Edward M. Erdelac's Blog, page 38

All Aboard! The Shomer Express

Hey guys and girls, Merkabah Rider 3: Have Glyphs Will Travel is due out December 1st, but everybody's favorite gunslinging Mensch With No Name will also be making an appearance in Pill Hill Press' new monster hunting anthology THE TRIGGER REFLEX.

This one's a short one-off adventure. The Rider is roused from sleep on a westbound train through the desert by a tearful fellow Jew, who explains that the corpse of his recently deceased mother, bound for their ancestral home in California, has been seriously desecrated while resting in the forward baggage car.  The man asks the Rider to sit watch with him over the corpse to prevent any further desecration, and the Rider agrees, sensing the hand of a malign supernatural force.

The idea for this one came from my good friend Jeff Carter, who sent me this fascinating LA Times article on professional shomrim, Jews who watch over the bodies of the dead prior to burial

- http://articles.latimes.com/1992-09-14/news/vw-647_1_dead-bodies

Tradition calls for an observant Jew to be buried typically within twelve hours of death (partially because embalming is not allowed), though according to the article, some modern day shomrim pull twenty four to forty eight hour shits. During this time, a sort of spiritual watchman is placed over the body, usually not a relative. The shomer is expected to read Psalms and recite prayers over the body.

This was another example of a title popping into my head and the story growing around it, like "The Damned Dingus" in Merkabah Rider 2: The Mensch With No name.

I just really liked the title 'The Shomer Express.'

As for the monster/menace, it was originally supposed to be a vampire (the mother was going to rise as a bloodsucker), but this felt kinda passé to me. Maybe I'm just sour on vampires right now. I wound up looking up that other, less celebrated corpse worrier, the ghoul, and I'm glad I did, because the Arabic traditions of ghouls or ghilan are pretty dang interesting.

Ghilan can assume the shape of any creature they've just eaten, for instance, and they prefer to lure desert travelers in the form of a coyote or a jackal.

This was a fun story to write. My Dad is a serious model train enthusiast. He's building a sprawling HO scale representation of the Santa Fe railroad circa the 1940′s in the basement of my parents' house in Indiana, complete with tunnels, waterfalls, and representations of various towns with businesses named by me (Little people can stop in for a bite to eat at 'Damiani's Italian Ristorante').

Not my dad's set, but you get the idea of what he's shooting for.

I admit I don't share my Dad's unabided love for railroading, but it's an admirable hobby with a really cool and impressive looking end result, and writing this story I got to talk back and forth on the phone with him over the technical details of an 1879 steam engine and passenger train, which was a lot of fun, since he could even tell me the seat colors (yeah he's that much of an expert) and whether or not the smokestack had a grate inside to keep a body from being stuffed down the pipe.

So thanks, Dad, thanks Jeff, and if you're interested dear readers, The Shomer Express will be pulling into the station at the end of this month in print. Ticket holders can already board the ebook train on Amazon….

http://www.amazon.com/Trigger-Reflex-Legends-Monster-ebook/dp/B0069U1F4A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1321893832&sr=8-1

An Excerpt From Merkabah Rider: Have Glyphs Will Travel

The Merkabah Rider series from Damnation Books follows the weird western adventures of a Hasidic gunslinger tracking the renegade teacher who betrayed his mystic Jewish order of astral travelers across the demon haunted Southwest of the 1880′s. Along the way the Rider (so called because he has hidden his true name to protect himself from his enemies) confronts half-demon outlaws, animated windmills,possessed gunmen, cultists, a bordello of antedeluvian succubi, Lovecraftian entities and various other dangers.

To evoke the old Zebra/Lancer/Bantam paperback collections of Robert E. Howard's Solomon Kane  and Conan, the novels are presented as collections of standalone but sequential novellas. The series currently consists of two installments, Tales of a High Planes Drifter and The Mensch With No Name, both available in print and ebook formats on Amazon.com.

This year will see the release of Have Glyphs Will Travel, the third book in the series. Included are five novellas, detailing the Rider's dealings with extra-dimensional angels, zombies, turncoat Riders, the wrath of the Demon Queen Lilith, Navajo skinwalkers and Native American shapeshifters, fire demons, a future instructor at a certain infamous Massachussetts institution of higher learning, and his greatest enemy.

Here's an exclusive taste of what's to come.

In this excerpt from one of the five novellas, The War Prophet, the powerful Native American mystic (and the Rider's old acquaintance) Misquamacus has gathered an army of vengeful warriors from various castout tribes in an effort to unify them against the white man's encroachment and depradations, all under the power of his dark magic.

Seeking to add the might of the Chiricahua Apache nation to his own, he has called their greatest leaders to a secret meeting high in the Sierra Madres, where he has made them a tempting offer. Turn away from their traditional religion and embrace the dark gods of Misquamacus and the white nation will be rubbed out….

*

Many of the frightened rurales were cursing, wide-eyed, shaking their heads. Many more were praying. Some were even kissing crosses that dangled from wooden bead rosaries around their necks, tucked into their dirty shirts so that the Lord did not see the terrible things they did, but so that He could be gotten to in a pinch if needed.

One Mexican among them, an old vaquero on his knees, was laughing. The Rider saw Mendez, the corporal. He stood bewildered, hands snatching at the empty holsters on his belt.

"They are for you, my brothers!" Misquamacus hollered above the din of the jabbering Mexicans, his voice powerful, resounding off the great rock walls. "Do with them what you want to do!"

And they did.

Almost as one body the Indians fell hungrily upon the cringing Mexicans like a great mouth closing. Some gamely fought back, but they were unarmed and outnumbered and quickly dragged down. Not a single bullet was wasted. Those with rifles came at the rurales with the heavy butts of their weapons, dashing skulls open at a swing. Stone axes whistled and sunk into pleading faces, and were drawn out to scatter brains and teeth and then fall again. Knives flashed, passing through scalps pulled so tight they came free in the bronze fists that held them with a single swipe and left glaring patches bereft of hair and flesh, the faces of their howling victims swiftly vanishing in a curtain of blood. Machetes swept off hands and fingers interlaced in desperate prayer.

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Big Anger and his Pawnees straddled their victims and worked vicious arts with their knives, slashing away age, race, and sex, leaving behind only meat, indiscernible from a butcher's wares. Organs leapt into the air like hats on New Year's Eve.

The Rider/Piishi saw Slim Ghost and the skinwalkers walking among the dead and dying with curved knives, stooping to extract eyes, hearts, livers, fingers, genitals, even twisting free bloody bones, all of which they stuffed into their hide satchels, for later use in their foul practices, no doubt.

The Ishaks and the Tonkawas fell wholly upon their kills, burying their faces in the cavernous wounds they ripped open with their fingers. Piishi's digestive system reacted with violent disgust at their display, and the Rider put the back of his hand to his lips and swallowed rising bile as Moon Cloud and Bloody Jaw wrestled over the bloody corpse of a fat rurale. One end of a rope of intestines twisted in-between each man's teeth, the two of them snarling at each other like wild dogs. Indeed, they looked very much like animals. Their eyes grew wide and black , and they seemed hairier than before. Their ears elongated, sharpening in elfish grotesqueness, and their teeth were suddenly pointed and jagged, wolf-like in their gory mouths, extending in some kind of perverse, ravenous arousal. They were changing before their very eyes, something in their doing bringing out their true, inhuman natures, until Bloody Jaw was more wolf than the black hide and cowl trappings that hung from his bulky, misshapen shoulders. Moon Cloud matched his bestial visage.

