The Angel Eaters

         Bruce Zeleske walked the street, the dust swirled up once in a while, causing him to squint, at least more than he usually did dud to the high noon sun.
         He walked alone and he walked with a confidence, but a confidence that had taken bullets, and he begins to realize all souls have weak points. He was a runaway. He left home around four days ago, he was hoping to make it to Las Vegas in less than a few hours from leaving home, but some dumbass stole his wallet before he could even walk to the bus station. He managed to pick pocket a few people of some meager morsels of singles and fives, but he was already only a few towns from Vegas, and he figured what would the harm be from walking the dusty sun splattered Nevada Roads, taking in the nature, and he could save his cash now for food and drinks.
         The sign read “Noitarepsed”, odd name for a town, under the name it said, “The little town with a big heart.”
         Cute.
         
         The town was pleasant, it had that Nevada dessert town feel to it, dusty and dry, but it was also the birthplace of Western American dreams, cowboys of yore, and myths like Paul Bunyan or Huck Finn.
         But of course it was also blended with the current American culture, you might expect to see to the corner, a bad cowboy, dressed in black, venom dripping from his eyes, and two pistols drawn and ready to burst in an explosion of sound, dust, and metal firing to reach soft flesh to absolutely tear through. The make mess, to raise hell.
         Instead a slightly overweight, middle aged man turns the corner. No guns, and no venom, especially no spirit to “raise hell”.
         Bruce sat in a booth in a diner. License plates and paintings of the countryside plastered the wall, the bathrooms had cute nicknames for Men and Women, Cowboys and Cowgirls respectively, creative.
         The odd thing this diner lacked that most country theme restaurants had, Rock Memorabilia, like Elvis Presley pictures, or any of the older Rock legends.
         The food was good, as most country theme diners should be. Soup, burger and fries, and to finish it off, an old American classic, the Cherry pie.
         He paid with some of the stolen money he got from his trip, he was down to only about twenty bucks.
         It was good, but he kinda regretted spending that much, but you need to buy milkshakes at these kinds of places, it’s almost like a national law. 
         
         He walked down main street, head phones blaring. The people gave him strange looks, which was understandable, he kinda looked like trouble, ripped jeans, rock music, eyebrow piercing, tattoo, long messy hair. He might as well have been Satan.
         Hot girl.
         Her hair was golden, and her eyes glowed like emeralds, she wore a red blouse, and a jean mini-skirt, her white boots were long. She seemed like a hot country girl, with a country appearance and a attitude that seemed easy to work with.
         After about ten minutes a smooth city oriented talk, he got invited to, Jesse’s,  house for dinner with the family, apparently they owned the barn across the town.
         Her parents were kind folk. Her dad, farmer Benjamin, was a jolly man. He was older, in his late fifties Bruce guessed, and he hired immigrants to work on the farm, unlike most south western farmers, at least the ones portrayed by the media, he was happy to help out these people as they climbed their way to the ever fabled “American Dream.” In fact none of the people he had met in town had acted angry or even frustrated.
         Her mother, Julia, seemed to be a better looking Mother Teresa, she was kind, and was praised around the house as if she were in fact bordering as a saint. She did much work around the estate still, but she seemed much younger than her husband, perhaps around her late thirties.
         Everything was pretty nice, nicer at least then things had been back home, once he settled in Vegas he’d probably come back her every once and awhile, whenever the hustle and bustle of the ultra city that was Vegas seemed a bit overbearing.
         He hadn’t been suspicious of the empty chair, with the plate and glass in front of it as if it were awaiting another diner to this immaculate feast that consisted of the greatest Meatloaf ever. Bruce had assumed that they were in fact waiting for a fifth person, but no one showed up, and during polite conversation between diner and dessert, that was being prepared by the Julia, he asked, “Are we expecting another diner, sir.”
         Benjamin and Jesse looked slightly uneasy, ans there was a slight sadness in the old farmers voice, “Young Gavin. . . Was taken from us and this world to early.”
         Bruce sat back a bit, and wondered how anyone could let ill fortune befall these sweet people.
         “I’m sorry for your loss, at times it seems at times God can be cruel. . .” Bruce said.
         “It wasn’t God’s work. . .” mumbled Jesse.
         “What she means is, we don’t believe in God, Bruce.” Benjamin said.
         “Oh...Well there’s no problem there, I have my doubts as well.” Bruce replied.
         “We’re just happy Gavin has to no longer bare the cruelty of this world.”
         Bruce sat in slight unease, he was slightly surprised that a farmer and his southern family  were atheist, but to talk about how they were glad Gavin was dead and no longer had to bear the worlds hardships, was a little more than odd. He supposed that perhaps he had a dire pain filled sickness, or perhaps he was murdered, that was doubtful, unless they lived somewhere besides here at one point, this town was basically the opposite of violence, but there could have been the chance he was slain by a reckless driver who had the spirit off the south, and the spirit of the bar in him.
         The tension was crumbled by the giant chocolate cake that Julia had brought in at that moment.
         
