October Round-up 2026
By jfclover
Like clockwork, the change of seasons brings a frosty chill to the air. It happens every year, but it always shocks the system. After a summer of sweltering heat, the concept of cold and snow seems appealing, that’s until we have to work under these rotten conditions.
After tending the stock, I notice the change of seasons has hit home. A cold wind blows in from the north, off the mountaintops of the Sierras and down the slopes in a gusty swirl of autumn leaves and brittle twigs that can’t hold on any longer.
With Pa and Hoss down with miserable end-of-the-year colds, I’m working double duty. Barn chores, and then the books, not a favorite of mine but can’t be put off. It doesn’t add up, but with both of them lying prone in their beds, I have no choice but to hammer out the obvious.
But when I walk through the front door, I hesitate. Something isn’t right. Something fills the air, though I’m not sure how to explain the feeling that sends chills through my spine and won’t let go. It’s a misty feeling, like the dense, confining air in New Orleans I’ve heard about my whole life long. Like a day gone wrong. Like the worst that can happen has already happened and no one let you know when or where or why.
After pushing the front door closed behind me, my whole body shudders. The air changes slightly. Like a day in the desert, I find the shimmering beauty of a mirage, although syrupy as if it could crush me with its weight. I stare into nothingness. Nothing is where it should be, and nothing inside the house looks the same.
The furniture has been rearranged, moved into a U-shape that faces Pa’s desk rather than the fireplace. Figures that are oddly translucent sit on the settee. Mitch and Sara—friends I’ve had since my schooldays. Johnny Chapman sits in Adam’s blue chair, and a man I don’t recognize sprawls with his left leg draped over the arm of Pa’s leather chair and holds a smoking pistol in his right hand.
The room is filled, but no one speaks. No one tells me why they’ve come or what happens next, but moving toward them isn’t an option. Fear has gripped me so tight that I’m frozen in place. My boots are glued to the floorboards, and my mind is whirling, trying to find the answers to hundreds of questions. What have I done to deserve this type of gathering in my own home? A party where the attendees aren’t exactly real, who aren’t exactly human, half human at best.
No one is laughing, and no one is dancing. No music plays in the far corner of the room, so it’s not a real Cartwright party. I would’ve hired Jake and his fiddler’s three, and I would’ve had Hop Sing set out a spread that couldn’t be beat. But that’s not the case. These people weren’t asked to come, and since Pa and Hoss are both sick in bed, it’s not the proper time to celebrate anything.
My mind floats straight to Melly. Why isn’t she here? She’s my girl, has been for over two months, yet she isn’t invited to the impromptu gathering. Nothing makes sense. I want to ask Sara, but all I see are tears streaking her cheeks. She dips her chin to her chest. She doesn’t want to look at me. She doesn’t want to talk. I look toward the blue chair and Johnny Chapman does the same. No one will look me in the eye. My friends know something I don’t, and I question why any of this is happening.
I need to find Melly. I need to know that she’s safe on this miserable night. I have a terrible feeling that something untoward has happened outside these walls. My friends and I are protected here, but Melly is all alone. She should be with me. Is she frightened? Is she calling my name?
Evil surrounds the man in Pa’s chair. He dresses in all black: shirt, hat, trousers, and leather vest. He looks straight at me as he blows the lingering smoke from the barrel of his gun. He grins.
A knock on the front door nearly scares me to death. I turn and open the door a crack. When I see that it’s Roy Coffee, I take a step back and beckon him in and out of the frigid wind.
“Roy? Kind of late, isn’t it?”
“This ain’t no social call, Little Joe.”
“Oh?”
“I have some bad news, Son. Miss Melly Simmons is dead, shot and left in the alleyway next to the Bucket of Blood.”
“Shot? Why?”
“I don’t know yet, but I thought you should know.”
There isn’t much more to say. Roy asks about the family, and then he’s gone. I turn back to my unwanted guests, but nothing’s the same. The furniture is returned and intact. Sara, Mitch, and Johnny have vanished. Were they ever here? What or who did I really see? If I told the story out loud, no one would believe me.
Even the gunslinger who sat in Pa’s chair. The man dressed in black with the smoking gun. Did he shoot my girl? I’ll ride in first thing in the morning. Roy will be pleased to know what I know, but will I look like a fool, a fool who’s covering up a lover’s quarrel?
I know who shot Melly, but I have no proof, and my story is nothing more than a far-fetched whopper of a tale. “He sat in Pa’s chair, Roy. He blew smoke from his gun.” No one will believe such a story. I don’t believe it myself.
“Joseph?”
I look up. Pa stands at the top of the stairs. His nightshirt and dressing gown are real. My father is real. Melly was real, but was the gunslinger? Was anything?
“I’m just heading up, Pa.”
The End
10 – 2026