The Rider looked through the massacre and found Goyaałé. The Bedonkohe war chief had made his way to the still laughing old caballero, and hoisted him to his feet. He raised his bloody knife to end him.

"Goyaałé!" The Rider called in as loud a voice as he could manage, which was considerable, given the acoustics of the canyon.

Goyaałé heard, and paused to look. A moment's searching and he found the source.

"Look!" The Rider yelled, pointing to Moon Cloud and Bloody Jaw.

Goyaałé followed the indicatory gesture and his lip curled when he saw the two transformed chiefs. He let the old caballero fall and backed away. His eyes flitted all around the killing ground, and he saw the other Ishaks and Tonkawas changing into wolf-beasts.

The Rider watched as Goyaałé rushed through the crowd and found Lozen and Vittorio. He snatched the rifle from Lozen's belt.

Before she could react, he levered it and fired it into the air.

It was a startling sound, and every man and woman stopped. Even the hairy beasts that had once been Indians raised their elongated doggish muzzles from the bellies of their kills and regarded him with feral eyes.

Lozen moved to take the rifle back, but Goyaałé said something and pointed.

Lozen and Vittorio saw.

All the Apache, their attention momentarily lifted from their bloody work to the two leaders, followed their shocked gazes and saw.

And as one, just as they had closed upon the Mexicans, they now recoiled and withdrew. Not a single Mexican was still alive.

"What is this, Mis-kwa-macus?" Vittorio yelled, pointing to the wolf creatures. "What are these?"

"They are the Rugarou Ishaks and the True Tonkawas. The last of their kind," said Misquamacus. "Just as I told you."

"They are monsters!"

The blood spattered Apache voiced their agreement with angry and frightened shouts.

"Not so! Not so!" Misquamacus yelled over them. "They are your brothers, ready to fight the white man at your side. Does Usen not teach you that the beasts are your kin? Do you not emulate the ferocity of the puma and the cunning of the beaver?"

One of the skinwalkers was nearby, and Goyaałé rushed at him without warning and cut his satchel from his shoulder with his knife, then shook out its grisly contents on the ground, where all could see them. The shriveled fist of a child rolled out among the fresh trophies.

"Usen does not teach us this!" he called.

"You have said that we must turn from Usen to defeat the white man," Vittorio said. He pointed to the transformed Ishaks and Tonkawas. "Is this what happened to them when they turned from their god?"

"I offer you the death of the white man and the Mexicans for all time," said Misquamacus. "I offer you a thousand nights like this one, with your enemies beneath your knives. With the power of my god, I can snatch the Great Father in Washington from his house and bring him to us. I can pull the rails out from under the iron snakes and fling them into the air. I can put my hand over the soldier forts that rise like ugly boils across all the land and send you in to cut their throats in their beds. I can turn the weapons of the enemy against them, make their ponies burst into flame between their legs, turn their bullets to raindrops. I can geld the white man and seal up his women. I can make it so your children will never know those people but from the stories told around your fires."

"Who is your god that promises us these great victories, Mis-kwa-macus?" Goyaałé demanded. "It is time you told us."

"Yes," said Vittorio. "Who is your god that is so great but would bother with us?"

In answer, Misquamacus raised his arms for silence.

Slim Ghost and eight of the skinwalkers went to the base of the stone and knelt in a circle. They upended a series of small black pouches from their satchels into their hands and closed them into fists. Colored sand ran through their fingers, and with measured care they began to let the sand fall in ordered patterns on the bloody red earth. It was wondrous to see them work, ten men making a large vaguely circular picture, each acting independently, and yet their labors taking on a unified pattern, as if they possessed one mind, one vision. Silently, and without pause or consultation, they worked, forming mystic shapes and figures incomprehensible to outsiders and yet obviously inspired. As they worked, the colored sand drank up the spilled blood beneath, darkening in color where it fell.

The others watched them restlessly. The sun sank, and campfires had to be lit. All this was done in silence. No one dared to interrupt the skinwalkers' work.

When it was at last finished, they rose as one and returned to the ranks of their people, and a mesmerizing sand painting lay before the stone on which Misquamacus had stood the whole time, observing. Red and blacks and blues dominated the work, and there were dancing feathered figures, moons, stars, and geometric patterns. To the Rider, only a few of these seemed somewhat familiar, some of them not unlike the diagrams found in the Book of Zylac. Yet all were distinctly Indian in their interpretation. Central to the painting was a strange faceless humanoid shape of black sand.

Misquamacus removed something from his satchel then, a polished mirror fragment, the size of a man's head. He placed it in the center to the sand painting, over the center shape.

Then, before their eyes, that black shape began to grow oily and to boil like hot tar.

A lump rose from the center and took shape, congealing into a man-like form, carrying the fragment of mirror with it. Steam rose from the thing, as if it was hotter than the cool mountain air around it. When it had completed its unnatural birth, it stood nearly eight feet tall, like an earthen statue, black, with bumpy skin, like a flayed corpse, faceless but for the smooth mirror.

The Rider/Piishi recognized the same being they had seen in Misquamacus' wickiup.

The Dark Man.

Black, foul smelling smoke, like the oily stench of a machine fueled by corpses, pouring from around the edges of the thing's mirror mask, billowing unnaturally around the figure, never rising, cloaking it in a greasy fog.

The Ishaks and Tonkawas fell to all fours and pressed their jaws to the earth like submitting hounds. They sent up a bone chilling baying and howling din, so terrible that the Apaches clamped their hands over their ears to hear it. The Pawnees put their foreheads to the earth, and even the skinwalkers knelt and bowed their heads. The Apaches moved away, frightened of the thing.

Misquamacus turned and went to his knees, arms still above his head in adoration.

"Behold Tezcatlipoca! The Dark Wind. We are his slaves. Nyarlathotep!"

Merkabah Rider 3: Have Glyphs Will Travel

Coming December 1st from Damnation Books.

Don't Forget Your Masks: The Greatest Halloween Movie Ever Is….

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Halloween III: Season of The Witch is the greatest Halloween movie ever.  In terms of the holiday and in terms of the series.

Yeah, I said it.

Time to go to guns.

Why's it the best in the series?

We have Jason Voorhees, we have Freddy Krueger, the other two top tier 80's horror icons. Now in layman's terms, I would liken Jason to Sylvester Stallone and Freddy to Arnold Schwarzenegger. One guy was the silent kill 'em all type, the other sure killed 'em all but always made with the snappy puns.

Michael Meyers is the Jean Claude Van Damme of horror. What does he bring to the table? Well he looks like Schwarzenegger, he talks worse than Stallone, and he can do the splits. IE, Nothing. He's just not as interesting to watch. Jason's mask is cooler, his motive is more compelling (just why is Michael Meyers indestructible anyway?), and Meyers shares his name with the guy who played Austin Powers. Oh and Freddy? He's got a great look, a signature weapon, and he can enter your dreams. Forget about it.

Uh...anybody down there? It's me. Mike.

He's comin' home tonight...YEAH BABY!

I know there's a lot of love for the original Halloween, I know it was innovative in terms of mood and editing and invigorating the slasher genre and all that, but I'm gonna say it now. It's just not very interesting. It's a lot of stalking and cheap jump scares and glimpsed stabbings without any rhyme or reason. Psycho without the Janet Leigh subplot, or the great acting, or Hitch to pull it together.

Now I'm not knocking John Carpenter. The man is responsible for movies that are beloved in my home. Big Trouble In Little China. The Thing. Escape From New York. Christine and (see where I'm going?) Halloween III: Season of The Witch.

I know, I know, he barely had a hand in this one. Just produced and did the (awesome) score.

