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Unknown Soldier · (02-20-2013)

...The Diary of Arthur "Ace" McCoy...

August 25, 1879 -- Somewhere on the western border of Minnesota.

Before I can make my first entry into this diary, I must first address the audience to whom may be reading it, especially if it may fall in the wrong hands.

My name is Arthur "Ace" McCoy and I would like to state to any law enforcement official that may come in contact with this piece of writing to know that this is not an admission of guilt, but rather an outline of a man who may have witnessed the crimes through the eyes of a third party I would like to go on record as someone who was not directly involved in the actual partaking of the crimes.

and now the story begins...

He was already starting to become insidiously famous throughout the entire country. It was roughly three or four years ago when he was barely a rumor among the local gossipers of the American Midwestern frontier. I was riding next to him on horse back earlier today and couldn't help but find myself becoming slightly aroused by his mere prescience. I wasn't interested sexually in his appearance, nor would I ever consider coitus with a male partner. I did; however, admire him a great deal and considered him a master of our creed. In order to become famous at doing what we did for a living, meant that he must have overcome some severe obstacles and extensive persecution from the outside world. The world that existed beyond our circle of trust.

One of the first pledges to the doctrine of our gang, implores that any spoken word within earshot of someone not sworn in by oath, is subject to a slow and painful death. I'm not talking about a simple military execution style shot to head. Nothing at all like a line 'em up and shoot 'em up scenario death. I'm talking about something similar to how the native's of these lands reciprocate punishment through the scalping and beheading of their opposition. The natives were keen on doing this in order to display dominance and set examples. Instead of trying to destroy these wretched Sioux tribal creatures, our American military should learn from them as we have..

Maybe then they could catch us...

I shouldn't really say 'us', I mean, I have been a part of this profession for years, acting alone, before I realized how foolish that was and got caught. As far as my standings on the totem pole were concerned within the framework of the gang, I'm the newest edition to the regular squad who initially laid claim to all the fame. However; getting caught led me to where I stand with them today. My crimes cost me five years of my life in Huntsville, Texas at the state penitentiary. The time spent locked away from the outside world I used more to perfect my skills rather than repent for my criminal behavior. In fact, it it weren't for my incarceration I would never have come in contact with Jim Younger and his gang, and learned to perfect the craft of becoming the best horse thieves and bank robbers in the continental United States of America.

Jesse James was not a towering man as far as height was concerned, but his posture did let everyone know he stood out from the rest. He was the forceful leader and the man we all looked up to as our own personal 'general.' When you look at the man, you initially think you've met an upstanding citizen with a neat trimmed beard and slicked back hair to match his witty and charming attitude. The cockiness and confidence in himself has increased over time, or so I'm told. After hours of traveling our gang would frequently retire early for the night to celebrate our recent takings by losing our minds in a gallon of whiskey. It was within the drunken stupor of my companions that eventually led them to admit to me that Jesse James was once a shy and abstruse young male. In fact, it was through the ramblings of a drunken Cole Younger, Jim's younger brother, that eventually led to the creation of this diary on this evening in late August.

You see, Cole and myself were awake far later than the rest of the group last night. The adrenaline and rush of testosterone would still run livid through the blood in my veins after every successful robbery. That particular night I believe the gang held up a stagecoach carrying gold plated coins on route for delivery to a location I will not discuss in this diary. Like I stated previously, I was the newborn of the group and most the others had probably grown more custom to the 'rush effect' and it may have slightly worn away over time.

I began to regain control of my hormones and focus shortly after Cole enthralled my mind into a conversation that intrigued me immensely. As much as Jesse James may have hated for anyone to know about his shy and demure past, he certainly never wanted this little 'secret' to get out, and now I had Cole drunk enough to spill the beans...

I kept feeding Cole whiskey as the story unfolded in front of me to help persuade him to continue speaking. It almost seemed like the closer he got to the punchline of the story, the more he was getting apprehensive to reveal the final gist of what started with Cole saying... "You ever hear of the The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus?" Initially I had no concept of this story, until he revealed to me it was the infamous "Faust Legend." For those of you still not following me, it is a play written in 1604 about a Dr. who fell temptation to the devil by selling him his soul. Dr. Faust lusted for power and knowledge, when all the devil wanted in return was possession of his soul. Cole then proceeded to tell me about the day that Jesse returned to the gang, wearing the ancient evil artifact that solidified this same exact bond.

