Novel Of Followers (Rough Draft)

Days 1-30

THIS IS A ROUGH DRAFT.
THERE WILL BE GRAMMAR ISSUES, TYPOS, PLOT HOLES, AND YES, MANY THINGS WILL CHANGE DRASTICALLY.
I DO NOT RECOMMEND SHARING FIRST/ROUGH DRAFTS TO THE PUBLIC LIKE THIS. I DO THIS SOLELY FOR THE NOVEL OF FOLLOWERS PROJECT.
MY ANXIETY IS PEAKING BECAUSE OF IT SO ENJOY MUAHAHAHA.

The evening drew a curtain of fog over the streets of Tombstone.

Cool air took root and bounced with the soft hum of music from Four Deuces. It wasn't often that the saloon stayed open so late, but the cold snap held people from wandering home. Odd things would happen in Tombstone on nights such as that, where the chill sunk into the bones of the locals. Some blamed the drinking; a bar side stool filled bellies with warmth, and chipped plenty shoulders. Older townsfolk called it a curse. They'd say that only on nights such as that did the resting spirits come out to dance.

No spirit danced that night. A band played music for the living, locals and tourists alike, though few of the latter made it to that place.

"Four Deuces, the hidden gem of Tombstone!" Gainsborough would chant as he served drinks. "Never has there been a better spot to wet your dry throat, and never has there been a better barkeep!"

A musty place, even in the finest of weather, the saloon's interior gave the impression that it had gathered dust on its decor for a hundred years.

"We've actually been open for a hundred and thirty six years." Gainsborough would tell to first timers. "That buck on the wall there? That's Igor. My great-great-grandaddy mounted him in eighteen eighty seven, just a year after he opened this place."

Dust collected in a thick sheet over Igor's rack. Each time the saloon doors swung open and rocked the wall of the room, ancient dust trickled down and landed on framed newspapers, photos of old miners and cowboys, McQuade, the taxidermy duck that guarded the door, and eventually, the floor, where it would go unswept for many days.

April sat at the bar, listening to Gainsborough go on about the place's history with a particularly rowdy crew of tourists. College kids. She had picked them out as a spring-break detour before she confirmed the hypothesis through eavesdropping.

"I like you, grandpa, you're a riot." The man said, his words slurred by a long night of drinking. "See, I told ya Tombstone would be fun!"

"We're a lot more than fun," Gainsborough said. "Tombstone's got magic, you see? A town don't get to be this old n' not have a bit of magic to it. What's your name, kid?"

"Magnus."

"This town here is a mixing of times, you see? Come in close and I'll tell ya. Igor there, he watches over the passing of it, watches over all of us going about our lives in the soil. But he's been watching us before we were here too, and after. All sorts of time passes in Tombstone, but its still the present. Always. See?"

April let out a sharp laugh from the end of the bar.

"Gainsborough," she said, "You've had about enough tonight, I think. It ain't good to let tourists think our bartenders drink themselves rotten by the end of the night."

The ring leader of the crew, Magnus, turned to her with eyes that squinted through too many shots. He watched her a moment.

"I was thinking you weren't gonna talk at all, miss." Magnus used the bar to guide a few drunken steps toward the stool next to April. "You mind if I buy you a drink?"

"Only if you stand over there while I drink it." April said.

"Understood. Igor, if you see me get closer than 10 steps to this woman, Miss, uh?"