[ OT ] If you had to choose , which of your prompt responses would you say is the best you 've written ?

*I'm pretty proud of this recent one, posted for the Theme Thursday. There's a lot of details that people would probably miss that hint at the world inhabited by the characters... * 
 
 “ … and if I cut through Diablo Canyon, ” I chewed to myself, pondering over the map, “ I can make it to San Maderas in three days. Perfect! ” 
 
 “ Hold on, ” a gruff, low voice mumbled from behind. “ Did I hear you say you were going through Diablo Canyon? ” 
 
 A man dressed in dark black gear with a wide-brimmed hat and bandanna covering his face took the seat next to me. 
 
 “ Yeah, ” I replied. Normally it was best to keep to oneself, but I figured there was no harm in letting the man know my path. It wasn ’ t like I had anything valuable on me except supplies, and there were plenty of towns between here and San Maderas. 
 
 “ Don ’ t. ” 
 
 “ Why? It ’ s a fast route, and there ’ s not exactly any bandit camps through there. ” 
 
 “ Trust me, don ’ t. There ’ s nothing good in Diablo Canyon. Nobody goes there except fools and men with death wishes. The land is cursed. ” 
 
 “ Come on, there ’ s no such thing as curses. ” I turned away and made to get up, but the man grabbed my arm. Immediately he was looking down the barrel of my flintlock. 
 
 “ Hands off, ” I demanded. He released his grip. 
 
 “ I ’ ll pay for your lodging and how many more drinks you want tonight. Just hear me out, and then tell me if you still want to go through that godless land. ” 
 
 I was swayed by his offer of drinks. “ All right, old man, let ’ s hear what you have to say. ” 
 
 “ I went through Diablo Canyon fifteen years ago. There used to be a town there. They say it was built on top of ruins dating back to the Before Time. Ruins of a place where men tried to break the foundations of reality itself. ” 
 
 “ Get on with your story. ” 
 
 “ I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the middle of the day and the sun was beating down on me. Hottest day of the year – my horse was at the end of its tether. I stopped in Diablo Canyon, expecting to find brief shelter and a place to water me and my horse. ” 
 
 “ But? ” 
 
 “ There wasn ’ t. The town was empty. Dead. Nobody was there. The troughs were dry like bone. But the worst thing of it all, the eeriest thing, was the sound. ” 
 
 “ What about it? ” 
 
 “ There was none. Nothing. You can ’ t go fifteen feet without hearing a maneater fly buzzing somewhere, but this place? Diablo Canyon was empty. Devoid of life and devoid of sound. Nothing but me, my horse, and a prickling on the back of my neck. Not even a buzzing in my ear. And there was a feeling, like the air was thicker. Heavier than normal. I shoulda ridden out of there immediately. God help me, I didn ’ t. ” 
 
 “ But you didn ’ t. ” 
 
 “ I walked into the saloon. It was as if it had been abandoned in a hurry. Plates with bones on them. Opened taps. Dust covering everything. Everything but the floor. There were prints. Footprints like nothing I ’ d ever seen before. Gigantic, fat chicken feet. Leading to the piano in the corner and then upstairs. ” 
 
 “ Oh come on, this is a ghost story. ” 
 
 “ No it isn ’ t! ” The intensity in the man ’ s voice shocked me into silence. 
 
 “ Oh God I wish it were. It wasn ’ t. Fat, horrible prints. And in the saloon, there was noise. A low babble, a gurgle. Burrowing into my mind, at the edge of my hearing. A devilish babble of some kind coming from everywhere. But only in the saloon! I stepped outside again and it stopped. Nothing but silence again, that eerie silence. Emptiness, except inside the saloon. And as I look outside, around this empty, deserted waste, I sense something behind me. Some huge, inhuman thing at the corner of my vision about to pounce. I whirled around, pistol in hand, but there was nothing there. Nothing but me expecting to see something there. I ’ m about to chalk it up to nerves… ” 
 
 “ But? ” 
 
 “ Fresh prints! ” he whispered. “ Right behind me, of fresh, fat chicken feet, inches from my own. And when I step into the saloon again, the babble is gone. Now it ’ s a hum. A hum from hell. And again, something right behind me. But when I whirl around there is nothing there, not even footprints. Nothing but me and the hum of that empty saloon. I got out of there real fast, but I decided to go to the church. There had to be some clues at the church as to what had happened here. I step outside again, and I realize something is wrong. My god damned horse is gone. I ’ d tied her up to a post, but she was gone. And the rope I used to tie her to was still there. Something had stolen my horse without making a sound. ” 
 
 He took a deep breath before continuing. “ I ’ ve got my gun out now, walking towards the church. Just a quick jaunt into the church, I said to myself, and then I ’ m going. Maybe I ’ ll burn down this hell on earth while I ’ m at it. Now I can hear something. The air ’ s even thicker as I approach the church, and I can hear a low groan. In my mind. Not in the air, in my mind. Of something in pain. And I turned around. One more time. I shouldn ’ t have, ” he moans quietly, “ I shouldn ’ t have. I saw something. Something I wasn ’ t meant to see. ” 
 
 “ What did you see? ” Now I was enraptured. 
 
 “ I saw something. Somethings. Disappearing into the buildings behind me without a sound as soon as they saw me. I saw a glimpse of their eyes. Empty things. With so many reflections of me looking back at them. Just the briefest glimpse. I see them now, every night when I sleep. The eyes, looking at me. Sometimes I ’ ll wake up and they ’ ll be there. In the doorway. Watching me. I can ’ t escape them. They ’ re always there. ” 
 
 He took another deep breath. “ Why didn ’ t I run, then and there? I don ’ t know. God help me I don ’ t know. I still entered that church. Oh, it looked like a church from the outside, most of the inside. But I peeked around. I peeked around too much, and I found a hole, with a massive, enormous, titanic pillar of rock, jutting out that hole. It was cracked, and there was something almost spilling out of it. Some kind of molten thing that had cooled after pouring out of the rock. I knew immediately I shouldn ’ t go near it, with that instinct of immediate danger. And then I heard footprints, thudding, inhuman things. And the sound of buzzing. I ran. I didn ’ t run out the door, I broke through the window and I ran. I looked back once I was out of that damned monument to hell. I never looked back, but I was damned the moment I set foot in that town. ” 
 
 “ Damn, ” I uttered. Then I stood up. “ Nice tale, old man, but this is just a tale. A hell of a tale, but just a tale. Here, have a few coins, I guess. ” 
 
 The man drew closer to me. “ A tale, you say? ” he whispered fiercely. “ I wish it were a tale. No, it was the day I set foot in hell. Hell marked me as one of its own, boy. Oh, it marked me. ” 
 
 He pushed away the bandanna, and I gaped at what lay underneath. A torn, bubbling mass, with cancers and angry tumours poking from every inch of exposed skin, glared at me.
