A Haunted Casino Takes More Than Cash in “Passing Through a Prairie Country” — Read an Excerpt! (Exclusive)

Ojibwe writer Dennis E. Staples' blend of suspense, comedy and thrills is perfect for fans of 'Reservation Dogs' and Stephen Graham Jones

With darkness descending at what feels like midafternoon, late fall is the perfect time to crack open a book that will send shivers down your spine. And PEOPLE has an exclusive excerpt from one that will do just that.

Passing Through a Prairie Country, by Dennis E. Staples, out March 18, 2025 from Counterpoint Press, blends humor, suspense and thrills as it takes us into a casino that's haunted by the ghost of a dark force locals call "the sandman."

The sandman has terrorized the Languille Lake reservation for decades, lurking in the Hidden Atlantis Lake Resort and Casino which provides the reservation with the revenue to survive even as it's "leeching its patrons’ dreams and ambitions and also preventing the ghosts that linger there from moving on," as the book's synopsis details.

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When a young Ojibwe man runs afoul of the sandman and only barely escapes with the help of his cousins who work at the casino, they find themselves in a fight for their lives — and the souls of the Languille Lake reservation on both sides of the spirit world.

Fans of shows like Reservation Dogs and True Detective: Night Country, the movie Beau is Afraid, and authors like Stephen King and Stephen Graham Jones won't want to miss Passing Through a Prairie Country.

Turn on the lights and check out an exclusive sneak peek, below.

Prologue keno road 

November 1, 2017 

Ol’ Froglegs Bullhead lived in a small public housing unit with a CNA in one of the unincorporated communities between two cities, Waubajeeg and Indian Hollow, on the Languille Lake Reservation in northern Minnesota. At 58 years old, Ol’ Froglegs was wheelchair-bound; a work accident had taken his left leg at 35, and neglect for his health had taken his right foot at 50.  

But insistent on a certain amount of independence, Froglegs wheeled himself the five miles south to Waubajeeg whenever he had extra income to put in the slots, or sometimes he just grabbed a bite to eat at the food court and shot the breeze with his numerous friends and cousins who worked, lived or played — or some combination of those — at Hidden Atlantis Lake Resort and Casino. Though a troubled soul in his youth, with dozens of bridges burned behind him, he’d spent the last decade of his life trying to rebuild any and every relationship he could. 

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He wheeled into the back entrance of the casino in the afternoon, scaring a flock of white pigeons from the sidewalk. He was delighted to see one of his great-nieces was working at the security counter. She greeted him with a big, beaming smile. It was always nice seeing a family member with a full set of teeth, unlike himself. 

On this day, he drew 900 dollars from the ATM near the keno machines, but he couldn’t find an open one to play. So he rolled over to an electronic poker game and tried his luck with virtual cards. A half hour and 100 dollars later, he grew bored of poker and instead went to the front entrance to chat with the young bucks at the security office. 

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He held up two fists in a playful taunt. “I bet all my money  that I can take all of you savs, right here, right now.” “Let’s go then,” said his favorite great-niece, Cherie. “I’ll  knock all your teeth out, gramps.” 

“Oh, f--- you,” Ol’ Froglegs said with a gummy laugh. “I  should knock some of yours loose for saying that.” Cherie walked forward and held her arms up. “Okay. Let’s  throw down, you froggy f---.” Instead of punching him, she lowered her outstretched arms and hugged him. “You winning big yet?” 

“Nah. I’m not going back out there until y’all turn the machines up.” 

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“Sorry, guy. All the big wins were probably yesterday.” It was the day after Halloween. Froglegs hadn’t been able to make it down the road to play because of a sudden snowstorm that melted away by evening. 

“Then tell me which machines are still hot.” He pulled out a 20-dollar bill and held it to her. “Is this one lucky?” Cherie laughed. “I’m not Lady Luck, uncle.” 

“What about Alana? Where’s her ugly mug right now?” “It’s her day off. And she’d slap you if she heard that, ya know.”

He sighed. “Guess it’s not my lucky day then. Maybe I’ll  come back late tonight and try the high-stakes machines.”

“I’ll see you then, uncle.” 

“Hey, when’s the next drawing, my girl?” 

“New year, right at midnight, uncle. Ain’t that past your bedtime?” 

“Your uncle ain’t got no bedtime,” he said as he rolled away.  

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Ol’ Froglegs played 30 more dollars on a nickel keno machine, but he slowly lost it all as the numbers came in. It looked like Lady Luck was sleeping in, after partying herself out on Halloween. He slammed his Styrofoam cup of coffee and made for the back entrance again.  

“I’ll be back,” he said to the new guard, a timid-looking white girl no older than 25. “Save me a jackpot or two.” 

“Have a nice day, sir,” came the nervous reply. 

He wheeled himself out on the paved walking path that ran parallel to Jackson Lane, all the way up to Indian Hollow, where it ended at a cozy park. The hardest part of the trip was a mile away from the casino, where the trail hit a slow and steady incline and always gave him a good workout. 

When he reached the top, he could see a gathering of people walking toward him in the distance. At first it looked like they were in one big group on the walking path, but then he noticed more were gathered in the ditch between the path and the road. Some were beating the ground with their fists,  but others simply drifted back and forth, their heads nodding up and down. 

Froglegs wondered if this was a group of people who had just been to a methadone or suboxone clinic. He remembered vividly the time in his life when he’d had to rely on those things to function. He looked on the crowd with recognition and pity. 

But as they got closer, one of them, a young Ojibwe man, disappeared like candle smoke. His body became a thin, snaking wisp of fog. Others faded in and out of view. Some twitched and convulsed like spiders who’d cruelly had several legs removed by wayward children.  

The breath left his throat. There was a small road a few yards ahead and to the right, and without much thought, he wheeled himself off the paved trail and into the woods. A half mile in, he remembered that this was the location of a cemetery. In the distance, beyond the barren autumn trees, he could see the shape of Hidden Atlantis, with its bright gold and baby blue trim on the exterior walls, and the three vibrant slides of the water park. He stopped a few feet from the entrance to catch his breath. 

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“Give us the cash.” 

It was a man’s voice behind him, though still fairly young. He turned around, and on the trail he’d come in through, there were three Ojibwe men, probably no older than 20. They wore loose black clothing and red bandannas over their mouths. The one who’d spoken held a metal bat in his hand.  

“Now. All of it.” 

“I ain’t got no cash, you little assholes.” 

“Bullshit. We saw you leave the casino.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have money. I lost it all. Don’t you know how a casino works?” 

“Have it your way, then, old man.” 

The boys rushed at him, and he raised his arms in front of his face. The bat hit his arm, and the other two boys knocked him to the ground. He tumbled from his wheelchair and landed face down on the ground. He wanted to fight back, but there was little he could do. The bat smacked his shoulders and back over and over until the pain overtook his body and sent him into shock. 

He turned his head back to the trail, and just before all went dark, the apparitions he’d seen on the road passed by, stumbling toward the casino. The boys took the money from his wallet and ran further into the trees. 

Copyright © 2025 by Dennis E. Staples and a credit to the Licensor as follows: “Excerpted from Passing Through a Prairie Country. Reprinted by permission of Counterpoint Press, an imprint of Catapult.

Passing Through a Prairie Country by Dennis E. Staples comes out March 18, 2025, from Counterpoint Press and is available for preorder now, wherever books are sold.