Boone
"I'm your problem now." Did I arrive on your doorstep? It's time to play.
Discovery Notes
Abilene, Kansas — circa 1899
Warning Issued
If you keep Boone, honor the code. He respects rituals, even small ones: oil his boots with saddle soap, dust his hat, and never mock the cowboy life around him. Once a month, say aloud: “The trail still runs, Boone. You’re not forgotten.” Never leave him facing a highway, billboard, or neon sign. He despises the symbols of progress — the things that replaced the open range. If you ever hear the jingle of spurs when you’re alone, turn off the lights and say nothing. He’s just passing through.
Last Known Account
Boone was once a mantelpiece toy in the home of a cattle baron’s son — the kind of boy who grew up watching the railroads carve through his father’s land like veins of iron. When the cattle drives died out, so did the old man’s pride. The boy was said to have buried Boone with his father’s spurs after the funeral, whispering:
“You can keep riding for both of us.”
The doll was unearthed decades later during the construction of a highway overpass, wrapped in a child-sized poncho gone to dust. His hat was gone, but the faint outline of spurs had been pressed into the earth beside him — not rusted, not broken, just missing.
Since resurfacing, Boone has appeared in multiple estate sales and private collections, each time associated with misfortunes tied to vanishing or decay — cattle herds wandering off cliffs, barns collapsing, whole ranches going under.
Boone’s face seems to shift with the light: proud at dawn, hollow-eyed by dusk. His right hand is shaped as if to grip something — once a lasso, now empty. When left alone overnight, owners report the faint scent of tobacco and horses, and the echo of spurs walking across floorboards that no longer creak.
Some claim Boone hums old cowboy laments — wordless tunes about lost ranges and dying fires. One rancher’s wife said she caught him staring out the window toward the open field, whispering:
“Ain’t no room left for riders now.”
By morning, all her horses had broken free from their stalls and faced the horizon, as if waiting for someone to lead them.
In 1998, Boone was purchased by a man restoring a ghost town attraction outside Amarillo. The man kept Boone on a saloon shelf for authenticity. Two weeks later, the town burned down in a freak lightning strike. Witnesses said they saw a figure — tall, shadowed, hat brim low — walk into the flames without flinching.
Boone was found afterward among the ashes, his glass eyes reflecting the open sky and hat and lasso returned.
This doll has already been summoned and is no longer available.