Cullen Bunn's Blog, page 45

The Sixth Gun #8

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The eighth issue of The Sixth Gun is now available for pre-order… and talk about a creepy cover! The question is, who is the guy with the knife? Looks like a new character to me!

In a decaying mansion in the blackest heart of the Louisiana bog, Drake uncovers more secrets of the Six… and angers a spirit that wants to ensure the gunslinger never leaves the swamp alive! It's man versus some of the meanest man-eaters to ever crawl out of the marsh!

Blood Feud Available on Kindle

Just in time for Halloween–and at a special price–my novella Blood Feud: A Vampire Yarn … With Spiders is now available for the Kindle. You can now read this story of black magic, vampires, and spiders for less than a dollar!

"I've got a story to tell–a story about how me and a couple of poker buddies squared off against the very legions of Hell … and maybe even saved the world.

"Like all good yarns, this one has its share of action, adventure, mystery, and romance.  As for how it ends, though, you'll have to judge for yourself.  Me, I've always been partial to happy endings–the singing cowboy riding off into the sunset–but I reckon that just ain't the way of the world.

"This story's got vampires, too, loads of them, but not in the beginning.

"It began, for us at least, with spiders."

Imagine the legendary feud between the Hatfields and McCoys … if the McCoys were a clan of demon-summoning sorcerers who stopped at nothing to destroy their rivals.

The Stubbs and Whatleys have been at each other's throats for as long as anyone in the town of Spider Creek, Missouri, can remember. A Stubbs baby pops out of his mama hating the Whatleys, and the Whatleys teach their brood from a young age how to fling rocks with cruel accuracy in case a Stubbs wanders too close to their land.  The Stubbs are a rowdy, trouble making bunch, but the Whatleys…

Folks speak of the Whatleys in hushed whispers.

According to local legend, the Whatleys run naked in the woods, beating out strange tunes on deerskin drums, making animal sacrifices beneath the Old Gallows Tree on Summit Ridge, and meeting with the devil himself on pitch black nights.

Sometimes, legends are true.

When the Whatleys make a bargain with dark forces to rid them of the meddlesome Stubbs clan, four unlikely heroes form the only line of defense between a ravenous legion of ghoulish, vampiric creatures and the unsuspecting world beyond the boundaries of the sleepy Ozarks community.

BLOOD FEUD is a novella (22,000 words) of horror, humor, and action set in the backwoods of the Missouri Ozarks.

To start reading this story instantly–for only .99–just click here.

Blood Feud Available on Kindle

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Just in time for Halloween–and at a special price–my novella Blood Feud: A Vampire Yarn … With Spiders is now available for the Kindle. You can now read this story of black magic, vampires, and spiders for less than a dollar!

"I've got a story to tell—a story about how me and a couple of poker buddies squared off against the very legions of Hell … and maybe even saved the world.

"Like all good yarns, this one has its share of action, adventure, mystery, and romance.  As for how it ends, though, you'll have to judge for yourself.  Me, I've always been partial to happy endings—the singing cowboy riding off into the sunset—but I reckon that just ain't the way of the world.

"This story's got vampires, too, loads of them, but not in the beginning.

"It began, for us at least, with spiders."

Imagine the legendary feud between the Hatfields and McCoys … if the McCoys were a clan of demon-summoning sorcerers who stopped at nothing to destroy their rivals.

The Stubbs and Whatleys have been at each other's throats for as long as anyone in the town of Spider Creek, Missouri, can remember.  A Stubbs baby pops out of his mama hating the Whatleys, and the Whatleys teach their brood from a young age how to fling rocks with cruel accuracy in case a Stubbs wanders too close to their land.  The Stubbs are a rowdy, trouble making bunch, but the Whatleys—

Folks speak of the Whatleys in hushed whispers.

According to local legend, the Whatleys run naked in the woods, beating out strange tunes on deerskin drums, making animal sacrifices beneath the Old Gallows Tree on Summit Ridge, and meeting with the devil himself on pitch black nights.

Sometimes, legends are true.

When the Whatleys make a bargain with dark forces to rid them of the meddlesome Stubbs clan, four unlikely heroes form the only line of defense between a ravenous legion of ghoulish, vampiric creatures and the unsuspecting world beyond the boundaries of the sleepy Ozarks community.