The thought of some artifact from the past containing a bunch of religious demonic powers was absurd. I laughed hysterically at first after the comment, until I saw a distraught and upset look appear upon his face . I could tell that he became entranced in our conversation and anxious to set me straight in his way of thinking. He may of felt I challenged his intelligence or something, either way it kept him talking and that's all I cared about at that moment. The monotonous and inebriated swaying of his body stopped and the glazed look of a silly drunk came off his face. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me down into a seat next to him on top of a log. There we sat in front of the fire that was beginning to die out, from lack of the pair feeding it kindling and bits of wood. Cole used the last flicker of flames to shadow his lips and the rest of their conversation from the sleeping crowd on the other side of the floating embers of the dieing flames.

"How else does a criminal become a celebrity for doing what he does. How you reckon' that happens, huh Ace?"

After Cole said that I immediately realized that he was right. How does a criminal who commits murder, rape, and robbery become popular among the world? One would normally think that a villain, such as James, and the rest of us were.... how do I say it, 'immoral' perhaps? Yet somehow, the citizens stood behind James like he was some kind of modern day 'Robin Hood.' None the less, the statement my fellow thief had made to me abruptly caused my brain to draw conclusions about the situation that I began to envision in front of me. That was when I realized I had no other alternative but to finally come out and ask Cole the question that was hovering off the tip of my tongue throughout most of his story...

"What exactly is this ancient evil artifact?"

It's almost as if he knew he was too deeply involved in telling this secret and assumed that revealing it must have been his only option at this point. He came this far already, there was certainly no turning back now. Cole swiftly brought me to my feet without saying anything and hastily forced me to tip toe in the direction of where Jesse James was soundly sleeping. He must have assumed correctly that James was sleeping heavily after getting intoxicated with the clan earlier that evening. It was easy to roll him over without alarming him and causing him to awaken, and sure enough, draped around his neck and resting between three unbuttoned holes in his shirt, was precisely what Cole was talking about.

There it was now, staring me back in my eyes. A silver chained necklace, with an inverted pentagram medallion clasped between one of the loops in the silver chains. When I looked at it, I felt as if something was looking back at me. Staring past my physical prescience and searching for a way to latch itself to my soul inside of my body. It forced me to look away, even though I didn't want to... Although my eyes were burning and my physical body ached. I somehow still yearned to keep my eyes glaring into it's alluring trap.

I can honestly say I felt a prescience of evil course through my inner body and into my soul for a brief moment on that night. Mentally I felt drawn to it, but I must have physically turned away in time to avoid what I had already prepared my mind to see. I can thank Cole for that. Without him giving me the precautionary details I may have been sucked in by it's trance.

The reason I started this journal, is in hopes that it will help me maintain my sanity after the voices started to develop inside my head.

August 28, 1879
Somewhere in the Dakota territories:

Although this is only my second journal entry, it will most certainly be my last. I can now confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, that something evil is following our pack of thieves and has been talking to me in my dreams. I think it knows that I know that it exists. It may be testing or targeting me as the days move forward, there is no assurances I have of anything anymore. The reason this will be my last entry is because I have decided to succumb to the temptations that are willing me to commit sin. To adhere to the voices inside my head.

I must implore whoever may be reading this to forgive me for my sins, for I do not seek glory in the temptation, bur rather to appease it from torturing my mind and sanity any longer. The following notion, coupled with the recent shootout with the law on our last escapade, has caused me to realize the power that actually rests inside that artifact. Jesse James jumped that gulch and got away from the pursuing lawmen, and the only way he could make that leap was with some sort of influence from a realm outside our own reality. Cole Younger was right this whole time and I should have never second guessed him. The chase and subsequent capture of a majority of our gang, after Mr. James got away, has caused for an unspoken split for those of us who managed to escape as well.

My goals in life have now changed, as I watched Jesse James defy gravity and pull off the unimaginable.

I now have shifted my focus in life on hunting down Jesse James. The voices entice me to follow, so that I can claim the powerful relic as my own....

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THE DEVIL'S GULCH

[Image: dscn5601.jpg]

The following scene takes place exactly three years ago to this day, in Garretson, South Dakota:

The scene opens up to a wet and cloudy day in southeastern South Dakota. Palisades State Park is the name of the place appearing before your own eyes, as you slowly trudge through the wet grasslands following the tour guide. The dew of the recent rainfall rubs off against your shoes and leaves a cool and damp feeling on the inside of your socks. Longer pants would have been a more suitable choice on a day like today, but you always find something in your wardrobe to show off your legs.