I maintain that had this movie been released simply as Season of The Witch and not under the Halloween series banner, it would not have been so venomously panned, so perennially derided by Michael Meyers fans, who believe me, are an angry lot when they wanna be. Nope, the Halloween series moniker actually sullies this movie.

The Night NOBODY Came Home

It's the quintessential Halloween movie.

How can I say that?

'Cause it's like a really good Christmas movie. It takes place during the season, it's decked with all the trimmings you'd expect, and indeed, the holiday is an important part of the plot. Finally, it leaves you with a feeling appropriate to the season.

But this is Halloween, not Christmas.

Does it take place during the holiday? Check. It's even in the title, champ.

 Does it feature all the tropes and idioms we associate with Halloween? Let's see, kids in masks getting candy? Check. Masks that kill them actually, so double check. Spookie movies on TV? How about (in a really cool self-reference move) Hallo 'Michael Meyers' ween itself? Spooky black magic type stuff? How's a charmingly sinister toy company CEO whose actually grand poobah of an international witch cult bent on enacting an ages old mass child sacrifice using freaky magically charged chips of one of the Stonehenge triptychs in kids' masks on Halloween night grab ya?

Uh…check. And is the holiday itself integral to the plot? We covered that already. Does it leave you with a feeling appropriate to the season?

Oh hell yes.

Because it's scary (what's scarier than the impending, grotesque death of millions of children?), it's got a cool John Carpenter score, and it's fun. It's fun as hell.

The great Dan "Niceshootin'what'syournameson?" O'Herlihy as the villainous Conal Cochran

 When I tell people the plot they roll their eyes. But this is a GREAT Halloween movie. It's obviously not meant to be taken entirely serious. It's a conspiracy based in a town of smiling Irish people who use clockwork people as muscle!! The deaths are over the top violent and bloody – one chick tampers with one of the masks and has her face melted! And they're using a piece of freakin' Stonehenge to cause BUGS TO POP OUT OF CHILDREN'S FACES!

How'd they get this giant triptych over to America without anybody noticing? Well, the bad guy just says you wouldn't believe the amount of trouble it took. That's the only explanation we get. But come on, if you watched this much of it, does it really matter?

Oh yeah, and who's the hero? Who's the George Bailey equivalent in a Halloween holiday movie from John Carpenter? Who's the would-be savior of little children everywhere? Tom M.F.'n Atkins. An odious, tail chasin' surgeon whose kids ignore him and who knocks back the sauce in nearly every scene.

Tom Atkins pleads with the networks as Dr. Dan Challis

This movie is such a cool departure from the usual chase 'em and cut 'em snoozefest that is Halloween (the series – and I don't mean the TV series – that was good too)! Because seriously, after Part II, what does Michael do differently?

I dare anybody to watch the video below and not be humming the jingle all day…..

Seriously, you need to re-think your avoidance of this movie. Go to the video store or get it offa Netflix. I almost guarantee it'll

be available. I won't be hoarding it, 'cause I own it. Love this movie.

And I'm not the only one.

http://www.watchthemagicpumpkin.com/film.htm

Happy Halloween, y'all.

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Return Of My Halloween Movie Repertoire

Well the world's in it's sear and yellow leaf, the pumpkins are smiling, and tooth decay is on the rise! Must be Halloween, kiddies!

Some say print is dead, but this is the time when the dead walk. Shambling off the shelves come tentacular extraterrestrial monstrosities by HP Lovecraft. A little further from the north are slews of nameless unutterable nightmares courtesy of Stephen King. Maybe Clive Barker's got his hooks in you, or Graham Masterton. Maybe you're a Twilight fan (and if you are, my condolences at the untimely passing of your taste – haha). Can I recommend some Richard Matheson, or some old fashioned terror tales by Poe or my personal favorite, Ambrose Bierce?

Yours truly has a couple scary books out. I'm the only 'Erdelac' on Amazon right now, so go and take a look.

But enough with the shameless plugging.

If you don't have the time or inclination to curl up with a book (or have a book curl up with you), every year I update my holiday movie viewing lists, and it's time once again to resurrect the old Halloween Repertoire, new and improved.

So what am I watching this year? Well I always watch stuff from this list, and am slowly introducing my like-minded daughter to some of the tamer entries. So far we've watched Brides of Dracula (her choice), Night of The Demon, and Something Wicked This Way Comes. Giving Troll and The Haunted a try tonight.

Also, every year my buddy Jeff Carter hosts an evening of horror themed blacksploitation movies. We kicked off the inaugural year with the classic Blacula, and have moved through it's sequel, Scream Blacula Scream, Blackenstein, Sugar Hill, and The Thing With Two Heads.

Up this year its Bernie Casey in Dr. Black and Mr. Hyde –

and either JD's Revenge or The Beast Must Die.

Claire Bloom and Julie Harris face the terror of The Haunting

My favorite ghost stories – The Haunting (original), The Others, The Sixth Sense, Kwaidan, Poltergeist 1 and 2, The Shining, Stir Of Echoes, The Changeling, The Crow, The Screaming Skull, The Orphanage, The Entity, Dark Night Of The Scarecrow, The Ring.

Devils/demons and diabolical witches can be found in – Rosemary's Baby, The Exorcist, The Exorcist III, The Sentinel, Angel Heart, Night Of The Demon, The Devil Rides Out, Hellraiser, Black Sabbath, The Craft, The Believers, Cast A Deadly Spell, The Omen 1 and 2, Suspiria, The Skeleton Key, Masque Of The Red Death, Pumpkinhead, Halloween 3: Season Of The Witch, The Evil Dead, Constantine, The Pit And The Pendulum, The Gate, Child's Play.

Vampires get your blood racing?

'We keep odd hours.' Severn in Near Dark

Let me suggest – Near Dark, The Lost Boys, Bram Stoker's Dracula, Todd Browning's Dracula, The Hunger, Blacula (yes Blacula – it's awesome), Kolchak The Night Stalker, Vampire's Kiss, The Brides Of Dracula.

If the homicidally deranged are your bag, you can't top – The Original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Bad Seed, Audition (Odishon), Psycho (original), Misery, Halloween 1 and 2 (I also liked the remake of 1), Friday The 13th Part III, Silent Rage, Pin, Magic, Frailty, Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer, The Abominable Dr. Phibes, House Of Wax (original), Se7en, Peeping Tom, Silence Of The Lambs.

David Naughton and Griffin Dunne beware the moon.

Werewolves are a sadly under-represented pack of beasties. I like – Wolf, The Wolfman (both Lon Chaney Jr and the remake), Frankenstein Meets The Wolfman, An American Werewolf In London, Ginger Snaps, The Curse Of The Werewolf, I Was A Teenage Werewolf, Silver Bullet, Dog Soldiers and for a switch, Wolfen.

If you like your yucks with yuks, these horror/comedies are a good bet – Shaun Of The Dead, Zombieland, Fright Night Parts 1 and 2, Student Bodies, Saturday The 14th, Dead Alive, Tremors, Gremlins, Ghostbusters, Love At First Bite, Evil Dead 2, The Ghost And Mr. Chicken.

Bela Lugosi as zombie master Murder Legendre in White Zombie

Zombies anyone? I likes 'em slow, bitey, and numerous. – Dawn Of The Dead (original), Night Of The Living Dead, Land Of The Dead, Survival Of The Dead, Zombie, White Zombie, The Serpent And The Rainbow, Sugar Hill.

If you like your terror from beyond the stars – Village Of The Damned (original), Body Snatchers, Invasion Of The Body Snatchers (70′s), Alien, Aliens, Phantasm, Predator, Event Horizon, The Thing, The Call Of Cthulhu, Horror Express, Lifeforce, Attack The Block.

