Written for the @WesternCommunity prompt

The wind whistling through the valley woke Brenden from an unsettled sleep. He groaned and his gritty sleep-deprived eyes were slitted painfully against the harsh light that partially filtered in through the curtainless windows. He could see, albeit at an odd angle, that snow had fallen during the night and had caked up against the window; that gave Brenden some explanation regarding the sliver of harsh wintry light that was all that remained.

He yawned and stretched aching limbs, spreading his toes in the thermal socks that barely gave him a reprieve from the relentless cold. He'd been used to harsh winters in Alaska, where winters had fallen well below zero and herding cows across the ranch had become difficult yet essential.

Even Brenden, with his hard-bitten past, could not have expected such a wintry, near-sub-zero hardship in the middle of a deserted Colorado-based valley, filled only with ramshackle buildings and cabins and nothing much else, other than the remnants of a once thriving silver mine.

Brenden had bought the place on a whim, partially with the inheritance he'd received from a grandparent he'd barely known; he'd expected plenty of adventure and warmth after the purchase had finally gone through. He'd received both in spades during the summer months, yet that had changed once the winter had kicked in - the hardest one they'd seen in the area for nigh on thirty years.

"Must have seen me coming," Brenden muttered to himself and not for the first time.

He shook his head and struggled out of his bed, intent on at least decorating the cabin where he was staying with at least some cheerful Christmas fixings. He thought that that at least would provide some much-needed life and colour into an otherwise drab abode.

The cabin itself had been fixed and was the first in the valley to have been brought back to the ghost of its former self - largely because Brenden intended to live there permanently. The leaking roof had been patched up so that it was solid once more, while the cracks in the walls had been stuffed and filled within an inch of their lives so that no wind or snow or rain could work their way between the logs. The door had been re-hung so that it no longer stood askew, as it had once allowed the elements into the main living area.

Brenden shuffled out into the makeshift bathroom, where he'd situated an old tin bath pulled in from another part of the ghost town. He stared at it for a few moments and knew that he at least had to take a bath that day. He sighed and turned around; he still had no running water anywhere, which was another job on the list of many things he had as yet to do in the town.

Once again, he wondered why he'd taken on such a daunting and near-unforgiving task. Then he remembered long days in the saddle while he'd still been in Alaska, working for other people; other than the need for adventure, he remembered wishing for a better life, where he answered to no one, where he was his own boss, kept his own hours, and did what he liked.

Brenden sighed and gritted his teeth against the overwhelming need to just pack it all in and pack up to go somewhere else. He knew that that wasn't an option; he'd sunk most of his money into his current venture and so, simply couldn't afford to just throw it all away.

Brenden stepped out onto the verandah and shivered as the bite of the cold wind worked its way through his clothes and seemed to sink bone deep. He coughed and surveyed the area. The valley itself wasn't bad and was a decent-sized place which he knew looked wonderful in the summertime, when the trees were in bloom. Already, Brenden could envisage flowerbeds and perhaps flower baskets hanging everywhere, each of which would lend colour and fragrant scents into the air. He could imagine each of the cabins and indeed, the saloon, back in working order.

Some of the cabins would of course have to be reworked into other purposes - a restaurant, a grocery store, some kind of knick-knack store perhaps. Brenden knew that the place would have to be self-sufficient after all. Once guests started coming in to stay in the cabins for a taste of the old Wild West, they would need somewhere to shop, somewhere to eat and integrate with like-minded people, and somewhere to buy postcards and silly bits of fluff for those back home.

He wondered then if perhaps he should also reinstate the sheriff's office - just in case. He supposed that some future guest or other might fancy him- or herself as being some kind of gunslinger and start kicking off at all and sundry as a consequence - just because they were bored or because of some imagined slight. Brenden sighed and then thought about the internet and how many people seemed to take offence at even the slightest of things - or perhaps at nothing much at all.

"The internet!" Brenden said to himself. "I need to get a good Wifi system up and running. Bluetooth. Good phone services. Satellite. TVs."