BLOOD FEUD is a novella (22,000 words) of horror, humor, and action set in the backwoods of the Missouri Ozarks.

To start reading this story instantly–for only .99–just click here.

Signing at the Fantasy Shop 10/29/2010

My Deadpool Team-Up issue (#888) comes out next week! If you're in the St. Louis area,  I'll be signing at The Fantasy Shop on Friday, October 29, from 5 – 8 PM. Even if you've never read a Deadpool comic (Heck, even if you've never read a comic!) you can enjoy this stand-alone issue (which features The Thing, wrasslin', aliens, awesome art by Tom Fowler, awesome colors by Nathan Fairbairn, and more explosive action than you can shake a stick at) just the same.  Here's a preview of the issue to get your juices flowing.

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Come Again, Halloween – A Short Story

This short story was written more than ten years ago. It was published (although I never saw a copy) in Sinisteria magazine. Every now and again, especially this time of year, I think about this story. Today, I dug it up, and I still think it has a nice Halloweeny atmosphere to it. In celebration of the season, I thought I'd share the entire story with you here.

Come Again, Halloween

By Cullen Bunn

The last day of October brought with it the promise of winter, lurking just beyond tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, its frosty breath rasping thorough brown and gold leaves, rushing through dark alleys and long-deserted roads, distant still, but drawing closer, closer.

It brought memories—memories of trick-or-treating and fanciful costumes; rubber-masked goblins creeping through bushes and hiding behind leafless trees; ghost stories and pumpkin-carving; and the taste of candy corn and Tootsie Rolls on her tongue as she knocked on door after door in search of sweets.

Memories.  Nothing more.

There had been no Halloween, not for her, not for years.

Her name was Jessica, but her brother had always called her Jesse or Jess, and she liked the way the nickname sounded.  Some of the boys at school laughed at her and called her "Messy Jesse" for no other reason than she was a girl and they were boys.  Those same boys would one day forget their childhood jibes and compete for her affections.  None of this mattered to her, nor would it ever.

She stood by the living room window, her face nearly pressed against the cold glass, her breath spreading across the pane like a writhing spirit and then quickly evaporating.  The sun had begun to set and the sky was a mottled mixture of red and darkening gray.  Streetlights flickered to life, and dull pools of illumination spread along the sidewalk, beating back the encroaching shadows.  Upon the porches and steps of neighboring houses, grinning jack-o-lanterns glowed, awaiting the chance to lure trick-or-treaters like moths to a candle.  Paper images of skeletons and witches and snarling black cats were taped upon doors and in windows.

The porch of Jesse's house was undecorated.

"Come away from the window, sweetie," her mother said.  The house was dark—there would be few lights turned on tonight—and the woman passed like a shadow from room to room.

Jesse pouted. 

Today at school, her class had a party.  Some of the parents brought in tiny bags of mixed candy and cupcakes frosted to resemble ghostly faces.  Most of the kids and many of the parents wore costumes.  Even the teacher, Mrs. Brewer, wore a bent witch's hat.  But Jesse, who wore her everyday school clothes, sat at her desk quietly.  She gazed sadly at the untouched ghost-faced cupcake staring back at her from her desktop while her classmates shared spooky stories and sang "Stirring and stirring and stirring the brew."

Her mother had not attended the party.

"Come on, young lady," Mom said.  "Don't make me ask you again."

"Why can't I go out tonight?" Jesse asked, looking over her shoulder.  "Can't I, just this once?"

"I'm not going to argue.  Now, come away from the window."

"But—"

"Jessica!"  Anger sharpened Mom's voice.  "Don't you dare talk back.  Not tonight.  Not tonight of all nights."

Jesse took one last look at the neighborhood.  Down the street, a group of children dressed as ghouls and vampires and fake blood spattered zombies rounded the corner.  They laughed and cheered and clutched at reflective plastic bags half-full of candy.  Behind the group, following in the shadows, an adult kept watchful eye.  Parents always accompanied their children nowadays, ever since—

Jesse drew the blinds and slinked to the couch.

"What would you like for dinner, sweetie?"  The anger had vanished from her mother's voice, replaced by the hollow desperation that always set upon her with the passing of summer and the approach of October.

"I'm not hungry," Jesse said.

"Nonsense.  You have to eat something."