It's as good as you've heard it is, bruv.

If, like Chunk, you hate nature, these will get your fur up – The Killer Shrews, Alligator, Pirahna, Night Of The Lepus, Arachnophobia, Kingdom of the Spiders.

Halloween For The Kids – It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!, Monster House, The Halloween Tree, Monster Squad, Mad Monster Party, The Garfield Halloween Special, Disney's Ichabod And Mr. Toad, Eloise's Rawther Unusual Halloween, any of the recent Scooby Doo Movies.

Some gems that just don't fit anywhere else – Creature From The Black Lagoon, Trick R Treat, Christine, Pan's Labrynth, Creepshow, Nightbreed, Fiend Without A Face, The Fly (both the original and the remake), The Fly II, Carrie, The Other, Trilogy Of Terror, Monkey Shines, Todd Browning's Freaks, The Descent, The Mummy (Original), The Manitou, 28 Weeks Later, Grimm Prairie Tales, Ravenous.

In the words of my biggest junior high crush, "Unpleasent Dreams!"

A Sit Down With Author Greg Mitchell

So this week at DT, to kick of the Halloween season, which is a big deal over here obviously, I'm interviewing the coolest Protestant I'm not married to, Greg Mitchell, author of The Coming Evil Trilogy. I met Greg over on the Star Wars.com blogs when we both wrote winning entries for The What's The Story contest they had going over there a few years back. His entry on The Dusty Duck, a beat up old star ship which appears in the background of The Phantom Menace ranked at number 79 in The Coolest Things About Star Wars…Ever! that ran in Star Wars Insider magazine.

Dusty Duck

But he hasn't stopped there. Besides forays into comics and horror fiction, he's also making headway as a screenwriter now.

Und now, on mit der probing qvestions!

 

 

When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?

I think I always wanted to be a storyteller—but the decision to be a writer took a little longer. I remember growing up and telling these sweeping war epics with my G.I. Joes. I'd have dialogue, cliffhangers, slam-bang action, heroic sacrifice. Of course it was all on my couch with no one around to appreciate it but me, but I still wanted to tell a story. As a small child, I wanted to be a Disney animator. In my adolescent years, I considered being a comic book artist. After high school, I largely put aside my drawing and wanted to focus on making movies. When that proved too expensive, I at last decided on converting my movie concepts into prose. Not that I've given up on film and comics, but right now novels are where I'm at.

 What made you decide you wanted to write horror specifically?

I've always been a fanboy, no doubt. I don't think I chose to be that way, it just chose me. I was hardwired for the fantastic for whatever reason. But, as much as I was attracted to the weird, I never could get into hard science fiction like the other fanboys I knew. Star Trek never did a thing for me. I've never read Heinlein (I know, I know). I think it was about high school that I realized I was more of a horror fan. Why? In sci-fi, even in fantasy, you have to go somewhere. If you want to be where the action's at, you've got to get on a space ship and go to some distant star system. Or you've got to go to the future, or travel to a mythical realm. But, being a broke kid living in a small Southern town, I wasn't going to go anywhere. I wasn't even going to go to college. But in horror, the excitement comes to you. You're living your quiet life, then a werewolf jumps out of the bushes. You've got to face it; you've got to run or fight. That base characteristic of horror really appealed to me because anyone can become the star of a horror story. It's just a matter of timing and some bad luck, perhaps :p

But, as I've said in other places, even as a little kid, I was subconsciously drawn to monsters. I wouldn't realize this until much later in life, but all my favorite super heroes had a tinge of the supernatural or monstrous to them. All my favorite movies did, as well. I suppose all little kids love monsters to a certain extent, but my love never went away. Monsters—horror—gave me a way to face my real life fears. It's a powerful cathartic release and I'm a pretty tightly wound guy. I need that.

How would you describe The Coming Evil?

Pure awesomeness.

 Okay, I'll elaborate a little bit. The Coming Evil Trilogy—begun in The Strange Man, in stores now, and continuing in Enemies of the Cross, on sale in February—is the story of a small town under siege by a demonic horde led by the enigmaticStrangeMan. The first one to encounter the Strange Man is Dras Weldon, a twenty-two year old college dropout. His is a life of horror movies and video games, lived selfishly without any thought to those around him. When the Strange Man sets his sights on Dras' best friend Rosalyn, the town loser has to grow up and discover what it is he believes in, in order to fight the Strange Man. That confrontation culminates in Book One, and Book Two is the aftershocks of his dramatic stand and how it impacts those closest to him. War is coming and no one can hide from it. But are there enough good people left inGreensboro to fight the devil?

To the chagrin of my publishers, I describe The Coming Evil Trilogy as a Christian Horror epic. Those are my two passions and they collide here, full force. It's an exploration of my faith—almost a journal of my own spirituality—and it's a B-movie monster extravaganza.

So, you know, pure awesomeness :p

What's the plan for the series? How many installments?

It's a trilogy. My publisher and I have got a special little surprise to go along with that trilogy, but I'm not ready to formerly announce it yet. I'll be announcing it later next year. I always loved the Back to the Future trilogy and wanted to make my own three-part story, so that's what I set out to do. Beyond that, I don't know. I've got ideas for other books in The Coming Evil series but I suppose that's up to God if I ever get around to writing them. They would be all-new stories with (mostly) new characters. We'd explore new corners of the mythology and see what bogles lurked there. Rest assured, though, that the story of these characters will be wrapped up in Book Three of The Coming Evil. I like cliffhangers, but at the close of a series, I like the lion's share of my loose ends to be wrapped up. I need that closure. I want readers to walk away from the trilogy feeling really satisfied with where it ended, and if that's all I ever get to write of The Coming Evil mythology, then so be it. It stands on its own.

You probably get this a lot, but you told me once you've gotten your fair share of flak attending horror conventions because of the Christian subject matter in your series. I'm curious about this because although I toy with it a little, there's a definite monotheistic slant in Merkabah Rider, and it has turned a few reviewers off. Why do you think it is that some people don't like their chocolate in their peanut butter, and what do you say (or wish you could say) to those detractors?

Well, it's tough. Horror, by its very nature, explores good and evil, the divine and the profane. The Exorcist has got some hardcore pro-Christian elements! I don't think horror fans have any problem with a little "power of Christ compels you", or a fundamental belief that there's one God, or that there's a devil. Faith is not the enemy, here. Plus, you don't have to believe any of that stuff to write it. Holding up a cross to repel a vampire is just a horror trope, by this point. But, when, as an author, you start showing that you actually believe in one God or Christ or whatever in real life, then people start to slowly back away from you.

Where I got into trouble was that my book goes deeper than the religious imagery and trappings of mainstream horror and we start talking about Jesus. We start talking about what the Bible actually says. Look, Jesus is a controversial figure, even now, two thousand some odd years later. I get that, totally. People just don't want to talk about him. They get all sweaty and nervous and—even most Christians!—are waiting for the conversation to be over. I've been accused of hijacking horror as just a vehicle to spread my propaganda, which I find insulting. Every writer has a message that they're trying to convey. Every human being has a worldview that guides their living. I'm not going to deny that I believe in Christ and that, in a book about monsters, I'm going to talk about how faith in Christ is your weapon against the devil. That's the mechanics of my story. My demons are ripped right from the Bible, so naturally the way to fight them has to come from the Bible as well. That's the "mythology" I'm using here. Beyond that, though, I'm writing a book about the Church. Sometimes it's a celebration of the Church—a lot of times it's an indictment of her shortcomings. But the majority of my cast are Christians dealing with struggles that Christians can relate to. They deal with doubt, faith, despair, hope, anger, mercy, rebellion, and restoration. They're going to talk about Christ and how He relates to them and their struggle. That's a part of their natural lives; that's a part of my natural life. If I was writing a book about cancer survivors, we'd talk about cancer. If talk about cancer offends you, I don't know what to tell you—that's the nature of the book. It's not my intention to write a preachy story to get people in a church pew. I'm trying to communicate my own faith journey openly. I don't want to sugar coat anything in my book—not the horror aspects, not the "God" aspects. I've got to be true to myself. Some people are going to love that, some people are going to hate that. I'm naturally a kind of guy who wants everyone to like him, but that's just not always going to happen.

