This story, about a sideshow of the undead in the wild west, has always been one of my favorites. I thought I’d lost it back when I accidentally deleted most of my stories a year ago.   Just found it this morning, and I was so excited it still exists, I thought I’d share the beginning:

The last town Ol’ Doc Cadaver’s Living Dead Traveling Museum performed at was miles back, but the loss of money still ate at Obediah. As soon as the town of Sanguine as soon as a town appeared on the horizon, Obediah Cadaver gave a whistle to the mules and the brought the chain of carts to a shuddering stop. He was gonna make damn sure his performers stayed in line this time. Not another Tombstone, not on his watch.

Obediah was a squat man, so it took some time for him to get from to the driver’s seat at the head cart to the ground. But once he touched dust, he gathered himself up in the manner and bearing of much larger man. “Y’all listen up and listen square. The family, they ain’t got sense no more” Obediah said, motioning to the three skeletal figures hunched in the corner of the last cart. “I don’t ask much of them. But what’s you two’s excuse? Ol’ Doc Cadaver’s Living Dead Traveling Museum is a show, gawdammit! It’s a gawdamn show. Is it too much to ask ya’ to crack a smile? I know for a stone fact it ain’t gonna kill ya!”

The hulk in the first cart shook his massive wrists, causing the thick chain that bound them to clank against the iron bars that made up the cart’s side. His mismatched eyes pierced through the shadow of the cart, glowing coals in the dust and darkness.

“Ah, hell no!” Obediah spat brown tobacco slime into the dust. “Not after that stunt’n Tombstone! Made me look like a damn jackass! You think for one heartbeat I’m gonna give ya a chance to pull that shit again? Hell no! Chains stay on, you hear me? The chains stay on and you’re gonna like it! ” Obediah punctuated this last remark with another ejaculation of tobacco spit, hitting the figure crouching in the cart square in the forehead. He didn’t flinch at the impact, not even when the muddy ichor dripped down his scarred and stitched brow and seeped into his left eye.

Obediah kicked the dirt nervously in front of him. “Look, Big Fella. I’ll tell you true: you give these folk a show to remember, an’ we’ll see ’bout given you some roamin’ space once we’re outta sight? Howdja like that?”

“Ooooo…do I get a piece of a that?” said the woman in the second cart, her voice unspooling like smoke. Dusty velvet curtains rustled against the cart’s silver-plated bars, as the woman inside moved unseen. “I could use some roaming space.”

“You’re lucky you get space at all. Iffin your good, I’ll feed ya to night. How’s that for a deal?” Obediah waddled over to the last cart, running his scabby hand over the velvet curtains and silver bars has he passed them. At the third cart, Obediah removed his hat, scratched at the little hair he had left. He regarded the three smelly figures behind the tooth-gnawed bars. “What ’bout you three? Gots anything you wanna say?”

“Rrrraaaarrrrrr….” came a high-pitched wail from the little one.

“I thought s’much,” Obediah said as he adjusted his hat, and went to the business of clamoring back to the driver’s seat. There were easier ways to make a living than a freak show of the undead, Obediah knew that. But few were more profitable. And he could smell the money coming from the town of Sanguine, still miles up ahead.