Tomorrow, Halloween would be over, leaving behind tales of candy and pranks and frights—all of which Jesse would miss.  She thought about her brother, Josh, and felt a stab of sadness.  He had spent weeks planning his costume, planning his pranks, planning just the right route for the best trick-or-treating.  But Josh was gone now, and one night, just a few years earlier, he had taken Halloween away with him.

"Why don't I make grilled cheese sandwiches?" Mom asked.  "How would that be?"

Jesse did not answer.  In her mind, it was the last Halloween, back when Josh was alive and loved the holiday more than anything.

* * *

This year Josh wore a red and white striped sleeveless shirt and tattered black jeans cut into ribbons just above the knee.  A bandana was tied around his head, and he had used black makeup to give himself a stubbly beard.  A patch covered his left eye, and a five-and-dime plastic cutlass was tucked into a sash around his waist.  All afternoon, he stomped around the house shouting things like "Avast there!" and "Shiver me timbers!" and "Aaargh!"

Jesse chose to dress as a fairy princess in a frilly white dress and a plastic tiara studded with brightly colored gemstones.

"Would you look at the two of you?" Mom smiled and clapped he hands together with glee as her children modeled their costumes.  She did not hate Halloween, not yet, but she would before the night was over.  She grabbed the instant camera.  "You both look so great.  All right, Josh.  Give me your best pirate sneer."

"I'll make ye walk the plank."  Josh bared his teeth.  "Aaargh!"

The flash flooded the room.  The camera buzzed and spat out a print.   

"Now you, little princess," Mom said.

"Aaarrrggh!" said Jesse, doing her best to imitate Josh's snarling grin.

Mom snapped the picture and they all laughed.

"All right, Josh."  She put the camera aside and fanned the developing photos.  "Where are you going tonight?"

"Probably just a few blocks over," Josh said, already over-eager to get out on the streets.

"But you're not crossing the bridge, right?"

"No, ma'am."

"Promise?"

Josh rolled his eyes and nodded.  He stepped towards the door with Jesse quickly following.

"Hold on, you two."  Their mother went to the closet and pulled out two jackets.  "It's cold out tonight.  You're going to need these."

"But, mom," Josh said, "it doesn't go with my costume.  Pirates don't wear jackets."

"Princesses don't wear jackets, too," Jesse chimed.

"They wear jackets tonight.  It's either the jacket or no trick-or-treating."  Mom winked.  "Your choice, matey."

Reluctantly, Josh shrugged into the jacket.  Jesse giggled and waved her wand at her mom's nose as she was helped into the coat.

"Take care of your sister," Mom said.  "And be careful."

Josh rushed towards the sidewalk with Jesse chasing after him.  The night was alive with laughter of children.  The wind whipped at them.

They visited all of the neighborhood houses in rapid succession.  Doors opened.  Neighbors oohed and aahed over their disguises.  Mrs. Beechum, two doors down, gave them each a handful of pennies, but Jesse didn't think that was much of a treat.  Mr. Clark at the end of the block tried to scare them when they knocked on the door; he jumped out from around the side of the house wearing a gorilla mask.  They laughed at how silly he looked.  The goodie bags quickly filled with treats.  Jesse couldn't wait to get home and tear into the candy.

But Josh wasn't done.

He took his little sister by the hand and lead her to the narrow, concrete bridge that spanned the deep trench dividing their neighborhood from Slocum Street.

"We're not supposed to go there," Jesse said.  "Mom said so."

"Mom doesn't have to know.  Besides, we'll get the best candy over there.  Promise."

As they crossed the bridge, Jesse looked down into the trench.  A strip of water rushed beneath them.  Two bed-sheeted ghosts stared up at them, their ragged eye-holes deep and dark.

"What are they doing down there?" Jesse asked.

But Josh was too busy telling her how he often got whole candy bars—not just bite-sized pieces—from the people on Slocum Street.  They knew how to celebrate Halloween.  The houses were well-decorated, entire yards converted into graveyards or haunted mazes.

"Prime pickings," Josh said.

Dark forms rushed back and forth across the street.  A Frankenstein's monster watched from the shadows.  Spooky horror movie music and ghostly sound effects played on boom boxes from front porches.

At one of the houses, Jesse and Josh were invited inside.  In a darkened room they were asked to reach into several bowls.  "Feel those" the resident intoned.  "Those are eyes," and "reach into this bowl of guts."  In the final bowl, they found candy.  They thanked the resident for the scare and the treats, then continued on their way.