What about on the flip side? Do you have to defend your horror work to people in your church, or Christians in general? What do you say to them?

I got a little resistance from some of the Christians I knew initially, but as they got to know me better and what I'm trying to accomplish, they've become very accepting. The Christian reviewers who have read The Strange Man have run the gamut. I mean, no one's called me "blasphemous" (I'd probably get more sales if they did :p), but a few of them thought the book was too dark or scary or gory or intense. A few months ago, I was the featured book for the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog Tour. At the time, I was told that I was the scariest book that ever made the rounds in their tour—which I take as a huge compliment! I'm hoping when Enemies of the Cross is released in February, I can return and see if I top my record

 

Who are some of your inspirations in both the Christian and secular communities?

I think, as far as writers go, one of the Christian writers I respect the most is Eric Wilson. That man is open and honest about his life—both the good and the bad—and he's got a real heart for reaching out to the kinds of people that most "typical" churches shy away from. He's got street cred, man, and he's living it as well as writing it. And, really, I respect that about any Christian—writer or not. I'm looking for genuine people. There are so many bad examples of "Christians" plastered all over the news, but then I see some of the people of my own church. The world, at large, will never know their names, but I see them taking care of children, I see them going on mission trips to build homes for low income families, I see them feeding the homeless in soup kitchens, counseling young mothers. I see them reaching out. They're not perfect. They struggle and they fall sometimes, but they are there for each other and they really want to just lead simple, hardworking lives and do something worthwhile with the time God has given them. The media won't talk about them, but those guys are Christ's legacy. Sometimes there's a temptation to water down the faith aspect in The Coming Evil so I don't offend anyone or so I can get more mainstream sales. But then I look at their hard work and sacrifice and it emboldens me. I can't be ashamed of my faith when I look at them.

 Back to writers: I would be kicked out of the horror fanboy club if I didn't mention Stephen King. Ray Bradbury. Richard Matheson. I really love John Carpenter movies. Steven Spielberg. Lovecraft is always great. And I'm hooked on author Bob Freeman. He's like the prose version of a 1970s occult movie or a Hammer flick. I love it.

 You've had some success as a screenwriter as well. Anything you want to plug in the pike?

Yes! As a matter of fact my first movie is shooting as we speak! In quite the departure from my usual fare, it's called Amazing Love: The Story of Hosea. I wrote it with Christian filmmaker Rich Christiano for the family film market. It's a sweet little story about a church youth group going camping. They come from different backgrounds and don't always get along. Their youth leader—played by Sean Astin no less!—tells them the Old Testament (I love the OT) story of the prophet Hosea, who was called by God to love an unfaithful woman. It's a story about forgiveness and understanding and all those warm, fuzzy things. It's very safe entertainment, designed to draw the same types of crowd that movies like Fireproof and Courageous do. It's directed by Kevin Downes, who incidentally stars in Courageous. We're looking at seeing it released early next year. Sadly no monsters in this one. Maybe next time.

What advice would you give to a screenwriter or writer just starting out?

Quit. If you can't quit, then don't quit. The writing business, to me, has always been like a game of Jenga. You've got this tower of blocks and the goal is to take the blocks from the bottom and stack them on top. You want to see how many blocks you can stack on top before the whole thing comes crumbling down. That's not the writer part though :p The writer part is that, when you go to move a block, you test it first. Because of the distribution of the weight in the tower, some blocks are wedged in and you'd be a fool to press it, because the whole thing is balanced on it and it'll just fall over. You want to find a block that's already loose. Then you can easily slide it out from underneath the weight and lay it on top. But you have to test them. You tap, tap, tap at each block until you find one that moves. That's writing. You tap each story until one starts moving. Then when you want to get published, you tap each publisher. Some are locked in solid and will not budge. Don't fret. Just keep tapping until you find one that moves. Besides, as the weight shifts, some of the blocks that were solid before become pliable. It's all about timing and seizing the right opportunities.

I would say to write from your heart. I would also say finish. So many people talk about being a writer and say they want to write. But writers write. More than that, they actually finish a story. Finish a lot of stories. Just write it until the thing is done. Worry about if it's good or not later.

What was your favorite Halloween costume ever?

My mom made a homemade Wizard of Oz scarecrow costume for me one year, using yellow yarn for straw. It was pretty rockin'. I think I was in a parade that year?

What's the worst thing you ever got in your candy sack? What was the best?

Anytime I get Whoppers or Butterfinger, I make a "yak" face. No good. Best thing would probably be gummies of some sort. My kid and I wrestle over who gets the gummy eyeballs.

What bit of horror scared you the most as a kid? What scares you now?

Two things: Well, okay three things:

Chickens. My uncle chased one for me to pet and it was running and sqwaking and going ballistic, and by time he caught it, I was terrified.

The fictionalized Joan Crawford from Mommy Dearest. No joke, that was my "monster in the closet". I lived in fear of Joan Crawford busting out of my closet with her cake makeup on shouting, "No more wire hangers!" I have never watched that movie, but I caught a commercial for it on HBO when I was a wee boy, and was traumatized.

Peeping Toms. I had a deathly fear (still do, a little bit) of someone watching me through my bedroom window. I actually had a couple neighborhood kids do that to me as a prank when I was a child and I was scarred for life. Coupled with that is the nightmarish scene in the amazing movie Lady in White, where this creepy old woman is watching little Frankie sleep. Yeesh. I'm still fearful of looking out the window at night, dreading that I might see something staring back at me.

What scares me now, well not to be put a damper on our fun talk here, but losing my kids. As much as I was afraid growing up, I didn't know real fear until I had children. Something happening to them is by far more horrific than anything I could cook up in my mind.

What are your Halloween plans?

I really want to dress as Dracula this year! Like, old school Bela Lugosi Dracula. A cheap cloak from Wal-Mart, some fake fangs, and a flimsy plastic medallion if I can find it. I'm really excited about it! I've never been Dracula before.

Halloween is a big deal in my family. We always bring out a mixed CD of spooky songs to listen to while we dance around the house, putting up our decorations. On Halloween night, we play the music from a stereo in the window so all the kids can listen while they trick-or-treat. I'll put on a classic Universal Monster movie on the TV so that, when folks come to our door, they can catch a peek at a good old fashioned monster movie before they go on their way. My wife usually stays behind to pass out candy for awhile, and I'll take my daughters door to door. Our goal is to be outside as long as possible. After the trick-or-treating is done, we'll come back and sit on the steps and enjoy the night, watching all the kids in costume until everyone goes home.

Halloween really doesn't get any better than when you have kids. And when they're little, it's like you don't have to pick just one costume – you can pick as many as you have bods to throw 'em on! I don't want to say it was the reason I had kids, but I won't say it wasn't a factor either. 

