Showing posts with label Supernatural. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Supernatural. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Sample 3: Six-guns and Slay Bells: A Creepy Cowboy Christmas

Western Fictioneers presents a sample of a James Reasoner's story in Six-Guns and Slay Bells: A Creepy Cowboy Christmas

Presents for One and All

JAMES REASONER, a lifelong Texan, has been a professional writer for more than thirty years. In that time, he has authored several hundred novels and short stories in numerous genres. Best known for his Westerns, historical novels, and war novels, he is also the author of two mystery novels that have achieved cult classic status, Texas Wind and Dust Devils. Writing under his own name and various pseudonyms, his novels have garnered praise from Publishers Weekly, Booklist, and the Los Angeles Times, as well as appearing on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists. He lives in a small town in Texas with his wife, award-winning fellow author Livia J. Washburn. www.jamesreasoner.com.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Sample 2: Six-guns and Slay Bells: A Creepy Cowboy Christmas


 For Halloween Western Fictioneers presents a sample of a second story in Six-Guns and Slay Bells: A Creepy Cowboy Christmas


LARRY D. SWEAZY won the WWA Spur Award for Best Short Fiction in 2005, won the Will Rogers Medallion Award for Western Fiction 2011 and 2012, and was nominated for a SFMS Derringer award in 2007. He has published over 50 articles and short stories, which have appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine; The Adventure of the Missing Detective; Boys’ Life; Hardboiled, and other publications and anthologies. Larry is the author of the Josiah Wolfe, Texas Ranger series (Berkley). He is a member of MWA (Mystery Writers of America), WWA (Western Writers of America), and WF (Western Fictioneers). Larry lives in the Midwest, with his wife, Rose, two dogs, and a catwww.larrydsweazy.com

 The flames had died down, leaving only the glowing orange coals to give off any heat. Neither man noticed; they were fast asleep after a long journey. But the wolves noticed. They could smell the meat of a fresh kill, see the white-tailed deer strung up from a gangly cottonwood by its hooves, left, oddly, to bleed out overnight.
The alpha, a stoic gray wolf, his fur dotted with more than a fair share of scars, padded around the perimeter of the makeshift camp as softly as he could. The deer felt like bait left out to draw in the pack. Something wasn’t right. The behavior of the humans was unusual—or the alpha assumed they were stupid. Unaware of the way of the world beyond the fire.
The rest of the pack stood in wait, just beyond the shadows, listening for the grunts and growls that would command them into action.
The deer was easy pickings for a pack this size, bound and hung like it was, the hard work of the kill already done for them. There were twelve wolves in all, most of them hungry—but not starving. The pack was glad to see, and feel, the depths of winter, when the hunting was easier. The sick and tired were less of a challenge, less trouble to bring down. Especially the bison, weak, and caught knee-deep in snow. The snow season was more bountiful, but some of the pack still longed for the long days of summer when the sun offered more time to play—and kill.
There was snow on the ground, but not so much that it was difficult to walk. The leaves had turned to gold on the aspens and fallen to the ground, urging the elk to move to higher ground, off the moraine, more than two moons ago. The bison had begun to move, too, albeit slowly, gobbling at what tender roots they could find under the snow. All in the world was right, progressing along the way as it should. Except for the presence of the humans.


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Sunday, October 28, 2012

Sample of Six-guns and Slay Bells: A Creepy Cowboy Christmas


Sheriff Santa and the Ghost of Two Gun Jim

A “Sheriff Santa” Story


ROBERT J. RANDISI is the author of more than 550 books in the Western, Private Eye, Men's Adventure, and Horror genres. As J.R. Roberts he is the creator and author of the long running series "The Gunsmith." He also wrote and created the Tracker, Angel Eyes, Bounty Hunter, Mountain Jack Pike, Widowmaker, Gamblers, Sons of Daniel Shaye and Ryder series. Born in Brooklyn, New York he currently resides in Clarksville, Missouria town of 500 people overlooking the Mississippi Riverwith writer "Christine Matthews."




As the legend goes, Two-Gun Jim Turner suddenly changed his villainous ways on Christmas Day, stood up against a gang that wanted to take over a whole town as a Christmas present to themselves. He saved the town, but got gunned down at the same time. They say Turner died angry, and still roams the earth trying to find a way back.
That was forty years ago . . .
* * *
Kate Timmons told Sheriff Andy Tate, “Stand still, will you?”
“You’re pinching me.”
“We wouldn’t be having this problem if you hadn’t gone and got yourself shot last year while wearing your Santa suit.”
“Wasn’t my fault somebody tried to rob the bank during our fittin’,” he complained. “Besides, why couldn’t you just darn the hole?”
“It wasn’t just a hole, Andy,” she said. “You bled all over it.”
“Well, excuse me for bleedin’ when I get shot!”
Kate sat back on her heels and stared up at the man in the red suit, standing on a stool. They’d been playing this game for many years, and the townspeople were still waiting for them to make it legal.
“My God, Andy, did you get fatter since last year?” she demanded.
The Sheriff of Great Bend looked down at his own belly critically. She said this to him every year.
“I don’t think so,” he said, giving her the same answer.
Before Kate could respond a man rushed into Kate’s Dress Shop.
“Sheriff, that fella Brannigan and his boys are over to the bank.”
“Which one, Harvey?” he asked. The town had two banks.
“The Great Bend.”
“What are they doin’, Barney?”
”I think they’re gonna rob it.”
Andy Tate looked at Kate, then stepped down from her step stool and reached for his gun.
“Oh no, Andy Tate, don’t you do this again!” she said.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said, “but I gotta go.”
“Don’t you get shot in your Santa suit like you did last year!”
“Kate,” he said, “I’ll try my best not to get shot, at all.”


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