"Were those really guts and eyes?" Jesse asked.

"Nah," said Josh.  "Peeled grapes and cold spaghetti."

They passed a yard covered in toilet paper.  It hung in wispy tendrils from fence posts and cascaded from tree limbs, gently undulating in the breeze.

Somewhere, not too far away, Jesse heard a car's roaring engine.  She jumped at the sound.

Up ahead, across the street, a screen door snapped shut, and a group of giggling children—a cowboy, a cat, and a boy in a bloody hockey mask—dashed along the sidewalk.  "They're giving out Snickers and Skittles!" one of the children called.

Josh clenched his sister's hand tightly.  "Come on."

Josh stepped off the sidewalk.

Jesse paused, only for a moment, to adjust her tiara.  When she looked again, Josh was bathed in shimmering light.

A horn blared.

Tires shrieked in an attempt to find purchase.

Josh's hand was ripped from hers.  She felt as though her arm might tear from its socket.  She was yanked off her feet, skinning her knees on sidewalk, and her wand clattered to the ground.

The car slid to a stop.

Along the street, doors flung open and people rushed out of their houses. 

The spooky music, the artificial screams, seemed so loud.

"Are you all right?" a man asked, kneeling to help her to her feet.

Several people gazed down at her. The headlights of the car lit their faces.  The emergency flashers glowed, then faded into darkness, then glowed again, and the faces of the people in the crowd bore looks of shock and terror.

My costume's not scary, she thought.  Why are they looking at me like that?

Her knees stung.  She saw gravel embedded in her skin.

The music was so loud.

"Josh," she said.  "My brother."

Someone gasped and choked out, "Oh God."

Voices rose from the crowd, a weird choir.   

—Oh, dear.  Oh, dear.—

—Don't touch him.  Don't move him.—

—Where did he come from?  Did anyone see?—

Jesse thought she heard a ghost wailing in the distance, its sorrowful cry riding a current of cool wind through the trees.  As the sound drew closer, it took on a rhythmic, steady cadence.  An ambulance rounded the corner.  Its lights pulsed.

A man stepped out of the crowd, waved towards the ambulance.

She could not see her brother—too many people teemed around him—but she saw blood spreading across the pavement, black and sparkling over the rough asphalt.  The blood inched towards her, reaching out for her.  She took a step back.  Her breath hitched, and she started to cry.  Tears blurred her vision, and the sorrowful faces of the men and women took on the twisted aspect of leering goblins.

*  *  *

Jesse and her mother ate dinner—grilled cheese sandwiches and soggy, oven-baked French fries—in silence.  They sat upon the living room couch, TV trays balanced on their laps, just as they did every night, but the television was off.

A trio of long shadows passed across the living room window. 

Jesse's mother tensed and held her breath as they passed.

"It's just kids," Jesse said.

Mom smiled weakly as she stood.  She gathered the plates—they rattled in her hands—and took them to the kitchen.  She scraped off the remainder of the food, ran hot water over the dishes, and left them soaking in the sink.

"I have a headache, Jesse," she said, returning to the living room.  "I think I might lie down on the couch for a few minutes.  Are you all done with your schoolwork?"

Jesse nodded.

"Why don't you go to your room and play for a while before bedtime?"

"Yes, ma'am." 

Jesse glanced at the window.  The shadows were gone.  Only darkness awaited outside.  As she walked to her room, she passed the hall closet.  The door shook gently in the frame. 

Her imagination? 

No.  The closet door rattled, as if something on the other side sought release, tapping and knocking, soft but persistent.  She looked towards the living room.  Her mother was already stretched out on the couch.  Quietly, she opened the door and peered inside.

Old shoes were piled upon the floor.  A vacuum cleaner leaned in the corner.  On a shelf above the coats, several boxes of photos teetered on the verge of falling over.  Jesse wondered if those Halloween pictures might be found within.

She saw her brother's jacket, the one he had worn on Halloween night.  She wondered why her mother had insisted on keeping the jacket.  She stood on her tiptoes and pulled the garment down.  The hanger clattered against the rack.  Jesse flinched, but thankfully her mother did not hear.

Hugging the jacket close, she crept to her room.