Thanks to Greg for stopping by DT to chew the rag. Don't fail to visit his blog over at http://thecomingevil.blogspot.com/ to keep up with his latest news.  He's also been a good enough egg to let me take over his space for a couple days, and I'm going to give away some .pdf copies of my short Lovecraftian blues story The Crawlin' Chaos Blues over there, so if you missed reading my ramblings, take a gander.

Merkabah Rider 2: The Mensch With No Name Yom Kippur Giveaway

Hey all, so for those of you on Goodreads, keep an eye on the giveaway feature as I'll be putting up signed hard copies of my books throughout the month of October, including copies of Tales of a High Planes Drifter and The Mensch With No Name.  I'm also going to do the rounds of some friends' blogs and pass out .pdf copies for those of you with e-readers.

For those stopping by this space though, I've got one copy of Merkabah Rider 2: The Mensch With No Name, specifically for fans of the series. Drop an email to EMErdelac(TAKE OUT THIS NO SPAM MESSAGE IN PARENTHESES)@gmail.com and tell me the Rider's true name in the subject field.

On October 7th well before sundown on the Day of Atonement (big day in the Rider universe) I'll toss the respondents' names in the old kippah and send one lucky dog a signed copy of book two.  

Read a bit about the book here –

Hey, and let me just say for a minute….authors depend on readers and the buzz they generate among each other, whether they're working under a big house name or duking it out in the indie press field. So please, not just with this giveaway, but in any book you read….if you like something, tell people! Tell 'em on Goodreads, tell 'em on Amazon, or whatever forum you frequent – tell your friends and family or your book club or the guys at the comic shop or LGS. Spread the word! It's the best thanks an author can get.

Ah glick ahf dir!

Writing The West: A Reference Guide

Charles M. Russell's In Without Knocking

 I often write stories set in the Old American West which is why the adage 'write what you know' doesn't really fly with me to a point. If everybody simply wrote what they knew, we wouldn't have Middle Earth or the Hyborian Age or the Galaxy Far Far Away. Of course, the real interpretation of that saying is to find what you know and relate that to what you're writing about. Tolkien was a veteran of the Great War, and the battles and reflections of the soldiers in Middle Earth reflect that to an extent. Robert E. Howard was an iconoclast living in a disapproving little town, and Conan's 'barbaric' reactions to a decadent society are his author's own. The rest is just smoke and mirrors.

 But when you're talking about writing in a real place and time, you've got to do your research. I've said it a thousand times before. Slapping a cowboy hat on a zombie doesn't make a weird western, and putting boots on your protagonist doesn't make him a cowboy.

 In the course of my writing, I've amassed a reference library of course. Writing to me is a learning experience, both in terms of craft and in terms of the settings I choose. I like to write about the past, and about other cultures, and to challenge myself by writing about things I don't know too much about. Graham Masterton is an Englishman, but he writes stories set in the US.  If he does his job, you never question his birthplace.

 For those interested in writing or just reading about the American West (and I mean the Old West of gunfighters and free roaming Indians), I have a core of books I always find myself going back to.

 The New Encyclopedia of The American West, Edited by Howard Lamar – This is the jumping point for any story I write set in the West. In preparing the Merkabah Rider series, I read the Jews In The West entry, and in turn sought out the books cited there. This is an astounding (and thick) reference work with entries on most every state, territory, event and individual you can think of, dating from the early Lewis and Clark days through the waning of Tom Mix's movies up to the recent present.  It opens with a handy timeline dating from 1785-1998.

 The Look Of The Old West, by Foster-Harris – I recently picked up this gem of a book to familiarize myself with western cavalry uniforms and accoutrements. Besides being written in an extremely present and familiar folksy style, its loaded with invaluable illustrations on every minute aspect of frontier life, from firearms to women's wear and modes of transportation. It's quickly become one of my favorite books.

 The Encyclopedia of Western Gunfighters, by Bill O'Neal – This book is an alphabetical listing of the more notorious western gunmen with cross references of men they've faced as well as lesser known personas like William Blake and Heck Thomas. If they were in the west and they ever fired a gun at another person, they're likely to be in here. There are some great lists in the beginning too, including a timeline specific to gunfighters and a ranking of the most well known gunmen in terms of kills, lifespans, causes of death, and occupations.

 Forts Of The Old West, by Robert W. Frazer – A breakdown of military outposts of the frontier period arranged by state, with brief entries on the histories and uses of each.

 A Treasury Of American Folklore, by B.A. Botkin – This is a great potpourri of American frontier culture, including humorous stories and songs from the period.

 Dictionary Of The American West, by Winfred Blevins – Another of my favorite books. An alphabetical listing of some wonderfully colorful terms from the American Western lexicon, including a great list of synonyms for the more popular pastimes (dying, getting drunk, getting buried, etc).

 Cowboy Slang, by Edgar 'Frosty' Potter – I love hearing those western metaphoric sayings like 'There ain't enough room in here to cuss a cat without getting a mouthful of hair.' I always wished somebody would collect them into a book. While I was at Yuma Territorial Prison over the summer doing research I came across this book in their gift shop, and it's the closest thing I've found to what I want. The entries are a little G-rated at times for my liking, but it's still a pretty good book.

 Daughters Of Joy, Sisters Of Misery, by Ann M. Butler – Before you go writing a peachy complexioned Miss Kitty swinging her legs on the piano, her heart of gold fairly brimming from her eyes, you owe it to yourself to read this book, the best I've found on the stark realities of frontier prostitutes.

 In Their Own Words: Warriors And Pioneers, by TJ Stiles – A great book of first hand accounts from various individuals involved in the period. Includes excerpts from Geronimo, Custer, John Wesley Hardin, and Buffalo Bill Cody among others.

 Conversations With Bushwhackers & Muleskinners, by Fred Lockley – Much like the book above, but more unpolished, and thus, a little more valuable. Whereas In Their Own Words includes stuff taken from autobiographies, Conversations is just a collection of anecdotes from plain old folks, most of them relative toOregon. But it's great just to read the vernacular speech of the time and get a feel for it.

 The Encyclopedia Of North American Indian Tribes, by Bill Yenne – When I write about Native Americans, this is my starting point. A lot of people think of Indians as the Plains variety, all buckskins and feathered bonnets.  If you don't even know there are some five hundred different tribes of Indians each with their own individual and distinct cultures, this should be yours. The color keyed map at the front showing the general stomping grounds of the various nations both prior to after white encroachment is worth the price alone, but then you get an alphabetical listing of tribes, detailing their languages and some of their customs.

 Saloons Of The Old West, by Richard Erdoes – Another of my favorites, detailing the evolution of the saloon from colonial times onward. There are some great anecdotes about Oscar Wilde's forays in LeadvilleColoradoas well as information on hurdy-gurdy gals, dance halls, the prices of the spirits and what they were called.

 The Encyclopedia Of Civil War Usage, by Webb Garrison – Like the Dictionary of The American West, but focusing on the War Between The States, invaluable if you're writing about the time directly after, when the gunfighter first started making his mark.

 The Gunfighters, by Richard Collins – I cherish this book not for the general text on the more famous gunfighters like Billy The Kid and their theaters, but for the awesome annotated photographs of period firearms taken from theAutryMuseumand various private collections.

 The People Called Apache/Mystic Warriors Of The Plains, by Thomas E. Mails – If you're writing about either of these tribes, these books are indispensible. Mails writes indepth about everyday life and customs and includes brilliantly detailed illustrations of even the smallest ornamental items.

 Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, by Dee Brown – The greatest, most accessible history of white and Native American conflict ever written.

