Deadman's Crossing by Joe R. Lansdale

again. An arm, a hairy arm with what looked like hooks on it snapped through the window and caught the drummer in the face, peeled him from his left ear to the side of his lip. I remember seeing his teeth exposed through a gap in his jaw. Then the hairy hooked hand had him by the throat. The drummer fought, slamming the derringer into the thing’s face, pounding on its hands with the butt of the gun. He was snatched through the window in a spray of blood.
    “I didn’t know nothing but to grab up my umbrella. It’s all I had. Then the face was there again, tugging at the door, about to pull it off, I figured, so I jumped forward and stabbed out with the tip of the umbrella and got the thing in the eye. It let out a horrible howl, moved away. But two more ugly hairy faces took its place. Yellow eyes glowing, and all those teeth, dripping spit. I’m not brave, but fear drove me to jump at them and stab into them, and I got one of them, and it, he, whatever it was, jumped back and went away.
    “I don’t think I scared them, I just think they sort of, well, got bored or something. Or more likely...full. Cause I could hear them prowling around and around the stage, and I could hear other things, snapping sounds, gnawing sounds, a kind of excitement that sounded like miners at a free lunch.
    “They climbed up on the stage and looked in the window a few times, and I struck at one of them, missed. The thing almost swatted me with that hairy arm, those big claws, then there was pink light through the window, and it went silent outside. I considered coming out, but couldn’t. I was too frightened. I was exhausted too. More than I realized. I dreamed I was awake. I had no idea I had fallen asleep until you came. Good thing I dropped my umbrella while I slept, otherwise you would have found it in your ribs, your eye, someplace.”
    Jebidiah picked up the umbrella and looked at it. It was ragged and broken in spots, tipped with wood. He touched it with his fingers. Oak. He gave it to her. “The tip is sharp,” he said.
    “I broke it off some time ago. Never did get another.”
    “Good thing,” Jebidiah said. “The broken tip made a good weapon.”
    Mary looked at the window. “It’s growing dark. We need to leave this town.”
    Jebidiah shook his head. “No. I have to be here. But you should leave. I’ll even give you my horse to do it.”
    “I don’t know why you have to stay, that’s your business, but I won’t lie. I’m ready to go. And I’ll tell you, I was just lucky. I think the daylight ran them. Had it been earlier in the night, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be some turd, digested and dropped on a hill somewhere, maybe drawing flies in an alley. I’ll take you up on that horse, mister. But I’d like to do it now. And I’m telling you, you damn sure don’t need to be here afoot. Or on horseback, or in a stage, or no kind of way. You need to ride on out with me.”
    “I’ll leave when my job is done.”
    “What job?”
    “His job...God.”
    “You some kind of preacher?”
    “Some kind.”
    “Well, sir, that’s your business if you say so. I don’t pray to God much. He ain’t never answered any of my prayers.”
    “I don’t know that he’s answered anyone’s,” Jebidiah said.
    Darkness was edging into the street when Jebidiah and Mary left the hotel, began to walk briskly toward the barn. The oppressive humidity was gone, and now there was a chill in the air. By the time they reached the livery and Jebidiah had saddled his horse, the night had slipped in smooth and solid.
    Outside the livery, leading the horse, Jebidiah looked toward the woods that lay beyond the town, saw that they were holding thick shadows between leaves and limbs.
    “I’m not going anywhere,” Mary said. “I’ve waited too long. Bad enough it’s dark, but me out there without anyone to help, damn if I will. I’d rather stay here till morning. Provided I’m here in the morning.”
    “You are probably