She looked the jacket over.  It had been washed several times, but the bloodstains could still be seen, deep in the weave of the fabric.  The fabric smelled of dust and heavy detergent.

She swept her hair back over the collar as she tried the jacket on.   She looked at herself in the mirror.   The jacket engulfed her, hanging almost to her knees and swallowing her hands in the folds of the sleeves.  She turned form side to side, regarding herself.

The house creaked.

A branch scratched against the roof.

Outside, children laughed.  Distantly, someone called "trick or treat!"

Halloween called to her.

She waited until she was certain that her mother was asleep, then she tiptoed out of the house, bundled in her brother's coat and carrying a pillow case.

The steps she took as she walked along the house were familiar, becoming second nature as she traipsed up one walkway after another, knocking on the door to draw people out, begging for candy or promising mischief.  Some of the people greeted her strangely, not recognizing her costume, but she didn't let that bother her.  They cheerfully tossed handfuls of brightly-wrapped candy into the bag.  One of Jesse's neighbors dropped Life Savers into the bag and looked nervously to the street, asking, "Are you all alone out here?"  Jesse only shrugged and pranced to the next house.

As she approached the bridge to Slocum Street, she met a group of children she knew from school.  She saw no pirates or fairy princesses among their number.  Some of them carried flashlights with plastic jack-o-lanterns or witch's heads over the lenses, casting orange and green glows over the street.  A few grown-ups, like shadows, followed them.  One of the girls, Maggie, said, "Hi, Jessica.  Are you getting a lot of candy?"

Jesse smiled and nodded.

She recognized one of the grown-ups as Mr. O'Brien, who lived down the street and had a daughter in Jesse's class.

"Would you like to come with us?" Mr. O'Brien asked.

"No, thank you," Jesse said.

"You should have an adult with you," he said.  "Where's your mother?"

"She's not feeling well."

"What are you supposed to be?" one of the children asked.  He adjusted his latex monster mask by pulling at the eyes.

"Don't be silly," said Maggie.  "She's a ghost."

"Oh, yeah."

 One of the children said, "We don't mind if you come with us."  He looked at the others, seeking approval.  "Do we?"

"No," the monster said.  His voice was muffled under the gruesome mask.  "Why don't you?"

"I don't think so, but thank you."  She nodded towards the darkened neighborhood across the bridge.  "I'm going over to Slocum Street."

Mr. O'Brien grimaced.  The children gasped and whispered to each other.

"Don't go there," one of the children said.

"No, don't," said another.  "It's haunted."

"I know," Jesse said.  With that, she started across the bridge. Beneath her, the creek bubbled, choked with brush and mud.  She looked down, half expecting to see those bed sheet ghosts.  If she did, she would call out to them to see what they were up to.  She saw no one, though.

Slocum Street was quiet and dark.  No costumed children ran from house to house.  No sounds of laughter could be heard.  The porch lights at each house were out.  The neighborhood her brother had described as "prime pickings" now resembled  something out of her mother's ideal vision of Halloween.  Trees lining the street loomed overhead, casting deep pools of darkness, a patchwork carpet of moonlight and shadow over the pavement.  There were no other trick-or-treaters, and a shrill wind swept past.

She walked up the sidewalk to the first house.  Her bag was full of miniature candy bars and raisins and apples.  The porch steps creaked beneath her feet.  She knocked on the door and waited.

"What are you supposed to be?" asked the pinched-faced woman who answered the door.  The words sounded forced, out of practice.

"I'm my brother," Jesse said.

"Oh, what a scary costume."

With that, the woman tossed something into the bag, said "Happy Halloween," in a whisper, and pushed the door closed.

At each house, Jesse was greeted with gasps of dread or titters of nervous delight, and as she made her way to the final house along the street, the pillowcase grew heavy, so much so that she could not pick it up off the ground, but instead let it drag along the pavement behind her.        

She paused a moment before approaching the last house on the street.  The yard was not made up to look like a cemetery, but Jesse felt a nibble of fear in her stomach.  A familiar-looking car, unused and partially covered with a tarp, waited beneath the carport.  She walked up and knocked on the door.

            "Go away," came a voice on the other side  "I don't have anything for you."

Jesse stood still on the porch for a few seconds, then knocked again, rapping the door twice. 

"Please," said the shaking voice.  "Leave me be."