Black Red And Deadly, by Art T. Burton – A fascinating history of African American and Indian gunfighters on both sides of the law in Oklahoma/Indian Territory.

 The Buffalo Soldiers: A Narrative Of The Negro Cavalry In The West, by William H. Leckie – THE book on the African American cavalrymen.

 We live in a visual era, and the way the West comes alive for most people is through film. If you want to get an inspiring look at the West, I'd also recommend these pictures…

 The Searchers

She Wore A Yellow Ribbon

The Long Riders

Unforgiven

The Wild Bunch

Dances With Wolves

OpenRange

The Missing

Bad Company

The Ballad Of Gregorio Cortez

The Outlaw Josey Wales

Wyatt Earp

Tom Horn

The Culpepper Cattle Company

The Shootist

Of course if you want to be inspired creatively, you can always take a look at the spaghettis, but I'd confine myself to Leone's Dollars trilogy and Once Upon A Time In The West, and Sergio Corbucci's The Great Silence. They have a look that although not always entirely accurate, is all their own.

 

I'd also recommend perusing the works of some western artists to get you int. Charles M. Russel, Frederic Remington are the two tops, but James Bama does some great western character studies, and I personally like Charles Schreyvogel.

 
 

James Bama

 

Charles Schreyvogel

Frederic Remington

 
 
 

Happy Trails.

Of Jelly Rollers And Grit-Breathers: Avenir Eclectia

My deep sea sci fi police procedural (yes, you read that right!) is up over at Avenir Eclectia.

What's Avenir Eclectia? It's a multi-author shared world sci-fi micro-fiction project put together by Grace Bridges of Splashdown Books.

Set in the far future on an alien world of volcanic upheaval and deep sea colonies, my own contribution follows a law enforcement team as it handles a terrorist threat to a prominent habitation ring in their own special way. Take a look here -

http://www.avenireclectia.com/2011/09/extraction.html

While you're at it, I'd recommend taking a gander at Greg Mitchell's and Jeff Carter's respective storylines…

http://www.avenireclectia.com/search/label/greg%20mitchell

http://www.avenireclectia.com/search/label/jeff%20carter

 

Who That Masked Man Is

Twelve mounted horsemen, bad hombres, their weathered skin and faded clothes stained with the dust of the trail, dried tobacco juice, and the blood of their victims, form a semicircle around the masked stranger. Each draws and cocks a pistol – the staggered mechanical clicking seventy two hushed promises of leaden death.

 Their leader is a lanky, self-assured bastard with a callused hand and a Schofield revolver, the handle bearing thirteen neat little scratches, the only memorials the dead they represent will ever have.

 The stranger will be the fourteenth.

 He grins a yellow smile.

 The stranger is a funny sight, all in blinding white. White hat, white shirt, long white duster. Only his hands and his boots and the finely tooled belt just visible beneath his coat are black. Oh, and the mask. That weird, black felt domino mask through which the stranger's blue eyes glitter beneath the brim of his white hat. There is a weird synergy between the spurred boots, the gloves, the belt, the mask. The mask, the calling card of the bandit. Funny that the man on the ground wears a mask, hiding his face, when they, the worst villains of the territory go about with their faces brashly uncovered.

 One other thing. The silver cartridges encircling his waist. They can't be silver. Not really. Can they? He licks his dry lips at the prospect of taking that belt for his own.

 This is the moment. The moment before the killing. The moment he and his men savor and seek always to replenish after the body hits the dust.

 "I make twelve to your one, Ranger," he drawls. "What do you intend?"

 In answer, the Lone Ranger silently opens his coat and hooks it behind the two shining white pistol butts jutting from the studded black holsters on his hips. They are polished to a mirror shine, and altogether, the figure is blinding.

 A ripple of nervous laughter runs up and down the length of the riders….

 It is cut short by the roar of the Lone Ranger's guns.

 And it is a roar. A continuous unbroken sound, as if the bullets simply flow from the pistols once cleared of their housings. He doesn't move, but his hands do, with the speed of a hummingbird's wings. Those black gloves hands, dealing out death quicker than a faro dealer on Saturday night. They tug and drop the shining hammers, pull the triggers and repeat the action. These are single action pistols – how can they fire so fast? He has heard stories, read such things in the penny dreadfuls, read them and laughed them off.

 But he's not laughing now.

 Surely the man will be cut down. There are twelve of them, their pistols already drawn, and he has two pistols – only twelve bullets. It's a game gesture, but futile.

 Then he feels the shock in his gun hand, like a jolt to his bones as his the scarred handle of his Schofield explodes and goes wheeling into the dirt. His hand trembles like a drunkard's.

 A moment later the roaring stops, and amid the rising smoke, the masked man stands, dropping those bright bullets swiftly into the cylinder of one of the pistols. The other is home on his left hip, smoke curling from the bottom of the holster.

 He feels his jaw slacken and looks down at his trusty Schofield. It will never be fired again. The handle has been destroyed, all memory of his trophy markings obliterated by the silver slug wedged into the bare frame.

 He looks up and down the length of his men. Each one is clutching his hand, each one looking at each other in shock. Some bleed between their fingers, but all remain in their saddles.

 Behind them, a Winchester cocks, and there is the Indian, crouching on the ridge, two black eyes staring down at them, down the barrel of a beaded rifle from the midst of the brown face, long black hair spilling over his shoulders.

 He looks back at the masked man as the Lone Ranger flicks the cylinder of his Colt shut and covers them.

 "What do you intend, Butch?" he says, and a lopsided grin spreads beneath the lip of the mask.

 * *                  

 I have an abiding, long standing affection for The Lone Ranger. Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels riding into town to that thundering William Tell Overture are indelibly linked with my earliest childhood memories. Sunday mornings it was reruns of The Lone Ranger and The Cisco Kid, followed by The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits, and capping the day of TV watching off with Family Classics, showcasing such classic technicolor adventure films as The Adventures of Robin Hood, George Pal's The Time Machine and The War of The Worlds, and  Sabu in The Jungle Book. 

I have no doubt that those Sunday mornings have left a deep mark on my entire life. My earliest childhood heroes were usually brilliant, witty, almost always expert marksmen, on horseback, and full of righteous indignation, and the threats they faced were powerful and villainous, sometimes weird and shambling with extraterrestrial origins.

Somewhat tarnished, at their hearts, these are the same heroes I write about today.

I've been following the news of the forthcoming The Lone Ranger film pretty closely. I'm one of the ones who lamented the announcement of Johnny Depp as Tonto.

The Lone Ranger is often pointed to as an example of racism against Native Americans. I have to beg to differ here. I think it gets a bad rap, mostly perpetuated by a lot of people who've never actually watched The Lone Ranger.

More often then not, the Indians are not the bad guys. In The Lone Ranger and The Lost City of Gold, the Ranger and Tonto are after a group of white treasure hunters who have been murdering Indians. There is another episode where whites dressed as Indians and blaming their crimes on the local tribe are busted by the Ranger and Tonto.

But Tonto is a racist caricature, right?

Tonto doesn't speak perfect English.

And that's it. That's his only failing.

He's an expert tracker and horseman, adept at first aid (who else patches the Ranger up when they're miles from town?), a loyal friend, and frankly, a badass fighter too.

Who the heck cares if he speaks pidgeon English? Do we measure a person's intelligence by how well they speak English? That's Tea Party thinking, I think. There are astrophysicists at the cutting edge of scientific thought who probably conjugate their English verbs incorrectly. But I'm not going to bother correcting them.

