When Your Hero Isn't Actually Your Hero

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'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him'.
Revelation 6:8, King James Bible.

I watched Pale Rider (1985) for the first time yesterday, and I have to say that I was impressed. It might be a slow burner in places, but I'd expect nothing else from Clint Eastwood. Yet despite its similarities to the earlier High Plains Drifter (1973), I think there's a lot to learn from the film's use of character, particularly regarding antagonists and protagonists.

The plot, in a nutshell, is fairly simple. Set sometime in 1880s California, a small mining camp has grown up alongside a stream believed to contain gold. Local mine owner Coy Lahood (Richard Dysart) sends his thugs to vandalise the camp in an effort to force the people to leave. The thugs shoot a small dog belonging to a teenaged girl, Megan (Sydney Penny), who prays for a miracle while burying her pet. Lo and behold, a man known only as Preacher (Clint Eastwood) turns up, and manages to galvanise the camp into staying put, and fighting for their claims. Lahood calls in a corrupt marshal, named Stockburn (John Russell), and the stage is set for the final showdown. Spoilers ahead, if you haven't seen it, though in all honesty, you'd probably be able to guess the ending anyway!

The notion of an outsider coming in to help a group of people against a violent threat sounds similar to High Plains Drifter, but Preacher is a more positive figure than that of the Drifter. In addition, while the townsfolk of High Plains Drifter were guilty of earlier crimes, the campfolk of Pale Rider have committed no crime, and are therefore innocent, making Preacher a protector. Yet he isn't actually the hero - he's a facillitator.

It's important to establish in any story who your protagonist and antagonist are. In Pale Rider, Coy Lahood is clearly the antagonist. He wants the camp gone, and he'll do anything to get his way. You might initially think the protagonist is Preacher, but you'd be wrong. The real protagonist is miner Hull Barrett (Michael Moriarty), who we see demonstrating both bravery and determination early on in the film.

• Once the initial raid is over, it is Hull who ventures into town, despite a beating on an earlier visit. He refuses to be cowed by Lahood and his men. 


• It is also Hull who repeatedly tries to break a massive boulder in a stream, a boulder he believes hides a gold vein. Hull's belief is proven true, and he finds gold, which he uses to pay the camp's debts in the nearby town. He tells Preacher that he won't blast the rock as it will destroy the course of the stream, which sets him in direct comparison with Lahood who blasts anything that gets in his way, regardless of what it does to the landscape. 


• Hull has also taken in Megan and her mother Sarah (Carrie Snodgress) after Sarah's husband abandoned her, yet he doesn't force her into marriage until she's ready for it. 

Hull is not presented as a hero, but his actions betray him as such. Characters in the film refer to him as "decent" and "good", and he shows he is both of these. He isn't the same man of action and obvious hero as Preacher, but his stirring speech to the camp when they consider selling up also helps to cement him as a 'go to' guy.

Stockburn and his rogue deputies

Preacher is set up as being the character who must face down the bad guy, and through a vague reference to a history with Stockburn, we realise that the shoot out will be between this pair. It's difficult to consider Stockburn as an antagonist as he has simply been hired by Lahood, in the same way that Preacher cannot be the antagonist since he shows up later in the film than Hull. Hull initially attempts to accompany Preacher into town, but after destroying Lahood's mining operation, Preacher scares Hull's horse away so that he will be left behind - Preacher wants to keep him safe. He heads into town and has his shoot out with Stockburn, but Lahood remains alive, and attempts to shoot Preacher. Hull appears, having walked into town, and shoots Lahood. The protagonist has defeated the antagonist with the help of a facilitator - Preacher both awakens and illuminates heroic qualities within Hull to enable him to become the hero of the story, so that Hull can remain the hero even after Preacher leaves.

So what's my point? Well what I'm saying is that your protagonist needn't necessarily be the guy who comes in, all guns blazing. He should be the guy who develops and grows throughout the narrative, even if he needs help to do so. Don't be afraid to give your hero a helping hand.

If you like your Westerns gritty or pulpy, my novella, The Guns of Retribution, is available for Kindle through Amazon US (99c), and Amazon UK (77p).

The Guns of Retribution available again!

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I blogged last week about the fact that I'm selling the last of the print run for my pulp Western, The Guns of Retribution. These were the books published back in September 2011 when Pulp Press put the book out, and I would love for them to go to good homes. The last of the print run arrived on my birthday this year, so it was as if Grey O'Donnell was sending me a greeting of his own! The book has had good reviews, and if you like pulp adventure tales, then you just might enjoy it. I'm happy to sign them if required, and they're available for just £4 plus shipping, which is a bargain considering the cover price of £7.99. Chances are there won't be another print run so if you do want a copy, then grab them while I still have them!

