Fall Western Short Stories

Ronald Carlisle stared at the frozen blood pooling on the floorboards, his hand hovering over his revolver.

Jack crashed into the dirt, bleeding out over a stolen lockbox, five years after he vanished without a word.

Tommy navigates the frozen brick canyons of Winnipeg's Exchange District, dodging modern outlaws and ancient ghosts of prairie ambition.

I watched the ice break against the bridge piling. The water was gray, fast, and completely indifferent.

The rope snapped taut against Red’s wrists, biting into the skin right as the first ice fell.

The receding water didn't just leave dead fish. It left three skulls and a rusted lie.