There’s No Such Thing As Ghost Riders in the Visitors Center [Excerpt]

Okay, okay! Stop banging down the door: I’ll post a new excerpt since you all liked the last one so much! This time around it’ll be from “…Ghost Riders in the V.C.” which is available at the store. Such an awesome story (I have been told), I know you all can’t wait to read it! So thank YOU for your support!

Alas, poor Mingus

Illustration by Adriel Begay

Excerpt from …Ghost Riders in the V.C. by WHR Soland

“Zombies?” I asked.

“No such thing.” Reggie replied.

“Vampires?”

“No such thing.”

“Ghosts?”

“No such thing, look, Sam,” Reggie said, “I keep telling you. Nothing survives death. Nothing comes back from the dead.”

“You do,” I pointed out.

“No, that’s different,” he insisted. “Werecoyotes, werefoxes, werethings in general, we aren’t immortal. We die of old age, we even die from injuries or poisons. Sure, I can survive a gunshot to the heart, because my heart knits itself back together quickly. But if that bullet’s made of silver, I’m a gonner. Poison me with enough wolfsbane or quicksilver, and I’ll die.”

“But you’re telling me that I’m supposed to believe that of all the movie creatures I’ve ever seen, only lycanthropes actually exist?” I asked. “I could believe none. I could believe some. But just the one?”

“Well, no,” Reggie said. “There are a few. But they’re rare, and I don’t see the point in discussing them.”

“Come on, son, just satisfy my curiosity. Name one myth I can believe in.”

“Fine,” Reggie said. “Sasquatch. You happy?”

“Sasquatch?” I said. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve known several. It’s that way, by the way.”

I turned the truck off the main highway, down an old dirt road. Reggie had purchased this pickup, but felt more comfortable with me driving it. I was glad Reggie had finally gotten his own wheels, but I didn’t understand why he’d chosen this particular vehicle. I knew him as the kind of guy who wore a suit to go out for coffee, who always made sure his handkerchief and shirt matched his socks. Why he’d purchased a white Ford Ranger was beyond me.

The purpose of this little trip, on the other hand, was relatively clear. At least, it was as clear as anything gets when it comes to Reggie, a former con-artist turned private detective who just happens to be a werecoyote, my tenant, my employer, and my friend.

A mutual acquaintance of ours, Detective Sandy Banks of the Santa Fe County Sheriff’s Office, was a little kooky. She believed in ghosts, aliens, crystals, souls, auras, and pretty much everything else Reggie didn’t believe in. Her friend, a ranger named Dana Corvin, also believed in ghosts, and that the ranger’s office where she works is haunted.

Want more? You’ll have to order a copy.

/Green Bandit Out.

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