However, I'm also pleased to announce that The Guns of Retribution now has a new electronic home with Beat to a Pulp, and is once again available for the Kindle! You can buy it from Amazon US or Amazon UK (and no doubt your own homegrown Amazon retail site), although this time it features a slightly different cover. The fabulous illustration of Grey and the train robbery by the fantastic Alex Young are still present, but the rest of the design was put together by yours truly (with suggestions by Nerine Dorman and Carrie Clevenger). I've also managed to keep my tagline!

I'm really proud to be part of the Beat to a Pulp family, and you can check out their other books if you like your fiction pulp-y. I'm a particular fan of Heath Lowrance, but I'll always have a soft spot for Edward Grainger's Cash Laramie stories. Of course, I've now got new motivation to finish the sequel to The Guns of Retribution, a horror/pulp tale named To Kill A Dead Man, and there are plans for more stories too.

It's onwards and upwards from here, people!

#GuestPost - The Challenge of Marketing Westerns

Tweet Anyone who read this blog with any regularity will know I have a thing about Westerns. Thankfully, I am not the only one, and it's my pleasure to hand the Blunt Pencil over to Matthew Pizzolato, whose new novel Outlaw is now out! Matthew's here to talk about the challenges of marketing a Western, something about which I know far too much, so pull up a chair and get yourself comfy...

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Now that I have published two Western books, The Wanted Man and Outlaw, I am discovering something that I realized a few years ago when I started looking for markets to submit my short stories. Back then, there really weren't many places that published Western fiction. Likewise, there are not a lot of places to market a Western novel today. There are a couple of book listing sites but those places don't promote your work for you.

Writers who work in the Western genre are faced with the task of not only finding marketing opportunities for their fiction, but fighting against what seems to be a stigma against Westerns.

Sometimes in talking to new people, it always shocks me that they seem interested in my work until they find out I write Westerns. Some have bluntly told me they don't like them or don't read them and it always leaves me wondering why. Have they actually read one or are they judging them by assumption?

People could be jumping to conclusions about modern Western writing. Perhaps they think of the genre as outdated. Yet nothing could be further from the truth.

Early classic Westerns are tales of black and white, of moral absolutes of right and wrong, and there is nothing wrong with those kinds of stories. However, a lot of today's Westerns explore the gray area.

I think the turning point in the genre came with Clint Eastwood's film, Unforgiven. That movie is my biggest inspiration, and I think it completely reinvented the Western.

Take for example the success of the AMC series, Hell on Wheels. It is by no means a classic Western. The main character is an antihero and is a far cry from the normal Western protagonist. The characters in Hell on Wheels are not perfect, they are flawed human beings who people can identify with and I think that is the key to the success of the show.

For me, the beauty of the genre is that any kind of story can be told as a Western. It is an unlimited tapestry and the potential is endless. There are a myriad of subgenres ranging from Western Historical Romance to the Weird Western and everything in between from Horror to Mystery. Anyone who likes to read can find a Western they will enjoy.

I think that the key to marketing Westerns in the future is to keep fighting against the stigma. Write stories that breathe fresh air into the genre instead of using the same old clichés, and most of all, never apologize for writing Westerns.

Outlaw is available from Amazon US and Amazon UK.

BIO

Matthew Pizzolato is a member of Western Fictioneers. His fiction has been published in various online and print magazines. He writes a weekly NASCAR column for Insider Racing News and can be contacted via his personal website: http://www.matthew-pizzolato.com

Contact Links

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authormatthewpizzolato
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mattpizzolato
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5837035.Matthew_Pizzolato

OUTLAW Book Description

The outlaw Wesley Quaid wants to put the past behind him and start his life anew in another place where no one has ever heard of him. When a mysterious woman he once knew resurfaces, Wesley discovers that a man can't run from his past anymore than he can run from the kind of man he has become.

How the West was won

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A funny thing happened on Saturday. A lot of my Twitter followers and Facebook friends started enthusing about the Western, purely because that week's Doctor Who episode had a Western theme. It's amazing, considering how many people said they weren't interested in The Guns of Retribution because they "don't like Westerns".

The Western is a genre unique to America but it's not a genre that appeals solely to Americans. I talked about this in one of my guest posts last week, but I think that the Western as a genre is not as staid or outdated as some people seem to think. The True Grit remake is more recent than the John Wayne films people seem to have in mind when they think of the Western, and look at the success of Deadwood or Hell on Wheels on TV.

Within literature, the Western has never truly gone away, but there are definitely writers working towards making it a viable and popular genre once again. There is still a market for the more 'classic' Western tale, as the success of Edward A. Grainger's Cash Laramie story collections proves. I've reviewed volume I and volume II on my blog and I absolutely love his US marshal, Laramie. Raised by Native Americans, and partnered by the black (and totally fantasic) Gideon Miles, the stories look at issues around race, while continuing to deliver adventure and action. Grainger has also taken the unusual step of allowing other writers to tell stories using his creations - Heath Lowrance wrote the fantastic Miles to Little Ridge, while Wayne D. Dundee wrote Manhunter's Mountain. I think it's this almost collaborative approach that stands testament to how supportive the Western community is.

