Phantom Lawman Ethan Campbell Phantom Lawman A Reckoning Approaches Ethan Campbell An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book Phantom Lawman Phantom Lawman Ethan Campbell Ethan Campbell An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Phantom Lawman T he storm howled through the town , rattling window shutters and bending trees to their breaking point. Inside the dimly lit police station, Chief Karl Bergson lounged in his oversized chair, feet propped on the desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey beside him. The single lightbulb overhead flickered, casting shifting shadows on the walls. The town had always been quiet, nestled by a small lake and surrounded by dense woods, but Karl had made it his quiet. Years of unchecked authority had transformed him from a diligent lawman into a ty- rant. “Unpleasant attitude, huh?” Karl muttered, flip- ping through a pile of handwritten tickets on his desk. “That oughta teach old Mr. Harrington to keep his mouth shut.” Ethan Campbell Harrington, the town’s only grocer, had questioned Karl earlier that day about the indefinitely closed bridge. “The supplies are running low,” Harrington had protested. “People need food, Karl. Medicines, too.” Karl’s response was swift and brutal. “You want supplies? Get on a boat and swim across the damn lake.” He slapped the man with a fine for insubor- dination and threatened to confiscate his store if he persisted. Now, as thunder rumbled in the distance, Karl chuckled. “Insubordination,” he muttered, savoring the word. Suddenly, the phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the storm’s roar. “Bergson,” Karl barked into the receiver. “Chief, this is Maggie at the diner,” came a nervous voice. “We’ve got folks here saying the bridge isn’t just damaged. It’s gone. Washed away in the storm. You gotta...” Karl slammed the receiver down before she could finish. “Damn rumors,” he muttered, pouring him- self another glass of whiskey. He didn’t need anyone questioning his authority tonight. Phantom Lawman Hours later, Karl left the station and trudged through the rain-soaked streets. His boots splashed in puddles as he made his way to the grocer’s store. He wanted to make sure Harrington hadn’t reopened without his permission. The town was eerily quiet, save for the occasion- al clap of thunder. Most people had long retreated indoors, obeying Karl’s imposed curfew. The wood- en bridge was their only connection to the outside world, and with it closed, the town was entirely at his mercy. At the store, Karl found the lights off and the door locked. Satisfied, he turned back toward the station, but a sudden movement caught his eye. Across the street, a shadow flitted by a second-story window of the abandoned hotel. “Who’s there?” Karl called, gripping the revolver at his hip. Silence. His heart pounded as he crossed the street, boots crunching on wet gravel. Inside the hotel, a faint light glowed in one of the rooms. Karl pushed the creak- ing door open and stepped inside, his hand hovering over his gun. Ethan Campbell “Whoever’s here, you’re violating curfew,” he growled. “Show yourself!” As he climbed the stairs, the faint glow vanished. When he reached the room, it was empty—save for a single item on the dusty bedspread: a leather-bound ledger. Its cover was cracked and worn, the edges darkened with age. “What the hell is this?” Karl muttered, picking it up. Opening the ledger, he found a page filled with crimson ink. It listed dates, locations, and names— each entry describing one of his recent transgres- sions. - July 10th, Harrington Grocer, Fine for Unpleas- ant Attitude: $50 - August 3rd, Town Square, Arrest of Mrs. Clover for Speaking Out Against the Curfew - August 12th, Bridge Closure, Justified with False Report of Structural Weakness At the bottom of the page was a chilling message: “Justice rides again.” Karl’s breath hitched. He slammed the book shut and turned to leave, but as he did, the lights in the Phantom Lawman hallway flickered. A shadowy figure stood at the end of the corridor, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and gleaming badge. “Who are you?” Karl shouted, drawing his gun. The figure didn’t respond. Instead, it pointed to- ward Karl with an outstretched hand. The lights flickered again, and the shadow vanished. Back at the station, Karl paced nervously. He’d checked every lock and window twice. He wasn’t a man easily rattled, but something about that figure, something about that ledger, felt otherworldly. The flickering lightbulb overhead buzzed louder. The air grew cold. Karl turned toward his desk and froze. The ledger, which he’d left in the hotel, now sat in the center of his desk. The page had turned. - August 15th, Karl’s Arrest Warrant, Pending Ex- ecution A gust of wind blew through the room, scattering papers. Karl spun around, gun in hand, just as the lightbulb shattered above him, plunging the room into darkness. Ethan Campbell “You think you’re the law?” a deep, disembodied voice echoed through the station. Karl fired blindly