He sighed and added those several items to the list that was already several hundred items long. He scrubbed his hands through his unkempt hair and sighed again even as he questioned his own sanity at having taken on such a task and more importantly, mostly alone. He rolled his eyes, decided to cross each and every bridge as he came to them and decided to just get on with the day ahead. That was all he could do - treat each day as they came and overcome every obstacle - every hundred or so at a time.

Finally, Brenden set himself the task of shoveling snow into a bucket, before he set the snow over a fire to melt. He'd shovelled just enough to garner himself a shallow bath before he stripped off, slid into the warm water and sighed in contentment.

He got to thinking again as he began to scrub. He thought of how many contractors he would have to employ. Though he was a rancher by profession and a carpenter by hobby, he was no good at anything else and he was well aware that he would have to involve other people at some point. He was already content that some members of his family had already offered their services - and many of those services would come in very handy for his cause.

"If only I had some money going spare to pay for them all," he murmured and rolled his eyes. "That would require some kind of miracle, surely."

He was running low on funds as it was; his bank accounts and inheritance money were almost wiped out by the purchase of the valley and all of its accoutrements. Of course, he was able to make extra money by indulging in frequent carpentry work, just to keep a half-decent cash flow going. Each time he had to do so, however, he knew that it was time taken away from his tenuous dream, his objective of turning the valley into a holiday refuge for the cowboy wannabes.

Brenden gritted his teeth as he continued to scrub and refused to let his hard-won dreams slip through his fingers when he'd already come so close to achieving them. He was damned if he was going to walk away from the venture, bankrupt and feeling like a failure, simply because he hadn't had enough funds, enough time, enough help or expertise.

"Damn it all to hell," Brenden growled to himself and continued scrubbing viciously.

The water was cold before he finished his bath and he stood, allowing the water to slough from his now-clean limbs before he towel-dried each part of himself vigorously. He dressed and felt better for the cleanliness and the change of clothes.

He made his way into the kitchen next and glared into the pantry for something to eat. Most of it was dried goods, of course. With no electricity - yet - he couldn't keep butter or meat for very long; anything he did have would have to be consumed pretty quickly or at least kept in the snow to help keep it fresh.

He made his way outside and plucked a piece of frozen cheese - alarmingly small now that he'd eaten most of it - and took it inside so he could at least make toasted sandwiches over the guttering fire.

It was as he was watching the cheese begin to melt a little, having little else to watch, that he heard the footsteps outside - long and slow and sonorously deliberate as though whoever it was out there was either trying to scare him or was in no particular hurry.

Brenden stilled, eyes dodging about the place as he held his breath. He should have been on his own in the valley. In fact, he knew that he was. There were no deliveries or tradesmen scheduled to visit that day and he wasn't expecting any post to arrive either. None of his family had indicated that they would swing by to help with anything and neither had his friends; though their offers of help had been well-meant and had even been followed through on occasion.

Brenden knew that they had lives of their own to also be getting on with. Any help they had given thus far was in snatched moments and quite often done for free. That had rankled with Brenden as he wanted to at least give them some compensation for their time, regardless of whether they were friends, family or complete strangers.

He heard the footsteps again. It sounded as though whoever was outside was circling the place, deliberately scoping out the verandah that wrapped around the entirety of the house. It was something that Brenden had implemented, a little peculiarity to give the place extra charm.

He thought back and wondered if perhaps he'd heard an engine yet his memory came up short and he knew that he had not. All had been silent except for the driving wind. Even the quietest of engines would have made a noise close to his cabin, loud enough for him to have heard at least. He swiftly took his now-cooked sandwich off the frying pan and set it to one side to cool a little. 

He stood and crept across the room in socked feet to stare out of one of the uncurtained windows. Brenden held his breath, as he waited for some sign of life outside yet there was nothing, even though he heard those footsteps coming in scattergun bursts every now and then. Brenden even swore that he thought the footsteps had passed by his very window yet he had seen no one walk past.

"The Ghost of Christmas Past," Brenden suddenly muttered to himself and gave a short sharp bark of a laugh. "Or the ghost of Jacob Marley coming to visit."