But Jesse knocked on the door once more and cried, "Trick or treat."

The door creaked open, just a bit, not enough to see inside.

"Trick or treat!" Jesse said.

The door creaked open another inch.  Jesse opened her bag and held it out.  From inside the house, an arm emerged, dropped the prize into the bag, and then quickly withdrew.  The door slammed shut and the voice said again, "Leave me be."

Jesse turned and skipped back to the sidewalk, the bag bouncing along behind her.  She tested the bag's weight.  The pillowcase was heavy and wet.  She flung the bag over her shoulder so it would not drag the ground.  Smiling, her work done, she walked home.  The moon grinned down at her, and dried leaves skittered along in her wake.

When she got home, she quietly opened the front door.  Her mother was still sleeping upon the couch, and neither Jesse's movement or the rush of cold air from outside roused her.  Good.  Jesse took off her brother's coat and draped it over the arm of the couch, just below her mother's feet.  She knelt down in front of a nearby chair and emptied the overstuffed bag.  The spoils of her night's work spilled across the floor.  She quickly organized the candy into neat piles of chocolates and chewing gum and licorice.  Into another pile she placed the oranges and raisins and apples.  The third pile was set aside for those dark, wet things she retrieved on Slocum Street, those things that did not belong to her at all.

After she completed this task, she rose and tiptoed across the room.  She flipped the light switch beside the front door, and the porch light flared to life.

She waited.

*  *  *

Later, the knocking woke Jesse's mother.

She sat up quickly, as if startled from a nightmare.  Jesse sat in the chair across from her, kicking her legs playfully and nibbling on a miniature Snickers bar.  She smiled.

Someone knocked at the front door.

"Who could that be?" her mother asked.  She squinted at her wristwatch.  "It's much too late for trick-or-treaters."

The front door rattled as the pounding—steady and strong—continued.

"What is this?" Mother asked.  "Some kind of joke?"

She rose from the couch.  Her legs were shaky and unsteady.  She looked at Jesse as if seeking an answer in the little girl's eyes.

Jesse grinned, her mouth smeared with gooey chocolate, and said only, "Happy Halloween."

"Don't say that, Jesse.  You know I don't like it when you—"

 The door shook as if it might come off the hinges.  Jesse's mother jumped and turned towards the door, holding a hand to her chest to calm the panicked beat of her heart.  She took a step and kicked candy across the floor.  She looked down, her eyes following the path of candy as it rolled and skittered away.

Someone pounded on the door.

And she saw the candy corn and Tootsie rolls, the oranges and the tiny red boxes of raisins.

Pounded.

And she saw those things that Jesse had gotten from Slocum Street, lying on the floor, waiting.

Waiting for the trick-or-treater lurking on the front porch.

Dark, glistening blood soaking into the carpet.

Pounded.

The door shivered.

And she screamed.

Sixth Gun Adds One To The Posse And Takes Aim At The Comics Recession

Official Press Release

After reports of lower than average comic sales last August and reading of the blame being placed on the $3.99 price point, THE SIXTH GUN series creators Cullen Bunn and Brian Hurtt came to a decision: twelve extra pages at no additional cost. For the sixth issue of their new ongoing series THE SIXTH GUN, Bunn & Hurtt are adding twelve full pages of gun-slinging goodness, and they're enlisting the help of comic superstar colorist Bill Crabtree (INVINCIBLE, JACK STAFF).

"Having a colorist as accomplished as Bill [Crabtree] join the book was a no-brainer," commented series writer and co-creator Cullen Bunn. "Initially we were going to have Bill start with issue #7, it's the beginning of a new arc and it just made sense, but Brian [Hurtt] had been plugging away at issue #6, and we started having the dreaded conversations of what to cut in order to keep the book's page-count down. When we saw the August numbers and read the reports, it just occurred to us: Why should we sacrifice the culmination of this great story and all our hard work? The fans have been waiting for the climatic final battle; let's give it to them!"

"I've penciled, inked, colored and lettered every issue and we've never missed a ship date on THE SIXTH GUN," added series artist and co-creator Brian Hurtt. "but adding an additional twelve pages of story to a twenty-two page book for the final issue in this story arc is no small feat, and after six months of hard work, we're not about to start missing deadlines now! We told Bill our idea for an oversized issue #6 and asked if he'd start in on THE SIXTH GUN early."