into the darkness, the muzzle flashes illuminating the room in brief bursts. But there was nothing there. The voice came again, closer this time: “Justice isn’t yours to twist, Bergson.” Panicked, Karl ran out into the storm. Rain lashed against his face as he scanned the streets for any sign of the figure. In the distance, lightning illuminated the cemetery. For a split second, he thought he saw the shadowy figure standing among the graves, star- ing back at him. Karl gritted his teeth and bolted back into the sta- tion, slamming the door behind him. He sank into his chair, trembling. For the first time in years, Karl Bergson felt pow- erless. **** The storm from the previous night had left the town soaked, with muddy roads and puddles form- ing treacherous traps along the streets. Chief Karl Phantom Lawman Bergson was not in a good mood as he stomped to- ward the diner, his coat pulled tight against the chill in the air. Inside, the usual crowd of farmers and shopkeep- ers had gathered for breakfast, their conversations dropping to a murmur as Karl entered. The smell of burnt toast and bacon filled the room, but it did little to improve his mood. Karl slammed his hand on the counter. “Maggie,” he barked. “Coffee. Black.” Maggie hurried to comply, her hands trembling slightly. She avoided meeting his gaze as she set the cup down in front of him. “Anything strange happen last night?” Karl asked, glancing around the room. The crowd exchanged wary looks, but no one spoke. “Come on,” Karl snapped. “I know you people hear things. Strange noises? Unusual visitors?” His voice dropped into a threatening growl. “Pranks?” Finally, Old Man Harrington, seated near the win- dow, cleared his throat. “Folks have been hearing Ethan Campbell things near the cemetery,” he said. “Strange noises. Whispers.” “Whispers?” Karl scoffed. “You’re all losing your damn minds.” He drained his coffee in one gulp and slammed the cup on the counter. “I don’t have time for ghost stories.” That night, Karl sat in his office, reviewing a map of the lake area. His desk lamp cast a pool of light, leaving the corners of the room in shadow. The led- ger from the night before sat untouched at the edge of the desk. He’d shoved it there earlier, unwilling to open it again. The phone rang, sharp and sudden. “Bergson,” he answered, irritation creeping into his tone. “Chief!” came the frantic voice of Tom, the town’s fisherman. “You gotta get to the lake! Someone’s drowning out here!” Karl bolted upright. “Stay there. I’m on my way.” He grabbed his coat and revolver, his heart pound- ing as he raced out into the night. Phantom Lawman The lake was eerily still when Karl arrived, its sur- face reflecting the moonlight like polished glass. Tom stood on the shore, his flashlight beam trembling as it swept across the water. “Where is he?” Karl demanded. Tom pointed a shaky finger toward the center of the lake. “There! Do you see him?” Karl squinted. At first, he saw nothing but the calm expanse of water. Then, a figure materialized, stand- ing impossibly atop the surface. The figure was tall, dressed in an old-fashioned uniform, with a badge glinting faintly in the moonlight. “Who the hell...?” Karl muttered, stepping closer. The figure raised an arm, pointing directly at Karl. Its voice echoed across the water, deep and com- manding. “Karl Bergson. Your justice is a mockery. Your laws are a disgrace to this town.” Karl’s hand went to his revolver. “Who are you to judge me?” he shouted. “I am Heinrich,” the figure declared. “First guard- Ethan Campbell ian of this town’s law. You have twisted what was meant to protect the people into a tool of tyranny.” Karl didn’t wait to hear more. He drew his gun and fired. The crack of the shot echoed across the lake, but the bullet passed harmlessly through the specter, sending up a small splash in the water behind it. “Your weapons are useless against truth,” Heinrich said. His voice grew louder, shaking the air. “You have one chance to repent. Return justice to this town, or face the consequences.” Karl fired again, and again, but each shot did noth- ing. The figure began to fade, its final words hanging in the air. “Repent, Karl. Before it’s too late.” The lake returned to its eerie stillness. The next morning, Karl strode into the station, his head pounding from lack of sleep. He dropped into his chair, muttering to himself. “Some damn prank. Heinrich? What kind of fool thinks I’ll believe that?” His grumbling stopped as he glanced out the win- dow. His patrol car, parked across the street, looked... off. He stepped outside to get a better look. Phantom Lawman The windshield was covered in scratches, but as he got closer, he realized they weren’t random. Etched deeply into the glass were the words: YOUR JUS- TICE IS COUNTERFEIT. Karl’s fists clenched. “Who did this?” he roared, his voice echoing down the empty street. The townsfolk peered out from behind curtains, their faces pale with fear and curiosity. Inside the station, Karl slammed the door shut behind him. He yanked the ledger off his desk and