Tonto is a Pottawatomie. That's stated in the show. He's not depicted in the usual manner as a feather wearing pig-tailed Indian (with no tribe ever mentioned, because who cares what tribe he's from right? Let's just say he's Cherokee) from a catchall plains tribe. I don't think I ever saw him use a bow, even.

Yes, for all his traveling with the Ranger, he never improves his English. Yes the writers likely got some things wrong, and yes, he does get beat up a lot. But for the 1950′s, he's a pretty dang progressive representation.  I mean, at least he doesn't do any magic, and he's not accompanied by a drumbeat or indigenous vocal musical motiff everytime he appears.

Most importantly, he was played by Jay Silverheels, a Canadian Mohawk Indian who helped pave the way for aboriginal American actors in Hollywood by working in the establishment of the Indian Actors Workshop.

Yes, an Indian actor, playing an Indian, in an era of television when on F Troop, the Indians were played by Jewish Americans and in one case….Don Rickles (as Chief Bald Eagle).

So anyway, apologies to Gore Verbinski, who I think could do a great Lone Ranger film (and to Johnny Depp, who is still an entertaining actor but sorry, not Indian enough to play Tonto) I'm not sorry to see this version shelved.

The above-written passage is the Lone Ranger as I see him.

 No werewolves, no Johnny Depp instant-Indian.

 What Hollywood needs to understand is The Lone Ranger is American's first crimefighter. He's the Batman of the 1870's. And while Batman is occasionally updated to great effect, he remains essentially the same. He's wealthy, he's mysterious, he doesn't kill.

 The Lone Ranger has one of the greatest, most mythic origin stories ever.

 Already a Texas Ranger riding with his older brother (and, I imagine from what follows, idolizing him), he is betrayed by their half-Indian scout and ambushed in a box canyon by the Cavendish gang, in what is essentially a bloody massacre.

 The Cavendishes slaughter the Rangers and leave their corpses lying in the sun.

 A lone Indian rider on a piebald pony perhaps following the sound or the buzzards, rides into the canyon soon after, inspecting the dead.

 Tonto is his name.

 And he finds one stirring.

 More startling, Tonto finds he knows the man. Years ago, when he was a boy, his own Pottawatomie band was attacked and burned out, his entire family killed and he himself was left for dead. Seeking the killers has become the driving force of his life since.

 On that bloody day a white boy his age, a scout for a wagon train, came across him and nursed him to health. A boy named John Reid, the only white man who has ever shown him kindness.

 Kemosabe, he called him. Trusty scout.

 And the man lying in this canyon, bleeding to death, is the very same John Reid.

 Tonto knows the movement of creation. He knows the white concept of Providence. He knows this is no accident.

 Using all his skills, he brings the surviving ranger back from the brink of death.

 While John Reid recuperates, Tonto digs graves for the other rangers.

 When he comes to the last, John Reid calls for him to wait. This was his brother. The man who, seeing the dangerous combination of John Reid's devil-may-care young attitude and his astounding proficiency with a pistol, strove to teach him there is more to life than glory and money and gunplay. There must be temperance. There must be responsibility.

 He told John once the story of William Tell, the expert marksman who refused to bow to a tyrant called Gessler. Gessler forces Tell to shoot an apple from the head of his son with a crossbow. In answer, Tell took out two bolts. The first split the apple, winning him everlasting fame. The second took the life of Gessler, winning Tell's people their freedom.

 Which do you think was more important? His brother used to ask him.

 John Reid is changed. The young gun, hungry for fame and action has died. And as Tonto understands it, he has come away from the other side with a vision from the spirits that he must follow. So Tonto does not question when he cuts a mask from his dead brother's vest and dons it. He doesn't question when he digs his own grave alongside the grave of his brother and the other rangers.

 The whites would call itProvidence.

 Of course he finds the wild white stallion soon after, saving it from a charging buffalo, healing its wounds, and riding it with nothing more than a hackamore bridle after. The horse is a part of the vision, and the two become as one.

 Tonto does not question the silver bullets either, forged from a hidden mine belonging to the Ranger's brother. Silver is the purest of metals, and the Ranger says it will ensure his aim, as his target is injustice.

 But when the Ranger says he will not kill, there Tonto begs to differ. He knows that there exist some men who will not stop their evil but with death.

 Sacred vision or no, Tonto will one day kill the men who took the lives of his family and friends.

 And there is the dichotomy of Tonto and The Lone Ranger.

 At least, if I were writing it.

 Hopefully whoever gets next crack at it will stay truer to the characters their history.

 No redface actors, no werewolves, if you please.

 Hi-Yo Silver.

Merkabah Rider: The Movie

I've had a couple fans of my weird western series Merkabah Rider, and at least two friends who've read it ask me who I imagine in a movie version of the books. 

I don't mentally cast parts usually as I like to leave it up to the reader to do that.  For my part, I read the entirety of Lonesome Dove imagining Duvall in the role of Call and Tommy Lee Jones as Gus McCrae, so as you can imagine, I wasn't that big a fan of the miniseries when I finally got to watching it.

I remember Rob Schrab used to put these fun little cast lists in every issue of his SCUD The Disposable Assassin comics, so I gave it a try here. For a few of the principle characters I did have certain actors in mind when I wrote them. It's most assuredly a dream cast considering a good portion of the actors I envision are aready dead(!).

Adrien Brody as The Rider

The Rider – Adrien Brody. He's a bit on the slight side, but he can do action, he's M.O.T., and he has a deep humanity in his eyes which I've always liked for the Rider.

From The Blood Libel:

Hugh O'Brian as Dan Spector

 

The late Sam Jaffe as Joseph Klein

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I hate to typecast her, but she's so otherworldly -Tilda Swinton as The Angel

Eric Bogosian as Hayim Cardin

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From The Dust Devils:

Gian Maria Volonte as Hector Scarchilli

Peter Mensah as Kelly The Conjure Man

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From Hell's Hired Gun:
 

Robert Blossom as Reverend Japheth Tubal Lessmoor

Michael Shannon as Medgar Tooms

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From The Nightjar Women
 

Sarah Silverman as Josephine 'Sadie' Marcus

 
 

Joyce Jameson (on the Right) as Lilith

Ayehsa Dharker as Nehema

 
    

Robert Baker as Junior

  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Ghetto Boy Bushwick Bill as Mazzamauriello

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From The Infernal Napoleon:
 

World's Strongest Man Jouko Ahola as Gershom Turiel

 

A. Martinez as Hashknife

 

LQ Jones as The Colonel

 
 
 
 
 

Keith David as Purdee

 
 
 
 
 
 

The late great Michael Jeter as Dr. Amos Sheardown

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From The Outlaw Gods:
 

Omar Shariff as Don Amadeo

Adam Beach as Piishi

Om Puri as Chaksusa

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Clifton Collins Jr as Friar Mauricio

From The Damned Dingus:
 

It's a copout, but I've never seen a better Doc Holliday than Dennis Quaid

Norman Reedus as Mysterious Dave Mather

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Jason Robards as Hoodoo Brown

 
 
 
 
 
 

David Tenant as Professor W.W. Spates

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From The Pandaemonium Ride:
 
 

John Malkovich as Lucifer

 
 

Edi Gathegi as Kabede

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
While I'm at it, here's a sneak peek at a couple of characters from the forthcoming third installment, Have Glyphs Will Travel:
 
From The Long Sabbath:
 

Udo Kier as DeKorte

 
 

Klaus Kinski as Pinchas Jacobi

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Warren Oates as Dick Belden

From The War Prophet:

John Carradine as Faustus Montague

 Comments are welcome. Who would you cast?
 
Next time out, a preview of Have Glyphs Will Travel!