Feather

A man walked through an open doorway, into the giant church. He walked down the isle, past rows of pews. The church was empty aside from a preacher who sat in the front. The man wore dirty and worn clothes, but his white leather cowboy's hat was clean as a whistle.

The cowboy sat down across from the preacher on the pew opposite of him. The cowboy rested on the seat, his arms at his side, palm facing the ceiling. The cowboy closed his eyes and looked up, his hat nearly slipping off the top of his head.

The preacher looked the cowboy's way, turning his attention away from the book he was reading. He slammed the book shut and placed it in the corner of the pew. The preacher arose and tidied his white robe, and he slowly approached the cowboy.

The cowboy opened his eyes and looked at the preacher. The preacher gave a slight smile and sat next to him.

(Preacher): What seems to be the problem mister?

The cowboy exhaled weakly, thinking out his words carefully, but those words never left the seal of his lips. There were too many problems to speak of, but too little time to list them all out.

(Preacher): Excuse me mister, did you hear me?

(Cowboy): I did.

The cowboy leaned forward in his seat, holding himself up with his arms on his legs. He took his hat off and clutched it tightly in his hand.

(Cowboy): I've done some bad thing sir.

The cowboy spoke with respect, and sorrow. The preacher could see the empathy in his eyes, eyes that refused to even look up into his own, or even up at all.

(Cowboy): I've been mixed up in quite the plight.

(Preacher): Plight? How so?

The cowboy shifted in his seat uncomfortably, obviously looking back upon the things he had done shamefully. Whether those things he did were done of his own accord or by pure accident, or even in defense of himself or someone else was unsure, but someone or something was hurt, taken away, or killed.

(Cowboy): I ain't sure how to put it.

(Preacher): Boy, I've heard stories of massacres, tragedies, and many more. Heck, half of them come from this here book.

The preacher reached behind where the cowboy sat and pulled out a bible. He blew the dust off it's leathery cover, wiping off the rest and place it back in it's rightful spot.

The cowboy felt slightly better after his concise speech, but still felt uncomfortable stating his sins, sins too great to be undone, actions so horrible that forgiveness is out of the picture. The preacher could see this too.

(Preacher): Anyway, the point is that you can trust me. I'm real good at keeping a secret.

The cowboy scratched the hairs on his chin. After a moment he began to speak.

(Cowboy): I was down south 'bout a month ago. A couple outlaws crossed me. I don't even remember what they did now, but I remember my anger. I was burnin' up I was so angry. So I took my piece, shot 'em, and strung 'em up to a tree.

(Preacher): So you feel sorry for having done that?

(Cowboy): At the time no, but now I do. But it ain't because of any damn 'realization,' or 'enlightenment.' That's all nonsense, but I seen somethin', somethin' that shook me up.

The preacher raised an eyebrow curiously.

(Preacher): What did you see, if you don't mind me askin'.

The cowboy looked around, searching for prying eyes, eavesdroppers listening in to what they were saying. He did not not because what he was about to say was some sort of classified information, but he worried what he was going to say would sound so insane he'd look like a crazy man. Maybe he is, but the cowboy knew what he saw.

After looking around for a second, he looked at the preacher.

(Cowboy): I saw 'him.'

The preacher was even more confused now. The cowboy stated this as if he was supposed to know who 'him' is.

(Preacher): Who do you speak of, partner?

(Cowboy): I won't speak his name, but he knows my name, yours, I'm willing to bet he'd know everyone's name. I saw him! He called to me, hollerin' my name through the fog of night. He came real close to me too, we was practically face to face. His mouth was expressive, always moving, changing expressions, but his eyes were emotionless. There was no thought or feeling behind those soulless eyes. If I'm gonna be honest, he scared me. He was charming, spoke with conviction, and he felt important in a strange way. He had a soothing voice, deep, but calm, however something about him was off. His eyes, the way he fiddled with his hands as he spoke, or how he always seemed to be coercing me into doing something I'd regret.

The preacher listened closely. The more he listened, the more he felt what the cowboy was feeling. The cowboy spoke with such detail that the preacher could practically see the man, or at least clearly imagine what he'd look like. The preacher is not one to be disturbed by a story such as this one, but this was the one exception.

(Cowboy): I'd like to think he was just random crazy drifter, but he wasn't. He was too unique to be just some random wacko tellin' me that killin' them outlaws over petty insults was the right thing to do.

(Preacher): And why have you come to me about this? Is there something you feel I could do?

(Cowboy): You've read about this guy before haven't you? Massacres, tragedy… you've read it all.

The cowboy reached behind his seat and grabbed the Bible as the preacher had done once before. The preacher didn't know what to make of this. He had seen a creepy drifter, thought him to be something from the Bible, and became entangled in a 'plight.' The preacher couldn't quite complete this puzzle in his head.

The cowboy suddenly stood up from the pew. He reached his hand out to the preacher, shaking his hand. Throughout this final interaction, the cowboy had his eyes fixed on something behind the preacher.

(Cowboy): Thank you sir, but I must be going now.

The cowboy walked down the isle, past all the pews. The preacher got up from his seat and watched as the cowboy walk away. The preacher saw something and the open doorway at the entrance. He squinted and saw a man dressed in fine black clothing. As the cowboy walked past him, he pat him on the back, and he left the building, but the strange person remained, and looked at the preacher.

The man brought his hand up to his ear, and he pulled a white object, seemingly out from thin air. The man dropped it, and it slowly made its way to the floor. The man then turned and left the church.

The preacher ran to the entrance and looked outside for the two men, but they were nowhere to be seen. He turned and looked at the floor. He saw the white object the man had dropped. He picked it up. It was a feather. A bright glowing white feather. The fear that the cowboy had built up in him had all gone away as his eyes met the feather. It was the darndest thing. Whoever the cowboy was with now, he was safe with them, the preacher could feel it. But feelings are deceitful, and the preacher knew it. At the very least, he hoped the cowboy was doing just fine.

Written by: HorrorsUnknown