Short stories certainly seem to be the way to go, and Matt Pizzolato's collection, The Wanted Man, offers eight stories for just 99c. It's available both for the Kindle and the Nook, as well as in paperback for $5.99. Four of the stories feature his antihero, Wesley Quaid, who now stars in his own forthcoming novella, Outlaw. But Pizzolato doesn't just write fiction - he also edits The Western Online, dedicated to all things Western.

Thing is, I'm a firm believer than the Western is a genre that plays very well with other genres. If you like your historical romances, then Beth Trissel should be your go-to gal. Cowboys & Aliens proved that sci-fi works with the Western, and Back to the Future III did much the same. There's even a sub genre, named the 'weird Western', and Heath Lowrance has two stories available that mix horror with the Western. Starring his hero, Hawthorne, they're a good blend of generic elements and should appeal to fans of either genre. That Damned Coyote Hill was a spooky read, and The Long Black Train is the other Hawthorne title. Hopefully fans of the weird Western will appreciate my sequel to The Guns of Retribution, in which Grey O'Donnell fights a foe far stranger than a crooked sheriff. To Kill A Dead Man is on my 'to finish writing' list. In the meantime, you can always read my three-part Dead Man's Hand, which is available for the Kindle.

I just hope that people will give the Western a chance - it's a strong, vital and enjoyable genre, a heady mix of historical fiction and the action/adventure stories we enjoyed as kids. I'm not even saying that just to get you to read my book - I'm saying it on behalf of all of us.

[Interview] Tony Bengtsson

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As part of my two week celebration of all things Old West, I thought I'd change the focus of my blog for a day, swinging the focus away from writing and onto music. I first encountered singer-songwriter Tony Bengtsson at a Wild West revue held at Bar Loco in Newcastle upon Tyne, and I've been a fan ever since. As his brand of Country really appeals to me, I asked if I could interview him here at the Blunt Pencil and he very graciously said yes! So pull up a pew and find out what makes this talented artist tick...


Sounds a bit of an obvious question, but what made you choose country as a genre, as opposed to more obviously 'English' genres?
Well to be honest I think it was more that Country, or at least Americana, that chose me. My dad used to listen to a lot of music and I just grew up listening to what he listened to. A lot of what he liked was 60’s poppy rock and roll but it was always artists like Kenny Rodgers and Creedence Clearwater Revival that stuck out for me. Real songs about real problems!

Also, Films and TV had a big influence. The film Convoy, and shows like The Dukes of Hazzard with WC McCall and Waylon Jennings singing the respective theme tunes, just did it for me! That and the whole load of cars and trucks chasing each other!

Nowadays it seems like a lot of the British music scene is more about fashion and what you look like, rather than having anything real to say. And that’s what I love about Country. It’s still real.

Do you think country as a genre has changed too much from its early days and is now just a form of pop music, or do you think there is enough wiggle room for artists to pursue a more traditional sound?
You’ll always have a pop version of any music genre. It’s all about making money by appealing to the lowest common denominator. That’s not to say all popular music is bad, but I do believe there is good and bad music. You could say that in the day, Johnny Cash was popular music. He made the charts, was a big name etc, but he stayed true to his roots as an artist, even releasing an album of hymns he learned from his mother!
Eventually genres cross and a lot of modern Country like Brad Paisley, Keith Urban and Taylor Swift is all very polished and hyper-produced, and can all be classed as pop. I don’t think this is a good or bad thing, it’s just what happens when technology improves and listeners are listening to more music than ever these days. Record companies have to compete in an ever growing marketplace so it’s inevitable I think.
On the other hand, you have modern bands like the Steeldrivers who are a wonderful example of original yet traditional bluegrass. So to answer your question, there’s always room to wiggle!

Is the reality TV format killing music, or will fans always go looking for the music that they like, regardless of what Simon Cowell tells them to buy?
I never know how to answer this question. I’m in two minds, but am a little more worried than I would have been say 20 years ago or more.

Firstly, TV ‘talent shows’ are in no way a new thing, we’ve had Opportunity Knocks and New Faces for years in this country, and they’ve spawned some good acts. However, we also had a thriving pub and social club network where bands and comedians could work their apprenticeship. If people wanted to be entertained they only had to go down the street and there’d be some form of live act on at their local. The difference these days is the lack of opportunity for young artists due to a few modern day circumstances like all night TV, cheap supermarket alcohol and economic recession which brings extra problems, like the closing of key entertainment venues and live music pubs.

All of this makes Saturday night Cowell fests all the more important to some people and as a result we’re slowly creating a culture of spoon fed perfectly recorded music to the masses and an increasing impatience of live music and what live music actually sounds like.

