It was raining when Cherry set out. As he saw it, it was a given that it would be raining. Why would the weather be anything other than miserable? He had to go outside the comforts of Brody's Cross and he had to do it on foot. His poor Goldie might not have been quicker than he hiked, but Cherry had always enjoyed their lopsided trots together. To make matters more complicated, he couldn't take the main road. He could have, technically, but there was a risk someone might see him. What he had in store was best kept a secret until the right moment.

Cherry hopped the twisted barbed wire between two of the sheep pastures. It had been a good hour or more of fences but at least the Tate household was not far. A pair of curious sheep scurried over in search of treats in the absence of their caregiver. Cherry had a moment of dread that he couldn't place. An uncomfortable memory, forgotten and repressed, something from his latest convalescence. Shoving the animals away, he cleared the last fence only to return over it immediately. Using the fluffy pair as cover, he crouched down. A pair of riders, locals out on early morning business, rode past. Once he was convinced he hadn't been spotted from the road, Cherry again cleared the final fence and made his way around the back of the building.

Inside and through the window pane was dark. That could be deceiving, he reasoned. As far as Cherry knew, the household employees went about their duties as they had before, keeping up the façade that nothing was wrong. He didn't think they'd take kindly to his creeping around and he didn't intend to get caught. The last he had seen the women had been under challenging circumstances. Truly, as a gentleman, he was taking the morally revered approach and sparing them further trauma. He slid the rucksack off his shoulder and withdrew a long nail. Picking at the back lock, the sheriff grinned when he heard a satisfying click.

It would have been easier to go in through the unlocked front but, well, Cherry didn't know about that.

He delicately latched the door behind, pulling up his bandana to obscure his nose and mouth. He listened, straining to hear the telltale sounds of the domestics moving about. It was silent, almost too quiet. Cherry pressed his back against the wall and inched warily towards the front of the house. He poked his head out of the kitchen and made his stealthy approach to the stairwell. No voices or footfalls to be heard. Ascending slowly and deliberately as not to cause creaks, the thought that maybe he was alone in the home crossed his mind. Then he found himself suddenly face to uncomfortably-close face with Deputy Schim. He started, lost his balance, and bounced down the stairs, landing hard on his tailbone. He glared up at the ghost hovering in his path.

"Jesus, Jeff!" He barked. Secrecy be damned.

"What the hell are you doin'?" demanded the deputy.

"What are you doin'?" shot back the sheriff. "Did you follow me?"

Schim folded his arms. He didn't say anything. The unspoken message was that he asked first and he expected Cherry to answer first.

"I'm breakin' and enterin'," said Cherry, rubbing his backside and standing. He brushed the dirt and dust impotently from his dark pants. "What does it look like?" Then, "Wait, is anyone here?"

"No."

"Oh, fantastic." He pulled down the bandana and let out a happy sigh. "I don't need the get up."

"I thought you weren't robbin' anythin' so long as there were people still livin' here," said Schim. He pointedly chose not to rely his suspicions that no one had been by for several days. He wasn't going to encourage this behavior in the other man.

"Your turn. Why are you here?" asked Cherry. Schim had left not long after his wife had departed the night before. It seemed her antics had inspired something in him. Cherry couldn't say what. Having gone until morning without seeing the specter, the sheriff had assumed he'd gone to haunt Amanda for a bit. It appeared he was wrong.

Schim was reticent. He allowed, "She's right. You lost a lot of blood."

Cherry groaned. "I don't understand why you both seem to think this is a bad thing. Okay, so I didn't die. Shouldn't you be relieved? Shouldn't you be happy?"

"Sheriff, you should be more concerned."

"About what? That I'm feelin' healthy?" Cherry waved a hand. "Yeah, I'll bear that in mind." Then, pulling a face, he said, "You've been here floatin' over my bloodstain all night?"

Schim was not amused. "Since you both you and Amanda have had such good fortune here, I did also go searching for the man who killed me."

"And?"

"...no comment."

"Didn't find him," nodded Cherry. "I might be able to help with that." He reattempted his climb, forgoing stealth for sturdiness. Schim watched him pass then followed behind.

"The fact that you seem motivated terrifies me," said Schim. He subtly glanced towards Cherry's hand and, seeing that Amanda's bite had not miraculously vanished as Cherry's other injuries had, kept quiet. "You're not here to steal the furniture today?"

