...issues. And I think by now that I’ve had enough of it...that is to say, your mother and myself have had enough of it. Do you understand me, son?

Harrisville, West Virginia - 1840. December 6th.

It had been an ordinary night. All the heads within the household Smith were asleep, until ten minutes prior, that is. From within his room at the end of the hall, young Matthew Smith had let out a blood-curdling scream. He had then appeared into the den with tears cascading along his cheeks, and with eyes that had acted as if they’d had seen the devil himself.

But pa, you don’t understand— Matthew pleaded.

No, I do, son, I really do, Herbert said, cutting the boy off mid-sentence. Sometimes there are things you never forget in your lifetime—things that shape your existence, and can be things that make you the man you will eventually be. But this isn’t one of those things. Trust me when I say this, you’ll be fine.

Three months ago, Matthew had been awakened by the sound of a sickly circus bear that escaped its cage. The poor animal was beyond rabid. The blind, snarling creature was also prone to seizures. Unfortunately for the boy who was startled awake by seeing a ten-ton bear pawing at his window at midnight, none of this (nor did none of the signs that showed the bear’s current situation), made any sense. From that night forward, the child was prone to night terrors—which were understandable to Herbert and Masha Smith, but still, as the months went on, it made it harder for them to sleep at night.

My father was in the revolution, Herbert said, looking from his wife then back at his son. And he’d seen things that scared me as a boy just by describing them. Then I saw them for myself in 1812. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell ya, boy? There are frightening things in this world, but this isn’t—

God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day...

But this isn’t one of those things, Herbert continued. These are merely fears belonging to children. No more, nor less.

But I saw him, pa! Matthew cried. He came by my window and began pawing away against the pane with a bindle of branches! He was humming something as well—it sounded...it sounded familiar...like something I'd heard before. I just couldn’t make sense of the creature’s weird tongue.

Branches? Speaking creatures?

Matthew shook his head and nodded.

Masha Smith crossed herself upon hearing this.

The devil’s work for not saying your prayers, my boy. she said in a whisper.

Herbert twitched his nose, he wasn’t having any of this nonsense; not tonight, not anymore from this day forward.

You speak of the bear again? he asked.

Matthew did not necessarily nod his head; more like shrugged his shoulders—indifferent to what he was actually asked.

The branches, the boy continued. They plumed smoke, and some even seemed to be ablaze with tiny circular flames. And he just kept singing—humming and singing as he scratched away at my window pane, pa.

Herbert started to grow angry; Masha could see it as the way the vein across his scalp pulsated like a drum.

I heard something else as well, Matthew continued. Chains—chains I heard rattling. I'm almost sure I heard chains! A-a-and saw horns—large horns!

I’ve had enough of this... Herbert said under his breath.

Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o'er all the earth; God with man is now residing, yonder shines the infant light...

Herbert looked to his wife, both sleep deprived and exhausted from this nightly dance; she agreed with her husband’s sentiments exactly. She’d had enough as well.

So you mean to tell me, son, Herbert began to ask. That a deranged, sickly circus bear did all this—right now? As in a moment or two ago? And he now grew horns—like a goat’s horns?

Matthew nodded. Tears began to well up in the young boy’s eyes, as he knew that nothing he could say would be trusted or believed; crying wolf only went so far, especially in the minds of a dairy farmer and his wife. The boy then looked towards his mother for sympathy, and instantly saw there was none to be had, either.

The poor creature must have had syphilis or something, son. Don’t you remember? the boy’s father continued. He died the moment after attacking at your window. The poor creature couldn’t hurt you then, and surely, from the grave, he can’t hurt you now. You understand me. He can’t hurt you.

To save us all from Satan's pow'r, when we have gone astray...

Matthew hesitated. He then looked into his father’s eyes (then his mother’s) and saw that a severe beating would come next if he’d said otherwise; or maybe worse, double the chores for the next week or so. The young boy nodded his head, knowing that this is what his parents wanted to see from him. He was still frightened, but not of the people in front of him, but of what he’d remembered and of what he’d described to his father. Matthew had given his father the quick rundown of what had happened, but it had been far more stranger and terrifying at the time to clearly place into words, not unless you had actually seen it for yourself.

Oh tidings of comfort and joy... Comfort and joy... Comfort and joy...