Luckily, I think musicians are a resilient breed and rather than caving in to these sorts of things will adapt and become more creative in their attempts to be heard, and as a result, fans will always go out of their way to look for the music that they like! I’m a fan at the end of the day and for me there’s nothing more exciting than discovering a new band and claiming them as your own!

Lots of artists make a name for themselves after their songs are featured in adverts. Would you ever sell one of your songs in that way, or would you prefer to be associated with movies/TV?
I’d love to hear one of my songs on an advert! As long as it’s not for McDonald’s or women’s products ha-ha! Seriously though I can’t afford to be too precious about my songs and if I thought somebody was interested in my music for an advert then I’d certainly consider it!

Obviously film and TV would be far greater kudos but we’ve all got to pay the rent right? What I will say however, is that I really don’t get how lame advert songs are at the minute! Far too light and fluffy for my liking!

Do you think digital formats and the Internet has made it easier for musicians to reach new fans as they no longer need to be signed to a huge label?
I think this goes hand in hand with the question about reality TV. The internet is a fantastic tool for unsigned artists as it’s a great way to have your music heard by far more people than playing your home town every week. It’s undoubtedly mad it far easier for musicians to reach new fans not only locally but worldwide!
If you’re savvy enough you can really make your music pay aswell. There are online distribution companies that will (for a small fee) distribute your music to places like Amazon, iTunes, Spotify and so on. Obviously people need to know you’ve done this – and this is where social networking sites come into their own. For next to nothing, bands can have a website, Facebook page, and a link to buy their album on Amazon and iTunes. That would have been unthinkable when I started playing in a band nearly 20 years ago!
Publicity and good friends are everything as an unsigned artist and your internet presence has to be big enough to stand out in this incredibly saturated independent music marketplace!

And finally, where do you get your inspiration from, and would you ever consider writing any songs about literary characters (hint hint!)?
Lyrically, my inspiration comes from everyday things that happen to me or people I know, (usually tied to romantic relationships!) or just general observations. That could be anything from a breakup to my dislike of the X Factor to the death of my dad as in The Fire. Anything I feel strongly enough about to write about I suppose! It’s hard for me to come up with lyrics to a song if I feel like I’m making stuff up. I just haven’t got the imagination!

Musically I write ALL the time. My phone has a recorder application and it’s absolutely full of music without lyrics! I’ll hear a chord change somewhere (could be and advert, TV show theme tune, anything!) and there’ll be something that I like in it and use it to come up with a sequence of chords. Then I come up with a melody – usually after a drink or two...

It always works that way round. Chords first, melody second, lyrics last! Obviously I have bands that I love and there’ll be certain songs that come out of other songs (shouldn’t say that really!) but every musician has musicians who influence them!

As for writing about literary characters, I think I might have to give that a go! I have thought about it but I imagine it’d be a lot harder than writing from experience! I feel a lot safer doing that!

You can find out more at www.tony-bengtsson.com - and check out The Fire on YouTube!

Story Structure - Pulp

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If you follow me on Twitter, among the copious tweets about who I would hire to provide the voice for my supervillain car (John Hurt and Mark Strong are the front-runners thus far but I'm sure I could accommodate Nathan Fillion) or my constant pleas to Hollywood to just GIVE THE SHAKY CAM A BLOODY REST, then you might have noticed a recent "wobble" in my normally impeccable self confidence [sic].

I realised that if I'm not posting writing prompts or Friday flash stories, then the rest of my blog posts are either book reviews or "writing advice". Now, I'll be honest with you. I do suffer from crippling self-esteem problems. I do get rattled by negative reviews. I do tie myself up in knots over whether or not people will be entertained by what I've written. So when I tried to think about what to dispense in the way of writing advice, I suddenly thought "Hang on, who the hell are you to tell people how to write?" It really bothered me. I mean, it's not like I'm Stephen King, is it? Still, as various valued tweeters pointed out, I have put out two books on my own that received good reviews, and I had my beloved Guns of Retribution published by the ever-awesome Pulp Press, so while I may not be anyone special, perhaps I can share something I've learned along the way.

One of the things I have learned is that story structure is probably the single most important thing that you can master. Dialogue, character, theme - these are all vital to the success of your story, but without a strong structure in which to place them, it's all just dust in the wind, dude. Normally I would cite Larry Brooks' Story Engineering or James Scott Bell's Plot & Structure at this point - they're both excellent books and I highly recommend them both for really getting your head around why successful stories work, and how you can give your own stories a fighting chance. Yes, there is a reason that books that may seem to be badly-written, predictable or full of crap characters still succeed, and it all comes down to how the story unfolds.