"I couldn't wait to get started," said new series colorist Bill Crabtree. "I love THE SIXTH GUN! Getting to play in this universe with these characters and settings is a real pleasure. Cullen, Brian, and the folks at Oni are so passionate about the book. I'm really excited about the new arc and the oversized finale in issue #6."

The 40-page oversized issue, THE SIXTH GUN #6, is on store shelves November 17th. You can place your order now with your favorite local comic shop using Diamond Order Code: SEP101089. THE SIXTH GUN #6 wraps up the first epic story arc of the series: General Hume is at the gates of the Maw and he's brought Hell with him! It's the final showdown between the forces of good and evil, and no one is safe. If Drake survives the undead battalion… if he defeats Hume's malevolent henchmen… he's still gazing down the barrel of a shoot-out with the Confederate general not even death could stop!

THE SIXTH GUN is a new ongoing series from co-creators Cullen Bunn & Brian Hurtt. During the darkest days of the Civil War, wicked cutthroats came into possession of six pistols of otherworldly power. In time, the Sixth Gun, the most dangerous of the weapons, vanished. When the gun surfaces in the hands of an innocent girl, dark forces reawaken. Vile men thought long dead set their sights on retrieving the gun and killing the girl. Only Drake Sinclair, a gunfighter with a shadowy past, stands in their way.

Read the entire first issue of THE SIXTH GUN at http://www.onipress.com/previews/h/219

Oni Press Inc. is a leading publisher of independent, creator owned comic books. Founded in 1997 on the belief that comics can be used to tell any story, Oni Press has published hundreds of different comics and graphic novels. Their creator-owned comics have won numerous book, library, and comic awards. With a strong focus on character, genre, and story driver creator-owned work, Oni Press has become one of the most well respected publishers in the comic industry. www.onipress.com

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The Sixth Gun #7 and TPB Vol. 1

Double your pleasure! The October issue of Previews hits the stands this week, and it features two Sixth Gun items! First up is issue #7 of the series — the start of a brand new story arc! In addition, the first trade paperback is also solicited in this issue. Both of these items are now available for pre-order, so make sure to order your copies now!

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The Sixth Gun #7

New story arc! In the aftermath of the tragic battle of the Maw, Drake and company hide in the sprawling city of New Orleans. But as they plot their next move, they find themselves embroiled in another harrowing adventure. Unexpected threats, new enemies, and a host of strange spirits are already aligning against them.

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The Sixth Gun TPB, Volume 1

During the darkest days of the Civil War, wicked cutthroats came into possession of six pistols of otherworldly power. In time, the Sixth Gun. the most dangerous of the weapons, vanished. When the gun surfaces in the hands of an innocent girl, dark forces reawaken. Vile men thought long dead set their sights on retrieving the gun and killing the girl. Only Drake Sinclair, a gunfighter with a shadowy past, stands in their way.

What Might Have Been – Dead Acres Pt. 1

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Time for another trip through the hardcopy files that, until recently, were stashed in a box in my garage. A few months ago, I shared the proposal for Penny Dreadful, a comic book that never happened. This time around, I'm sharing a proposal I put together with uber-talented artist Chris Samnee. Chris and I have long wanted to work together, but the stars just haven't lined up. Previously, we had put together a pitch for Freakhunter, but that never came to pass. Our next proposal was for a...

Catching Up …

Been pretty swamped of late — working on tons of new comic stuff that I hope to share with you soon. In the meantime, I thought I'd post a few items that might strike your fancy …

This weekend, I'll be attending Project Comic Con 2 here in St. Louis Missouri. I'll have lots of copies of The Sixth Gun on hand, so please make sure to stop by and say hello!

The Sixth Gun #4 hit the shelves last week, and a few reviews of the book have been popping up …

Challenges Comics and ConversationBehold the...

SmarterComics and Me …

As reported on Publishers Weekly, book packager Writers of the Round Table has teamed up with nonfiction comics publisher SmarterComics to produce a line of comics works based on bestselling business, motivational and personal self-help titles. The SmarterComics line of adaptations will launch in 2011 with books based on bestsellers by tough-love personal motivator Larry Winget, Latino entrepreneur Robert Renteria; sales and marketing guru Tom Hopkins, performance psychologist John Eliot and ...