The rock and cliff formations glow off the reflection of the sun, causing a rainbow that has a distinctive shade that appears to cause a more light red hue to all the other colors existing inside that rainbow. The extra splash of red is actually being caused by the pink quartzite refracting the light twice. The formation of these rocks, known as pink quartzite, are over 1.2 billion years old and are massively impressive with some as tall as 50 feet hanging over the river. The tour guide comes to a stop before we come to a gulch that you immediatly recognize to be the infamous 'Devil's Gulch.'

The adult male leading the group was a hair under 6 feet tall, with a balding hair cut and significant amounts of freckles and acne protruding from his skin. With hiking books wrapped up close to his knees and a sagging pair of man tits flopping beneath his double chin... He almost looked like a full blown dyke, and maybe it was just really a woman with an incredibly low voice? But that's neither here nor there at this point, as you become more interested in the speech she/he is about to give to the rest of the group. You wait anxiously to hear the history of this beloved landmark and historical tall tale of Jesse James and the 'Devil's Gulch.' History and it's significance of it's relevance to society has always been your passion in life.

Tour Guide: "Welcome folks, to the highlight of the afternoon as we approach the renowned landmark known as 'The Devil's Gulch' It was here, that Jesse James and the James-Younger gang met up with lawmen chasing them from Minnesota. In order for Jesse to flee he needed to take this leap."

The tour guide points to the other side of the gulch. A small metal footbridge now stretched across the near 20 foot long gorge with fencing up the sides was the final crossing in our tour. You realize that you are about to walk across a piece of American history and folklore.

Tour Guide: "Many historians will say that this leap is simply impossible, and that the story is nothing but a myth or a hoax. While even more far-fetched opinions have led people to believe that Jesse must have had some type of 'supernatural' powers. The only explanation some explain. No horse, no matter how deeply spurred could never make that bound over that gorge."

The last sentence has stroked a nerve in the man standing directly next to you. The man seems a bit out of place as he's dressed in casual business attire. A long pair of black slacks with a dark red vest to match, covered with a cotton gabardine trench coat. In this coat he pulls out a very old looking red book from beneath the inside pocket under his right elbow. The pages were dipped with a yellowish hue, and they also crinkled and crunched very loudly as he turned the pages. The binding was faded and only held together by a single piece of string. It was obvious he was upset because he began flipping through these pages very violently like an insane madman trying to find a certain page. "Why not have a place marker" you think to yourself, but decide against mentioning anything as he still fumbles the book between his fingers, eventuallydropping it on the ground in front of you... You reach down to pick it up when you realize that every page except for one was blank? Now you begin to worry why someone would be rustling through pages so quickly to find that nothing was there. Except for that one page that read....

...The Diary of Arther 'Ace' McCoy...

...in the top ledger. The chicken scratchings were hard to make out, yet you try your best as you bring the pages closer to your face and squint your eyes to get a better view. Being a historian yourself, you can't help but notice the book is as an old piece of history, naturally this leads to an introduction and exchange of dialogue between yourself and a person that has identified themselves to you as Dr. Marvin Motz. The gentleman is a particularly interesting person that peaks your interest. He claims to be a 'treasure hunter.' of the occult variety.

You feel as if you are more than just enthralled by his story and the supernatural elements to it; therefore, you continue your repetitive questioning and he obliges with answers. He explains to you in vivid details on his quest to uncover a rare piece of religious history. He compared it to discovering something similar to the arc of the covenant when you ask about the magnitude of it's historical relevance. This immediately catches your attention as you both now stop following the rest of the group. The two of you fall behind in order to have a more private conversation. It appears that your extraordinary sex appeal and interest in historical pieces of the past, has once again attracted another male nerd to your luscious breasts and petite figure.

Dr. Motz: "Meet me at my commorancy in three days and bring $1,000 to solidify our trust."

$1,000 is an awful lot of money you think to yourself, but he reassures you that he's found a hot lead on the trail after the recovery of this Diary led him here. It's a risk your willing to take, for a pay off of the Indiana Jones variety...

Dr. Motz: "Oh, and by the way Mrs. Wong. You might want to bring your Holy Bible."

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