The reason I said "normally" is because there are other ways. Bell reduces structure to three acts; the first act sets up the plot, introducing us to the protagonist, and establishing their world. Act two begins when some sort of defining incident occurs, pushing the protagonist forward. Bell describes this point as being a doorway of no return - something happens to prevent the protagonist from returning to their previous way of life. Act two is the main bulk of the action, but there's still the possibility they could walk away. Finally, we reach another propelling incident pushes them into act three, an incident which forces them to put into action any plans they've made, or do whatever it is they have to do. It's a solid structure, and it works. Brooks breaks it down even further into hooks, plot points, midpoints, and Lord knows what else - I won't sport with your intelligence by breaking it down further, but the book really does explain a lot.

But there is another way. In 1904, Lester Dent was born in Missouri. In 1929, he sold his first story to Top Notch magazine. He became a hugely successful pulp author throughout the 1930s and 40s, writing all but twenty of the 181 Doc Savage novels about an adventure character who attained near-superhero status. Dent's Master Fiction Plot, also known as the Lester Dent Formula, is often given as an alternative plot for pulp stories of around 6000 stories. In it, Dent splits the plot into four, not the traditional three.

In the first quarter, we are introduced to the hero, along with his mystery (or whatever suits the genre). He has an initial attempt at sorting things out - and fails. Somewhere near the end of the first quarter, he ends up in trouble (usually physical conflict) and there is a twist in the plot. In the second quarter, more grief is heaped onto the hero - he struggles on, leading to another conflict, and another plot twist. The third quarter sees more grief for the hero, although he manages to make some kind of headway before he ends up in yet more conflict, and has to cope with another twist. The final quarter sees the hero really neck deep in the brown stuff, although he manages to free himself either through skill or strength. He heads off to solve the mystery and navigate the final plot twist.

Naturally that all seems a little formulaic but hey, he was writing pulp fiction. If you're interested, check the actual article out. The Master Plot is supposed to apply to 6000 word stories, but I used it when I wrote One Woman Cure for the forthcoming For Books' Sake anthology, Short Stack, and I even applied it (albeit loosely) to The Guns of Retribution. Why? Well, as much as The Guns of Retribution might be a Western, it is also a pulp Western, and as such subscribes to the conventions of the pulp genre (e.g. the femme fatale). I won't be using the pulp plot for the as-yet-unnamed sequel, but that's because I'm going down a supernatural route with this one, and I think that demands a more traditional structure. But I want to write more pulp in future, so I won't rule out using it again.

All I'm trying to say is that structure is important, but it's also something to be explored. Whether you use three acts, three acts and a crapload of points in between, or quartiles, find a structure that works for your story and stick to it. Your readers will thank you.

Western Whodunnit Dust and Death available now

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Do you remember those Choose Your Own Adventures books from when you were a kid? You were dropped into a narrative scenario, and the choices you made at the end of each page determined the course of the story. Well, they're back. Sort of. Here we have the online version! Read the story, and click the link of the option you want to follow. So very simple - with hundreds of possible stories available.

Our CYOA overlady Annie Evett has blogged about the process of collaborative writing here but if you want to get stuck into Dust and Death, you can read the premise here. The blurb reads thus;

When new deputy arrives into Cyotta Falls, only one person suspects his true purpose. They will do everything in their power to ensure Daniel is kept permanently quiet.
After a landowner dies in front of him and the Sheriff quickly announces it as natural causes, Daniel begins to suspect Cyotta Falls holds its own secrets. With most town folk under suspicion, Daniel must unravel the tight community to uncover its stories. Toss in saloon fights, a travelling freak show, a whiff of black magic and questionable railway land buyers sniffing around, there is a recipe for Western Intrigue which can only be solved by you.

It's a Western, which is naturally a genre close to my heart (especially with the impending release of The Guns of Retribution), and I've contributed several story threads, as well as a teaser, The Painted Man.

Just £3 ($4.99 US or $4.50 AUS) buys you access to ALL of the story threads. Bargain!

Massive announcement

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It is my honour, privilege and pleasure to announce that my very first novella will be coming out within the next few months! The Guns of Retribution will be published by the super awesome Pulp Press on 24th September 2011, with the Kindle edition coming out slightly earlier.

Some of you may know a bit about my novella already, but I've tried to restrict myself from talking about it on here in case I inadvertently jinxed myself (how's that for promotion?). I'm indebted to Rob Diaz, Carrie Clevenger, Sam Adamson, Jen Brubacher and Adam Byatt for their invaluable assistance during the beta-reading and editing stages. I spent some months writing The Guns of Retribution earlier in the year and I'm so relieved that it'll see the light of day.

The Guns of Retribution is a revenge tale set in the Old West, centered around a young bounty hunter named Grey O'Donnell. You may have heard Grey's name most recently after I described how he came through on a ouija board to say thank you during a paranormal investigation. Accompanied by his apprentice, Billy, and an orphaned Apache named Mahko, Grey is on the trail of Blackjack Bud Hudson, who is wanted for murder. Hudson leads him back to Grey's home town, Retribution, which is now a pit of debauchery run by the crooked sheriff, Jasper Roberts. Grey's return reminds Jasper of their chequered past and they end up on a collision course - only Grey isn't the only one out for Jasper's blood.