"Not today," said Cherry. "Believe you me, I'll be back for it. Maybe I won't need to steal."

"Tell me what you're up to," said Schim. "In plain terms."

"I'm lookin' for a certain bedroom," said Cherry no more plainly. "Herman's. Here we go." He stepped into the darkened room and went directly to the wardrobe. "Let's see what fancy store-bought clothin' I find."

"I can already see where this is goin'," said Schim flatly.

"Oh, I reckon you can't," sang the sheriff, helping himself to pair of slacks and a red vest. "But go ahead and tell me."

"You got Asper breathin' down your neck about Herman Tate. You figure you can get rid of him by offerin' that you found somethin' to indicate Herman met his unfortunate demise somewhere that can't be substantiated."

"I could do that without puttin' in this effort," said Cherry. "What I got is better."

Schim pondered. Cherry placed a pair of boots in the sack. "Somethin' that involves footprints, looks like."

"Jeff, you got to get more creative," said Cherry.

"How creative are we talkin'?"

Cherry smirked. "I'm about to make my life a hell of a lot easier and potentially profitable than it's been."

Schim stared. "I don't like the sound of that. Ewald, your judgement ain't exactly--"

"This is gonna work, Jeff," said the sheriff. "You'll see."

Deputy Schim found it strange when Cherry returned the same way he had come. He didn't want to be seen coming or going from the Tate house, though in Schim's eyes, he could have used this to his advantage. Cherry could claim he was doing his investigation into the matter that quite frankly, no one expected him to do. Instead, his partner was adamant no one was to know he'd been by the house since his discovery by Asper.

Back in town, Cherry shed his half-assed disguise for his usual attire and, rucksack in tow, headed towards Garrapy's. Schim was surprised when he didn't turn in and rounded the structure. "What are you doin'?"

Cherry smirked again. It was never good when Ewald Cherry smirked.

He led the pair to the back of the saloon and, grabbing hold of the crude wooden door in the ground beside it, opened the rarely used cellar. Every now and then, folks would remember it existed for storage purposes. It was more convenient to keep everything in the saloon and forgo the trip around back. Cherry dropped his bag in and made his way down the carved ladder. Lighting a match, he stepped forward and whistled. "Are you still here?"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

To Schim's absolute shock, Herman Tate appeared from the shadows and into the light from the above. "Yes."

"Great." Cherry lifted his bag and tossed it towards the man who, Schim realized, was naked and coated in an odd, oily sort of wetness. "Get dressed. I'll help you work out the personal touches after."

"Okay," said Herman, shambling back into the darkness. Schim turned to Cherry.

"You found Herman Tate!" It blew his mind. Asper must have seriously pissed the sheriff off to spur him into action. And on top of that, Cherry had somehow succeeded? It was more than Schim ever dreamed.

"I found Herman Tate," said Cherry. He left it at that.

"What?" inquired Herman. He stared at Cherry, eyes wide.

"Nothin'," said Cherry casually. "Just talkin' to my invisible friend. You remember him."

"Oh," said Herman with an understanding that filled Schim with unanticipated rage. His delight in the sheriff's success came crashing down. "Yes. I remember him."

The deputy turned to the sheriff. "No."

"I told you not to worry," said Cherry smugly.

"This is your plan?!" shouted Schim. His scars glowed and he took on a horrendous visage. Anyone else might have been cowed by the ethereal nightmare before them. Not Ewald Cherry. "To pass him off as Herman Tate?!"

"I think it'll work out. You didn't notice."

Schim wailed, "You are insane! You can't replace Herman Tate with a demon!"

"Who's gonna know?" asked Cherry dismissively. "Herman and I have an agreement. We've worked through our differences. Ain't that right, Herman?" After a moment of quiet, "That's you. You're Herman."

"Oh," said Herman. "That is right. My name is Herman."

"We've got some stuff to address yet," said Cherry, looking back to Schim. "He's been in this chrysalis the past few days and I was laid up at the Asper place--"

"If I could kill you, I would!" seethed Schim.

"That's not very nice to say," pouted Cherry facetiously. "I'm on the mend."

"How do you not see this as anythin' other than the worst possible idea you have ever come up with?!"

Cherry snorted. "It's brilliant. It ties everythin' up neatly and I don't have to go out of my way."

Schim gave Cherry a look that said, What are you talking about?