Then his laughter stopped when he heard the long slow sonorous knocking emanating from the front door. He whirled. The footsteps had been right by his ear just a few moments ago and the door was behind him - it would have taken whoever it was quite a few minutes to get there yet it had taken them all of a few seconds.

"I've got a gun in here. A ferocious dog," Brenden yelled. "I'm not alone and I can defend myself."

"You ain't got no such thing, Brenden Buck," a voice drawled back.

It was a voice that Brenden himself didn't recognise yet he was surprised that whoever that voice belonged to seemed to know who he was.

"How do you know that name?" he called back, unwilling to admit that he was, in fact, the owner of said name.

"That's you, ain't it? The owner of this here valley?" the voice on the other side of the door called back.

"What if I'm not?" Brenden dared to yell back.

"Well, who else is gonna be mad enough to be here on such a day as today? Ain't no one else who should be here," the voice reprimanded with a snort.

Brenden couldn't think of anything to say because the owner of the voice at least had some kind of a point.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" Brenden finally asked and gave up any pretence of being anyone other than himself.

"You don't know me. You can't," the voice said in sudden amusement. "But you will. Let me say that I have some news for you."

Brenden paused before he called back - "Yeah? What is it then?"

"Let me in and I'll tell ya," the voice replied and once again, it was warm with the speaker's amusement. "You can't leave a guest out in weather like this, can ya?"

Brenden at least conceded to that point as well. He grabbed his rifle and made his way to the door. He opened it and saw that a cowboy stood on the other side of it. His visitor seemed inappropriately dressed - far too light for the snowstorm outside - and when the man came in, he left no snowprints on the floor when Brenden himself had done as much earlier in the morning.

"Sure is blowing up a rough one, eh?" the cowboy asked and he grinned beneath the heavy folds of his curling moustache.

"Sure," Brenden said and he couldn't help but stare at his visitor.

Oddly, the man looked familiar to Brenden yet he couldn't quite figure out why that should be the case. His visitor was certainly not anyone that Brenden had frequently seen in the nearest town; he was distinctive enough in his looks to be remembered clearly.

The man stamped and made a show of trying to warm himself up by banging his hands against his arms, though he seemed curiously unaffected by the cold. It seemed as though such movements had been made for Brenden's benefit, to perhaps put him off the scent or make him feel at ease. Brenden wondered then why he'd thought that he'd needed to be put off any kind of scent at all. What scent?

Brenden frowned before he asked - "What's your name? You seem to know mine just fine and yet I don't know yours."

"Most called me Old Bill in my time," the newly identified Old Bill said. "And that's what you may call me now, I'm figuring."

Brenden said nothing to that statement and though he offered the man a seat, Old Bill seemed not to have heard. He also pretended not to have heard Brenden's offer of a sandwich and a coffee, though Brenden himself could barely afford to give what scant supplies he had away. He knew that he had to make a good host considering that he had a guest. He would have to get used to that in the future, after all - if his dreams of turning the valley into a holiday park turned out well, of course.

"So what do you want? How do you know my name?" Brenden asked suspiciously.

"Well, everyone knows your name around these parts, don't they? Isn't that your name on the ownership deeds?" Old Bill asked pertly.

Brenden merely nodded. Although the nearest town was a small one, most seemed to know him by name or at least by reputation if they hadn't met yet. News, scant though it might be in these parts, seemed to travel at warp speed, which Brenden expected. Small towns owned their own patches of boredom and anything new would paper over any cracks.

Old Bill cleared his throat before he said - "I came here to offer you something."

Brenden gave him a dubious look. The man looked too frail and too old to be offering him anything of worth. Old Bill caught his sceptical look and laughed.

"I ain't gonna offer to work for ya, son. Too far past any work," he confirmed. "Nah. I'm here for other matters entirely."

Brenden nodded and waited yet it seemed as though Old Bill worked on timelines that ran differently - and far more slowly - than Brenden's own. As a consequence, it seemed to take the old man an age to get to the point.