Image by http://www.cgpgrey.com/

I set The Guns of Retribution in Arizona, and I did a fair amount of research to ensure that while yes, it's a pulp story, it's also a reasonably accurate one. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, and working with Grey proved to be an eye-opening experience - he not only chose his own occupation, he also dictated the choice of point of view, and made plenty of plot suggestions of his own. I truly hope you love him, and the book, as much as I do.

Of course, September's still a fair way off, so in the meantime, I can't recommend the other Pulp Press titles enough, particularly Danny Hogan's Jailbait Justice, which I reviewed back in April. It's still only 70p in the UK, and 99c in the US, which is an absolute BARGAIN considering how utterly ace it is.

Friday Flash - Dead Man's Hand III

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The gunslinger woke with a start. He whipped out his pistols, pointing in all directions. His vision cleared and he realised he was alone. He gazed around the saloon. A shaft of moonlight fell across the floor beneath the swing doors. Empty glasses sat like islands in the sea of dust covering the tables.

The gunslinger hauled himself out of his chair and crossed the room. His boots knocked hollow against the wooden floorboards. He pushed open the doors, and the creak screeched in the eerie silence of the street.

The gunslinger walked out onto the verandah. He expected to see the soiled doves displaying their wares for drunken cowboys, or gamblers stumbling from one saloon to the next. At least one brawl should have spilled out into the street. The gunslinger saw and heard no one. Not even the howl of a plains coyote drifted on the night air.

The gunslinger walked down the street. He looked at the empty buildings, peering through windows and poking his head around doors. He wanted to call out but he realised he didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know any names to call. A breeze gusted down the street, and cards skittered around his feet. He bent to pick them up. Two aces, two eights and a Queen. The memory of a gun shot crashed in his ears as he looked at the bloodstained cards.

I must be dreamin’, he thought.

He reached the railroad. A black horse stood alone in the middle of the square in front of the shack that served as a station. It whinnied when it saw him, and nodded its head. The gunslinger walked over to the horse, marvelling at the sheen on its midnight coat. He ran his fingers through its dark mane, the silver streaks sparkling like starlight in his hands.

“Who do you belong to, big fella?” asked the gunslinger.

The horse turned his head and nodded at the fine leather saddle on its back. The gunslinger shrugged, put his foot in the stirrup, and boosted himself up. He swung his leg over the horse’s back and settled into the saddle. The stallion whinnied again, and set off at a trot. They set off over the railroad tracks. The gunslinger spotted a wooden sign beside the rails. Hand painted letters spelled out the name ‘Sticks’.

At least I know where I’m leavin’, he thought.

He tried to guide the horse but the stallion stayed true. The gunslinger gave up hauling at the reins and sat back in the saddle, watching the moonlit plain go by. The horse broke into a gallop, and ran towards the hills that rose from the plain like sleeping levianthans.

The gunslinger held tight to the reins as the horse careered down a path into a narrow valley. Skeletal trees clung to the sheer rock walls on either side, and the stallion’s hooves kicked up a fine spray of pebbles and sand.

The horse came to an abrupt halt as the valley widened into a small quarry. A young woman sat bareback on a pearl grey horse. Her black lips broke into a grin, and she waved as the black stallion brought the gunslinger nearer.

“You’ve made it!” she exclaimed. Her voice buzzed with a millennia of rot.

“Who are you? Where am I?” asked the gunslinger.

“Well you’re Wild Bill Hickok, and you’ve just come through the valley,” replied the young woman. Stars glittered in the depths of her midnight eyes.

“Care to explain that to me, little miss?”

“Why don’t you ride with me?”

The young woman rode down the trail away from Wild Bill. The black horse trotted after, flicking his tail. Wild Bill stared at the young woman when the horses drew level. The horses whinnied a greeting to one another.

“See, you have to understand that you’re dead,” she said.

Wild Bill stared at her in disbelief, unsure he had heard her correctly.

“I know, I know, it’s a lot to take in at once. But you’re dead. You’ve been dead for quite some time but that hasn’t stopped you wandering about through time, has it?”

“The cards...”

“Yes. Those blasted cards. You’ve been disrupting the timeline, shooting anyone that got the Dead Man’s Hand - or at least ensuring they got shot themselves. I’ve been trying to catch up with you for a while now.”

“So you’re....” Wild Bill’s blue eyes widened.

“Death. Yes. And you’ve been rather upsetting my system.”

The trail led into a lush meadow. Moths flickered above the emerald grass, their wings reflecting the light of the stars overhead. The sound of running water and laughter filled the air. Shades of people long gone drifted to and fro, pausing to converse with each other, the echoes of their voices reaching through the ages. Wild Bill recognised some of them as people he’d shot.