flipped it open, determined to find some clue about the pranksters responsible. The page had changed again. - August 16th: A Reckoning Approaches. The words glowed faintly, as if written with fire. Karl slammed the book shut and threw it across the room. “Reckoning, my ass,” he growled. “Let them try.” But deep down, for the first time, Karl felt some- thing he hadn’t in years. Fear. Ethan Campbell **** The town of Willow Lake woke to a strange sight on a crisp Tuesday morning. The wooden bridge, once sagging and splintered, now gleamed as if freshly rebuilt, its beams solid and smooth. Yet no one had seen or heard any workers. Chief Karl Bergson, standing by his patrol car with a thermos of coffee, stared at the bridge in stunned silence. He ran his hand over the wood. It was damp, like it had been worked on recently, but there were no footprints in the soft earth by the shore. “Damn pranksters,” he muttered. “Think they’re clever, don’t they?” But his gut told him it was something more. Back at the station, Karl stormed into his office, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass. He marched to the safe, determined to check the fines he’d collected. Money was his measure of con- trol, his assurance that he ruled this town. Twisting the combination lock, he yanked the door open. His jaw dropped. The safe was empty. Phantom Lawman “No... no, no, no!” He tore through the few ledgers inside, shaking them as if the money might fall out. Panic crept into his voice. “Where the hell is it?” The radio on his desk crackled to life. “Chief... you there?” Maggie’s nervous voice filtered through the static. He grabbed the receiver. “What now?” “You, uh... might want to come to the church,” she said. Karl’s patrol car screeched to a halt outside the church. A crowd had gathered on the steps, murmur- ing in confusion. As Karl shoved his way through, he saw what had drawn their attention: piles of cash scat- tered across the stone steps, fluttering in the breeze. “What is this?” he barked, glaring at the townsfolk. “No idea, Chief,” said Old Man Harrington, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “It was just here when we woke up.” Karl’s face flushed. He recognized the money in- stantly, his money. “Everyone, back off!” he shouted, shoving people Ethan Campbell aside as he gathered the bills into a messy pile. “This is official police business!” The crowd began to whisper. “Official police busi- ness” had become Karl’s catchphrase for covering up his schemes, and they weren’t buying it anymore. As he stuffed the cash into a bag, a note fluttered out. It landed at Maggie’s feet. She picked it up, read- ing aloud before Karl could grab it. “To the good people of Willow Lake: Take back what’s yours. Justice is coming.” The crowd erupted into murmurs, some nodding in agreement. Karl snatched the note and tore it into pieces. “Get back to your homes!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Now!” The townsfolk hesitated, then slowly began to disperse, throwing Karl wary glances as they left. That night, Karl paced his office, the bag of cash sitting on his desk. The town was turning against him. He could feel it in their stares, hear it in their whispers. And that damn ghost... Phantom Lawman He shook his head, pouring himself a glass of whis- key. “It’s just fear getting to me,” he muttered. But as the whiskey burned his throat, the lights in the office flickered. Karl froze, his grip tightening on the glass. The radio crackled to life again, though he hadn’t touched it. A voice, deep and resonant, filled the room. “Karl Bergson. Your time is running out.” The glass slipped from Karl’s hand, shattering on the floor. “Show yourself!” he roared, spinning around. His office door slammed shut on its own. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, stretching toward him. “Face me, you coward!” he shouted, drawing his revolver. The voice chuckled, low and menacing. “You think your gun can save you?” Suddenly, the room fell silent. Then, the ledger on Karl’s desk flew open, its pages flipping wildly. When it stopped, Karl saw a new entry, glowing faintly in the dim light. Ethan Campbell - August 17th: Justice Denied Shall Be Justice De- livered. A cold wind swept through the room, extinguish- ing the desk lamp. Karl stumbled backward, crashing into a filing cabinet. “Leave me alone!” he yelled, firing his revolver at the shadows. The gunshots echoed, but the darkness swallowed the sound. When the lights flickered back on, the room was empty. The only sound was Karl’s ragged breathing. Meanwhile, across town, the people of Willow Lake gathered in the basement of the general store. The room buzzed with nervous energy as Maggie ad- dressed the group. “We’ve all seen what’s been happening,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “The ghost, whoev- er it is, is trying to help us. It’s giving us a chance to take back our town.” “And what do we do if Karl finds out we’re meet- ing?” someone asked. Maggie straightened. “Then we stand together. He’s only one man. We’re a town.”