"Consider, Jeff," said Cherry, putting an arm around Herman's shoulder as he emerged clothed. He patted the other man's chest. "Herman here, he's a very popular man. Everyone is lookin' for him."

"Oh," said Herman, uncertain that he wanted that much attention.

"It's fine, don't worry, I said I'd handle 'em" assured Cherry. To Schim, "Rather than tryin' to run down leads or figure out who's where, folks'll come to him."

"And then?" said Schim. Cherry hadn't thought this through and Schim knew Cherry knew he knew.

"Well," Cherry scratched his chin. "We'll work that out when it happens."

"You've moved beyond incompetent," said Schim forcefully. "You're in downright dangerous waters. You are a threat to everyone around you." In the sheriff's defense, the monster had taken on Herman Tate's appearance to a tee. Schim hated himself for entertaining the thought. "What does he get out of this?"

"All the sheep he wants to eat," said Cherry. "He's Herman Tate. It's his ranch."

"He tried to eat you," reminded the deputy. "He doesn't eat sheep."

"He's agreed to eat sheep if I agree not to keep him locked up," said Cherry.

"Yes," said Herman. He glanced aside.

"Oh, come on," said Schim, gesturing broadly. "He's only sayin' that so you'd let him out!"

"I believe in Herman," said Cherry, patting his chest again.

"I'm hungry," said the new Mr. Tate.

"We'll take care of that in a minute. There's one more thing we have to do first."

Striding proudly into Garrapy's proper, Sheriff Cherry cleared his throat and announced, "I've located Herman Tate. I am gonna escort him back home and if anyone needs to speak with him, they know where to find us."

"There's no one here," said the barkeeper. "It's eight o'clock. We haven't opened."

"I recognize that, Harry," said Cherry. "Word gets around faster when the bartender keeps it flowin' with the drinks."

The barkeeper sighed. "I'll tell everyone I see. Why can't you go tell the people who care?"

It was a faster ride back to the Tate house. Cherry hired a wagon and, upon seeing Herman Tate, the driver agreed to charge the service to the family tab. After the trio disembarked and the wagon disappeared, Cherry motioned to the fields and said, "Have your breakfast then come inside. There's a few things you ought to know if you don't want to stand out."

Schim was no less disappointed with the sheriff as they wandered into the parlor to wait. "Why aren't you watchin' him." A statement.

"He'll be fine," said Cherry. "Think of him as a dog. A dog won't go far from his master."

"You're his master?" sputtered Schim.

"I'm the only one willin' to train him," said Cherry.

A sheep bleated out a horrible sound. Schim winced. Cherry idly glanced at his blood on the floor. "That is a lot," he remarked.

"Yes," said Schim. "That's what I said."

"I have more blood in me than I realize."

Another horrible screech.

"These open areas sure carry the sound," observed Cherry.

"What's to stop your 'dog' from eatin' the household staff when they return?" asked Schim.

"I told him not to," said Cherry, "He has the sheep."

"You think he's gonna take your word? You think he's not gonna pick folks off one by one and masquerade in their likeness?"

Cherry adopted a dopey mien. "Boy, gosh, Jeff, I sure hope not."

"What is wrong with you?" Then, "What do you plan to tell people about the missin' preacher? Or do you plan to have him take turns playin' parts."

Cherry tapped the side of his head. "See? You're bein' creative."

The front door opened. Herman walked in, his clothing covered in the remains of his crime. "What do I do with the bodies?"

"Good question," said Cherry. "What do you usually do with 'em?"

Herman did not answer.

"How many bodies did you leave?"

Again, no answer.

"Tell you what. I'll go round up the dead sheep and you can change into somethin' clean?"

"Okay," said Herman. He stood. He did not move.

"Your room is upstairs." Cherry pointed at the stairs then nodded to Schim. "Let's see what we got out there."

Three sheep, their heads drilled open, lay splayed in the field as a grim warning to others. The remaining sheep fled and stood huddled together, searching for safety in numbers in sheepy terror. Schim put a hand to his mouth and gagged. Cherry examined one of the bodies. "Huh. I guess he really goes for the heads." He rocked back. "Well, that's good." He beamed up at Schim. "Shouldn't hurt production too much. The wool and the mutton are intact. Ranch business will continue without a hitch."

"This is not gonna work," said Schim. "You see that, right?"

"Come on, Jeff," chided Cherry. "You've got to keep an open mind."

"Like the sheep?" countered Schim and he turned away.