“I like you, really, I do. You’re one of the Universe’s true characters, Mr Hickok. But it’s time for you to find some peace now,” said Death.

“I guess I am kinda tired,” said Wild Bill. He stroked his moustache as he gazed across the meadow. His body convulsed in a deep yawn.

“You rest now. Leave the death side of things to me.”

“Alright, miss. I guess you know best and all.”

Death leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek. Wild Bill’s eyes closed for the final time.

* * *

This is the final installment of a loose trilogy based around the Dead Man's Hand, the hand of cards allegedly held by infamous gunfighter Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in the back while playing poker in a Deadwood saloon on August 2, 1876.

Part I : Part II

Friday Flash - Dead Man's Hand II

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Parker sat at the computer, watching the cards flick up on the screen. A pair of nines, a pair of threes, and a seven. Not bad. Good job he ditched the five and the Jack. Still, RickyBoy364 had four eights and a two, so he won the hand.

"LOLZ P-Diddy47. Do u want me 2 take all yr $$?" The writing appeared in the chat box at the bottom of the game screen. Parker grimaced. RickyBoy364 always taunted him when Parker lost a hand.

Parker checked his account. He still had $80 left of his original stake. He pressed the button to chip in for the next hand. His cards flipped up. An ace, a four, an eight, a ten, and a Queen. Not brilliant. More writing appeared in the chat box. Jasmine277 asked if anyone had time to give her relationship advice between hands. Newbie23 complained about his bad luck with poker. Parker scowled at the poor bluff.

"Parker? Are you home?"

His mother's voice drifted through his open bedroom door.

"Yeah, Mom," called Parker.

He clicked on the ace, eight and Queen to hold them. Parker didn't really have much hope, and clicking at random seemed to work as well as having a clear strategy.

"Could you help me unload the car?" called Parker's mother.

Parker sighed. He typed 'afk' in the chat box and pressed 'deal' before getting up to leave his room. The new cards flicked into place as he headed down the stairs.

His mother stood outside on the front path. Bulging bags of groceries leaned against her legs. Parker hefted two of them onto his hips and headed inside.

"I didn't interrupt anything important, did I?" asked his mother as she followed him to the kitchen.

"No, Mom. Just chatting to some dudes online," replied Parker.

"You weren't playing that game again, were you?"

"No, Mom." Parker hoped his ears didn't colour and give him away.

"Good. You know those blasted cards were the death of your great-great uncle."

Parker made several return trips to clear the path of bags. He left his mother unpacking the goods in the kitchen. He dreaded to think what abuse RickyBoy364 might have left in his absence from the game.

Parker walked into his bedroom. He yelped when he saw the figure sitting in his chair. A Stetson sat on his head, and blond hair curled down his back. The figure swung the chair around to face Parker. The man's piercing blue eyes fixed on Parker, his lip twitching beneath a bushy blond moustache. The man pointed an antique Colt at Parker's gut.

"Who the hell are you?" shouted Parker.

"You got the Dead Man's Hand, son," replied the man. He faded and flickered as he spoke, as if Parker was watching him on an old TV set.

Parker looked over the man's shoulder. Two aces, two eights and a Queen flashed on the screen. A tirade of abuse from Rickyboy364 scrolled along the chat box beneath the cards. A dialog box asked Parker if he wanted to add the $70 to his account and leave the game, or play again.

"Oh hey, I won!" said Parker.

"You got the Dead Man's Hand, son," repeated the gun man.

"What does that even mean? And who are you? What are you doing in my room? I'm calling the police," said Parker.

"You got the Dead Man's Hand, son," said the man with the Colt.

Parker reached for the phone. The man fired, flickering out of existence as the bullet slammed in Parker's gut. Parker hit the floor with a thud.

The Dead Man's Hand was the last thing he saw as his room faded to black.

* * *

This is the second of a loose trilogy based around the Dead Man's Hand, the hand of cards allegedly held by infamous gunfighter Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in the back while playing poker in a Deadwood saloon on August 2, 1876.

Part I appeared last week, here.

Friday Flash - Dead Man's Hand I

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Edmund Rothers sat in the shadows at the back of the saloon. His eyes flicked down to his cards. A pair of aces, a pair of eights, and a queen. The Dead Man’s Hand. Edmund looked up at his opponent.

“You sure don’t say much,” said Blackjack Bud Hudson across the table.

“I apologise for my reticence, it is simply the way such games are played in the gentlemen’s clubs of London. Is conversation the accepted convention in these parts?” asked Edmund.

“I, er, what?”

“Do you desire conversation?”

“Er, I dunno...you sure talk awful fancy, English fella.”

“No, I simply speak English. There is nought fancy about it when used in the correct fashion, as an educated man is wont to do.”

