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Quote by James Pratt

“As McMasters raised the shotgun, the man removed his glasses. There were fields of stars where his eyes should have been. But they weren’t reflections of the night sky. These stars were a glimpse of a dim and distant future where the very laws of physics had been reduced to relics of a forgotten age. Feeble as dying embers, they were the palsied mourners at time’s wake. McMasters could hear the ultimate silence and feel the biting cold of the one true void. The promise of the eternal nothing beckoned to him. There was a sort of peace in the death it represented, not the death of mind and body but of shape and form. It was the final revelation, the casting off of life’s illusion in favor of the void’s embrace. from "Riders of the Necronomicon”

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James Pratt

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“She looked at her right hand, where the index finger was cut to a stump. Some said she lost it in an accident, when she was playing soldier with a live grenade. Others said she was taught a lesson by the law, and they took her trigger finger to make her keep on learning. Those were the lessons the Coilhunter liked. Why, he was quite the teacher himself.”

QuotesScience FictionWesternVengeanceBadassOutlawGunslingerOld WestCoilhunterWeird Western
Book:Coilhunter
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“The cowboy’s face turned a bright shade of red. Whether it was from the booze or not, Clay couldn’t tell. He puffed out his chest, like a game bird ready to warn off a rival. “Now, I can tell you ain’t from around here and I don’t know how it’s done with your lot. Otherwise, you’d have known who you were speaking to. In Fairpoint, the polite thing to do is accept a man’s offer when he goes out of his way to buy you a drink. It sounds like you’re saying you’re too good for us, old timer. I reckon the way you were staring makes me think you’ve got a problem.” The other men took that as their cue to edge closer. If he wanted to, Clay could’ve tried to defuse the situation. The cowboy’s arrogance stirred a primal urge within him, a need for violence made sharper by the alcohol in his system. “I’m speaking to a nobody in some godsforsaken town in the ass end of the world. There’s nothing good about me, boy. So, do yourself a favour and walk away. Or you and the rest of them peckerwoods will be picking your teeth up off the floor.”

FantasyHorrorWesternWeird Western
Book:At the Dead of Dusk
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“Clay smashed the butt of his revolver into the werewolf’s snout. It laughed again, only it wasn’t the sound of an animal trying to form human words, but a familiar cackle that chilled Clay to his bones. Intelligence cooled in black eyes, snuffing out the feral rage that had once burned brightly. Jaw muscles moved mechanically, strings pulled from an unseen place. “Hello, McNab,” the voice of a woman crooned. “It’s good to see you. Everything has become so much more interesting. Who will you fail this time, I wonder?” The werewolf dropped with a thud, wisps of gun smoke rising from its head. Clay stood over it and drove his boot into the face again and again. He didn’t stop until the body was mangled beyond recognition, a sponge to soak up the fury flaring inside his heart.”

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Book:At the Dead of Dusk
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“Jo, having watched the conversion in silence, her face caught between awe and curiosity, fidgeted when she saw Itsano scrutinising her. “Sorry. I don’t mean to stare. I ain’t met anyone like you before.” “I am something of a rare breed in these parts. My ancestors shared a similar look when they saw your people for the first time. We thought you just as ugly.” Itsano winked to show he took no offense.”

FantasyHorrorWesternWeird Western
Book:At the Dead of Dusk
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“Agnus strode into the clearing, a cold glint in her gaze. “I thought I was done reminding you that this is not your hunting ground, Kriegan. But once again you’ve let your feral stupidity get the better of you and it seems another lesson needs to be taught.” She closed her hand into a fist, which caused the roots to squeeze tighter and the werewolf uttered a painful whine. Looming over her captive, Agnus continued. “Jo is my guest. She’s not sport or food for your pack of flea-bitten curs. Make the mistake of thinking her as prey again and neither of us will be so merciful next time. Understand?” The werewolf made a garbled noise and the roots fell away. Bowing like a scolded dog, the werewolf loped back into the forest, a smudge of fur and muscle lost among the foliage.”

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Book:At the Dead of Dusk
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