"I used to work these parts when this valley was a working silver mine," Old Bill said.

Brenden's mind blanked a little in confusion. He knew that the mines hadn't been worked in over a hundred years and though Old Bill looked old, he didn't look that old.

Before Brenden had the chance to question the old man further, Bill himself continued speaking by announcing - "Some might say that I know these parts in and out and through and through and much like the back of my own hand."

Brenden nodded, grunted and gestured for the man to continue. He wondered if perhaps the man was some kind of crackpot, deciding to mess with his head or perhaps he was as bored as the nearby townsfolk and had decided to mess with him for his own personal jollies.

"When the weather clears, you might want to check under the floorboards of this very cabin," Old Bill announced sagely.

"And why the devil would I do a thing like that?" Brenden asked with a sharp bark of unnatural, disbelieving laughter.

"Trust me on this one, son. You're gonna need what's under this shit," Old Bill said and he beat against the bare wooden floorboards with his boot heel.

Oddly, there was no noise when quite rightly there should have been. Brenden didn't have the chance to examine the odd occurrence for Old Bill continued talking.

The old man said - "Something's been down for an age, waiting for the right man to come along and use it. A good man, waiting for a miracle. Are you that man, Brenden Buck?"

Brenden paused briefly before he said - "I don't know. You tell me."

"I think you are, son," the old man said. "Which is why I'm telling you as much as I am now. I want to see this old valley up and running again, as it should be. This place needs life. Not ghosts."

"But you haven't told me very much at all if you don't mind me saying. What's under the floorboards?" Brenden asked and frowned suspiciously.

"That's for you to find out, ain't it, son?" Old Bill asked before he gave vent to a cackling laugh. "I'll be getting on my way now. It's nearly Christmas after all and you need that miracle more than anyone on a day like today."

Old Bill then assured Brenden that he would see himself out. He walked away, opened the door and admitted in a burst of snow as he walked through the open door. The door slammed and then he was gone.

"Hey," Brenden called, intending to ask the man how he'd got into the valley or if perhaps he needed a lift out or something.

He ran for the door and opened it before he peered out into the whirling snowstorm. Though only a few seconds had passed since his departure, Old Bill had completely disappeared. There were no footprints in the snow either though by rights, Brenden knew that there should have been.

"Weird," Brenden said and wondered if he'd imagined it all.

He decided to mull it over as he ate his sandwich, yet he grew no closer to determining whether Old Bill had been a figment of his imagination or not by the end of the day.

****

Three days later, the storm had cleared enough for Brenden to check beneath the floorboards of his cabin. To his surprise, he found a marked area, which he began to dig curiously. In that hole, he found an old treasure chest, filled to the brim with silver and gold coins. By Brenden's quick reckoning, he could see that it was worth a small fortune and was all too real.

It was enough to see Brenden through several of the refurbishments he would need to finish the valley - if not all of it. He thought back to Old Bill and his meanderings about Christmas miracles. He laughed and decided that the man must have been real after all, despite his lack of footprints.

****

Three days after that, Brenden saw a photograph hanging on the saloon forgotten by Brenden himself in the shadows at the back of the ramshackle place. The photo itself was of the old prospectors that had once lived in the town when it had working mines. Among the folks standing solemnly in the photo was a very familiar face indeed - that of Old Bill.

"So he had been working here," Brenden murmured to himself and wondered if he had seen a ghost after all.

He huffed out a laugh as he remembered his personal quip of being visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Maybe not that but the ghost of Christmas Future. Slightly," Brenden murmured.

That thought gave him an odd sort of comfort for if the man had been a ghost then he'd helped him out a great deal. His future looked a great deal brighter than it had been and Old Bill had come to him in his time of extreme need.

"Thanks, Old Bill," Brenden said and thought he heard a slight laugh in response.

There was no one else there of course yet Brenden guessed that Old Bill, in his own way, had answered him. Brenden grinned and nodded more to the shade of Old Bill than to himself. He doubted whether the old man would visit again, now that he'd given him the gift he'd needed, yet he was grateful for the gift all the same.