         It was late evening, Benjamin and Julia were watching the news, and Bruce and Jesse were talking to a few of the immigrants, most were nice people grateful for the generous amount of money they were paid for there labor, but a few seemed a bit anti social and stayed closely knitted together, they were whispering oddly, and often they would look behind themselves to were Bruce stood, he caught a few words, like “Soon”, “Safety”, “Faint Music.” these alone made no sense, and by there looks, together they would still likely make no sense.
         

         The Barn was in fact quite comfortable, and it actually smelled alright. Her parents were fast asleep, and he could feel Jesse drifting to sleep in his arms. He was rethinking his plans to leave for Vegas.
         She mumbled oddly before finally drifting all together, she said things hot like How was it to be with a farmers daughter. She drifted further and told him that she like him, Bruce felt warmed up by this, unlike other times when he had heard this he smiled. She drifted further, and told him about Gavin, how sweet he had been, how caring, how loving to everyone. And she drifted more, she said, “Gavin didn’t deserve to die, killed. . .” She had drifted as far as possible, her last statement made it feel as if an icy breeze passed through him. Her last incoherent statement grew to the mystery, was her brother murdered? Or was he possibly wrongly accused and sentenced to an unfortunate  end. Was he killed in an accident? A cruel dealing of cards by fate? Was he a killer, and his family just couldn’t comprehend that he could have possibly done crime worthy of death?
         Questions left his head, he studied Jesse’s figure, her breathing calmed him, he supposed he like her as well.
         And he drifted.
         
            He dreamt of music, Jesse was singing for her brother, they were at a well in a forest, roses, lied around it, but every other time he checked there location scattered around the well they would be gone. It was oddly creepy, but he smiled for Jesse’s beautiful song.
         Then he heard the lyrics, the words were an unholy mash up of blasphemy and curses, but the oddly beautiful melody clashed with the words.
                   He walked closer to her, hoping to comfort her, But she wasn’t Jesse, he saw her reflection cast by the well’s reddish water.
         It Wasn’t Jesse singing.
               It was the Devil.
         The rose’s were gone for good, and with them everything that comforted Bruce died.
         The sky turned scarlet.
         And His scream was unheard beneath the Hellishness of Satan’s song.


         He awoke to the rush of energy in the barn, his blur of consciousness confused him momentarily, it was early, the sun wasn’t even out yet. The sky was a calm crystal blue, birds chirped singularly, not in groups that buzzed with bird gossip, he guessed the time around 4:00 a.m., but that was probably normal for a farmer.
         He struggled to keep his eyes open long enough to see what was going on, he blinked a few times, and the blur faded, he grasped at sight, and caught it.
         Jesse was being beckoned to move faster by her father, who tugged her to the house. He didn’t seem angry though, as he should have, his daughter obviously had spent a night with Bruce; instead the farmer walked quickly, but cautiously. His voice indicated fear and worry, he was afraid.
         Bruce was left there to stare at the house from the open barn door, they had gone not into the front door, but to the cellar door, it was underground and the hatch was the only part that was visible, he supposed that it would be locked.
         He wearily got up and made his way to the Cellar door, his muscles were sore from sleeping on the hay covered floor of the barn.          
         He knocked on the door, no one answered, not a noise was made.
         He yelled down, “Hello, I um.. Am sorry, that I slept with your daughter without your knowledge, especially after your hospitality..”
         At first he heard nothing, but then he could hear Jesse’s sweet voice, it was slightly shrill with emotion, but still oddly eloquent.
         “But.. He’ll...be...ken...You know at! O n’t ve h o tha ate.” it was hard to make out exactly what she said, but she sounded panicked.
         He didn’t want to leave, but he knew that her parents were overreacting, sure he went behind their backs, but to take Jesse down to where she might be safe, creped him out a little, he meant her no harm, but he realized that perhaps they were calling the local authorities to apprehend him for “raping” their daughter.
         He left, with hopes of seeing her again one day, hopefully soon.

         He was walking down main street once more, but this time he wasn’t entering a town of promise, but leaving in case of arrest.
         The town was peaceful in the early morning, this time was Bruce’s favorite time of the day, but he rarely woke up early enough to experience it.
         It was nice.
         Calm.