Matthew had first heard the sounds from a short distance away. It was oddly faint, but clear as the chiming of the evening church bell. It sounded like a rattle, to which it became louder in the nothingness of the cold winter air. They were the jangling and dragging of chains, followed in song with the deep growl of an otherworldly creature singing. Matthew didn’t know what this was at the time, but as it was eventually revealed, he’d wished that he’d stayed ignorant. For the creature, far much worse in both appearance and shape, than the sound it hauntingly made. The young boy’s eyes soon widened as the chains—or whatever he thought it was—had become the noise and disturbance of violent scratching. Matthew silently prayed that it wasn’t the bear, which haunted his dreams; he would have later wished that it were when the night was over.

I—I—understand, pa. Matthew then said. It’s just my—

Krampus, Krampus. Have you any souls? Yes sir, Yes sir. Three bags full... Those who are cheaters, and those who like flames. Those who are naughty boys, who always pass the blame...

Matthew hesitated, and licked his lips before speaking again. It—it’s just imagination, I suppose...

The young boy had then remembered the face in the window as he carefully stood from his bed, and looked outside at what was making the noise. Eyes as black as sin surrounded by obsidian marbles hovering in the midnight sky. A wild flourish of black fur, behind an icy, pale face whispered through the windowpane.

Behold the majesty and grace; of loueing, cheerful, Christmas face...Whom many thousands, with one breath, cry out for joy and peace, but instead give death...

The top of the creature’s head stood curved and crooked horns, the same shade of rotting corn, which ripped through its scalp, as it continued to claw and stab with a wreath of gnarled branches grasped between its boney grips. Sparks flew and flames erupted in small bursts around his face as he hit the whip-like branches against the pane. Matthew had then seen the chains, they were tied around his arms, but that didn’t seem to hold the creature back from attacking the glass and cracking the window’s square frame. The last thing Matthew saw before running out and into the den, was the creature’s long crimson tongue that hung from its gaping mouth; to which that’s when the boy realized that the songs the creature were singing didn’t come from its voice—not it’s outer voice, at least. It came from the creature’s inner thoughts.

I’m proud of you, son. Herbert said. You're allowing your mother and I see how responsible you’re becoming.

We can see that you’re not a child anymore, Masha continued. You’ve learned to carry yourself like a gentleman here as well. And just to show you how proud I am, tomorrow’s breakfast will be filled with all your favorite things! Starting with vanilla porridge! Now how does that sound?

Matthew smiled from ear to ear, briefly forgetting all about the creature that came to his window that night. But this happiness was only momentary, as the image of the horned creature appeared in his mind’s eye, and morphed into reality through unseen shadows. Behind his parents, Matthew saw the shape of the horned creature posed as an upright standing goat.

The devil sometimes comes as a goat, or a diabolical faun...

he’d heard it once in Sunday school. But when he blinked again and saw the smiling and clearly tired faces of his parents, Matthew had become relaxed; but again, only briefly, as to show that nothing was wrong.

That sounds amazing, mother. the boy replied. He then rubbed his eyes and headed back into his room.

Good night, son. his father called out, before Matthew had a chance to close his bedroom door.

We love you, his mother continued. Don’t forget, there will be vanilla porridge in the morning for ya.

Matthew looked back at his parents, smiled at them for one last time, and then closed the door behind him. As he saw the light disappear from his view, and the shallowness of the room began to surround him, the boy took this moment of silence to take a deep breath. Looking out the window, he saw that there were no marks, nor horned-creature waiting for him, nor a red-tongued devil draped in dangling chains. It was empty. Outside, the snow began to fall. He finally felt calm, for he knew Christmas was soon to be upon them. The young boy then took another deep breath, and sighed. His parents, for what he did not summarize back then, were right. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and all this—all that had occurred that night, was just in his own overly active imagination. But just to be on the safe side, he thought to himself, he’d light the lantern in the corner. It would burn out eventually, and by then it would be morning and his imagination would be filled with what that day’s usual chores would be. So Matthew Smith, of the Household Smiths of West Virginia, closed his eyes and went to bed.

Krampusnacht is coming, Krampusnacht is here... Gruss Vom Krampus will snatch you up and the darkness will all but cheer...my lads...my dears...

Sang the crooked, goat-shaped shadow in the corner of the room.

Comfort and joy... Comfort and joy... he whispered. Oh tidings of comfort and joy...

Matthew hadn’t noticed him then when he first lit his lantern before going to bed; but he was there—as he was when the boy ran out the room screaming. There was a crack in the window that went unnoticed. He was, in-fact, a patient creature. And waited for the boy to return to do his usual bidding.

Have you been a good boy this year? The shadow asked.

I vacant shape then raised his whip of flaming branches, and came into its physical being. The child gasped as he turned to face the mystical Christmas Devil, and heard its voice clearly within