“You sayin’ I’m not edumacated?”

Blackjack Bud narrowed his bloodshot eyes. He twisted his thin lips into a sneer.

“Of course not. It would be most unbecoming of me to insult my host in such a genial and hospitable place as this,” said Edmund. He gestured around the half-empty saloon. His eyes lingered on the buckshot embedded in the walls, testament to an old grudge turned violent.

“You’re usin’ big words there, English fella. I think you’re tryin’ to make me feel stupid.”

“I assure you it is not my intention. As it happens, I consider you a natural raconteur and easy wit. Come now, this talk distracts us from our game,” replied Edmund.

Blackjack Bud grunted and looked back at his cards. Edmund suspected a bad hand from the way Bud squinted and frowned at the cards.

“I think I’m gonna call you out.”

“Very well,” replied Edmund. He spread his cards on the table. Blackjack Bud’s face contorted in rage, his eyes bulging as a vein in his temple throbbed. He threw down his own cards – a pair of threes, a six, a nine and a King.

“Oh that is bad luck, Mr Hudson,” said Edmund. He reached across the table for his winnings.

“You dirty cheat.”

Edmund paused.

“What did you call me?”

“I said you’re a dirty cheat. Ain’t no way you can keep winnin’. No way at all. I’m a born gambler – why do you think they call me Blackjack Bud?”

“But Mr Hudson...this is poker.”

Blackjack Bud slammed his fist down, trapping Edmund’s hand on top of the crumpled bank notes. He leaned across the table. The stale alcohol on his breath made Edmund’s eyes water.

“Come now. I have won every hand fair and square. I am no cheat.”

Blackjack Bud’s free hand trembled beside his holster. Edmund jerked his own free hand to his shin. His hand grasped the smooth ivory handle of the knife hidden beneath his trouser leg. He unsheathed the blade and slashed across Blackjack Bud’s face in one fluid motion.

Hudson howled, yanking back his fist and pressing both hands to his cheek. Blood welled up between his fingers and dripped onto the table. A drop splashed the King of Hearts.

Edmund grabbed a fistful of money and bolted. The other patrons of the saloon watched him vault over a table and burst out of the swing doors into the street. Edmund tucked the knife into his belt as he strode down the boardwalk. He forced himself to calm down, torn between indignation over the accusation and fear of the drunken gambler with the itchy trigger finger.

“ENGLISH TRASH!”

Edmund stopped.

“Turn round, you bastard! I don’t wanna shoot a man in the back!”

He turned around. Blackjack Bud stood on the verandah of the saloon, blood dripping from his slashed cheek. Passersby dove for cover when he drew his Colt. Edmund cursed himself for not burying the knife in Blackjack Bud’s gun hand.

Silence fell, as if the whole town took the same breath of anticipation. The seconds crashed by in Edmund’s head. He noticed an alley to his left, between the saloon and the hotel. Edmund stretched his hands up in surrender, glancing between Blackjack Bud and the alley.

“Mr Hudson? Would you really shoot an unarmed –”

The crack of the pistol smashed the silence of the street. Edmund felt the impact as pain ripped into his gut. The force of the blow threw him backwards and a soundless scream tore itself from his throat. A fresh wave of pain rippled throughout his body when he hit the hard-packed earth of the street. The world turned dark.

* * *

Edmund opened his eyes. He gazed up at a purple sky shot through with streaks of gold. Sunset.

Why, only moments have passed! But why has no one come to my aid? he thought.

The sound of hooves on dry ground passed him. He wriggled up onto his elbows to see a black horse pulling a stagecoach down the street. Edmund looked around, but the town seemed deserted. He looked back at the coach, but didn’t recognise the silver crest on the door. This visitor was far too grand for a dusty hole like Blackwood.

The door swung open. A young woman poked her head out. Hair blacker than midnight tumbled around her white shoulders. Her black lips broke into a smile of grey teeth and purple gums.

“Evening, friend. You look like you could use a ride somewhere?” she asked. Her cold voice buzzed like a thousand flies around a carcass.

“Oh, indeed I could! I thought I had been shot but it appears I have had a miraculous escape,” said Edmund.

He clambered to his feet and walked to the coach. His boots made no sound on the dirt. The young woman’s face fell.

“I say, this is most decent of you. I shall be more than happy to reimburse you for your kindess,” said Edmund. He climbed into the coach. Up close, he realised that the young woman’s black eyes were filled with tiny stars.

“Sweetie, you won’t ever need to pay for anything ever again,” she said.

She closed the coach door.

* * *

This is the first of a loose trilogy based around the Dead Man's Hand, the hand of cards allegedly held by infamous gunfighter Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in the back while playing poker in a Deadwood saloon on August 2, 1876.

Also, the mysterious mademoiselle in the black coach has appeared in my work before, in Fast Away The Old Year Passes, and New Year's Dance.