         The cries for help coming from the town jail unnerved him. Those from within cried loud, shouting for help, he was weary of the prison, but, the cries that came from it weren’t natural, fear was instilled in the yellers.
         He briefly wondered if the police were torturing the inmates, but that seemed wrong, even by criminal stature, unlikely in a town as calm as this.
         Against his better judgement Bruce ventured to the jail.


         There were no cops inside the jail, but three cells lined the back wall, each cell contained one person, all men. Two of the men appeared to be brothers around there mid-twenties, the last man was older, around fifty or so.
         “Oh Thank God.” Said the brother who had no shirt.
         “Please let us out, The keys are over there hanging on the wall.” Said the other brother, still fully clothed.
         “Why would I let you out, obviously your in jail.” Said Bruce.
         “The Music is getting closer dumbass that’s why.” Shirtless brother spoke.
         “Music..?” replied Bruce.
         “You don’t live around here do you, I haven’t seen you before.” said the other one.
         “No...I just came here yesterday.”
         “Please, just get us out of here, We were just a little rowdy last night, me and my brother here don’t deserve to be slaughtered.” said the shirtless brother.
         “Slaughtered. . .Who would kill you?” Bruce asked.
         Both brothers were about ready to bend the unbreakable bars and run at Bruce to strangle him, but before either could speak the older man who had been quiet before spoke up.
         “You don’t know ‘bout the Angel Eater’s do ya’” He said, his accent was thick to the point of a drawl, and yet he was oddly captivating. He wore a white shirt and deeply colored blue jeans, with a pair of old worn out snake skin boots, and to top it off a large scar, it ran from his left eye down to his neck.
         “Angel Eaters?” Bruce asked, “Some sorta’ band?”
         “Yes. They can be called a band I suppose, it ain’t music you’d ever want t’ hear in your life. They are a gang of sorts, ride around on motorcycles, and you’d think they’d ridden out of hell itself, perhaps cause they had. Thas’ what most folk round here believe, they’re demons. Deadly creatures that ride into town and kill, but they don’t come ‘round much, n’ that’s a blessing, but they do come every few decades or so I’ve heard, I seen them once before, I was round the age of twenty five. And they rolled into town, blasting Rock and Roll, not the sweet kind of rock that people enjoy, this is the sound of Lucifer himself. I remember. Then they leave. I don’t expect you to open my cell, but it’s true the boys over there din’t do harm to anyone, jus’ let them go, give ‘em a fighting chance, and please. Give me that rope over there. I ain’t gonna relive the music.”  Said the snake skin boots man.
         Bruce had nothing to say.
         So he left.

         He began to approach the center of the town when the music became clear, it wasn’t something he had heard before and he thought of what the Snake skin boots man had said, “ And they rolled into town, blasting Rock and Roll, not the sweet kind of rock that people enjoy, this is the sound of Lucifer himself.”
         Bruce listened closely to the music, it was almost dreamlike, but at the same time it filled him with a dread unlike anything he has experienced. This wasn’t the sounds of Lucifer, it was something worse, far more sinister than the devil himself.
         He didn’t stop walking.
         Even as his ears began to trickle blood, and his hair turned white.
         He kept on walking.
         His teeth fell out, one by one, slowly and painfully, the blood in his mouth exceeded that of it coming from his ears.
         He didn’t stop.
         He tasted the blood, and the rips in his gums. He didn’t realize the warm liquid trail he left running from his crotch, down his pants, across the dusty hell of a town.
         He couldn’t stop.
         And then he did.
         They stood in a circle around the town square, at first glance perhaps they were an ordinary biker gang, at a detailed look, you could sense they were demonic.
         Sunglasses were perched on all of there faces. They were black holes, and he shuddered at the thought of what one might see if they peered closely into there eyes.
         The music engulfed him.
         And he thought no one could hear him scream, but they could.
         They turned to him, all at once, like a colony, a swarm.
         He saw her, Jesse, She wasn’t counted among the living anymore, she was scattered among the square, blood mixed with clay and dust. And he could only see the expression of utter terror on her face, that wasn’t quite attached to her head, her beauty cut down.
         Some of the bikers were eating her.
         And her screams from mere minutes ago, mixed with the music, elaborating it, giving the song more flavor of horror.
         Bruce realized his screams were to be part of the song.          
         And his vision went out as they started toward him, his eyes blind until the moment he died, which wouldn’t be to much longer.
         He listened to the song as he began to spill.