MYTHS REBORN Is in the Wild

NOW AVAILABLE: Myths Reborn, from October Nights Press, edited by Kelly Hearty. This new anthology features my story, "The Devil of Transylvania County," along with 18 other tales of cryptids, critters, long-leggedy beasties, and things that go bump in the night.

"You’ll ask can a skinwalker become the savior of two terrified young girls? How might the tale of Sasquatch be different when told from his perspective? Could a vampire exist undetected in your city or a Tatzelwurm make its way into the very walls of your home?

"In this anthology, you'll encounter cryptids and folk characters portrayed in novel and frightening ways. Nineteen talented authors breathed new life into traditional tales to create a unique collection of re-envisioned, re-contextualized myths."

"The Devil of Transylvania County" is set in the mountains of North Carolina and is based on one of the creepiest legends from the region, which I learned about when I was a kid at summer camp—and I hope this tale will terrify you the way the original legend did me.

As of today, Myths Reborn is available in paperback and ebook. 

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Order Myths Reborn here.

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Ice Blossoms, Banners, Fire Pits, and More

When we lived in Greensboro, I regularly engaged an excellent printing company to create my banners for conventions, booksignings, etc., but I was overjoyed to discover that an acquaintance of mine, Joe Martin, here in Martinsville, owns What's Your Sign?, a nice little print shop uptown. I always prefer to buy local, so last week, I sent my new banner design to him, and this morning, I picked up the finished product. A great job at a fair price, I must say, so I give top marks to Joe and his shop.

 

Far less pleasing is the weather forecast for the next few days, which calls for substantial snow, sleet, and/or freezing rain, along with bitter cold temperatures. A severe ice storm is the most hazardous of these, not just because of almost certain extended power outages but because falling trees here could be catastrophic. Several trees in the woods around our property could smash the house flat should they fall on it. That possibility was made very clear when a tree came down in the backyard just before we moved in here (see "The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade, February 13, 2023"); it was a big old white ash, and it would have caused massive damage if it hit the house. So, we are hoping and praying to avoid any damaging nastiness from Mother Nature.

All that aside, since we don't have a generator at the moment (I've been pricing them), and our fireplaces are old and not fit for use, an extended power outage can be at the very least supremely unpleasant, and at worst, downright dangerous, particularly since on Monday, the low is supposed to be around zero degrees Fahrenheit, and this house will not hold but so much heat.

 

I'm a little sad, too, because Brugger is in Asheville at an arts & crafts retreat, which she'd paid for many moons ago, and they did not cancel or postpone it due to the coming weather. Given the conditions that will likely linger well past the weekend, she may be stuck out yonder a lot longer than either of us might have expected. It's gonna be a lonely time until she gets back home.

 

I did buy a new fire pit, which I put together this afternoon. If nothing else, I can take it outside the garage and use it to cook. I stocked up on a lot of dry firewood for good measure. It's kind of ironic that I might have to go outside in the bitter cold just to warm up...

 

Anyhoo, here's hoping for a less-than-eventful winter storm.

Broken Barriers

Ms. B. at the "real" Black Tooth Pond in 2010

A little excerpt from the sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond (possibly titled Broken Barriers at this point)...

My God, she thought, aware of a vague but mounting apprehension, the people of this town had no concept of the horror that had taken root here, somewhere in its dim, distant past. After however many eons, this horror still prevailed, even if it lurked half-hidden in the darkest, most desolate corner of this county. Barely over a month ago, a malign, inhuman something had lashed out and erased from existence at least six individuals, leaving scarcely a trace of tangible evidence. Whether this inhuman something sprang from the same dark netherworld she had infiltrated twelve years earlier or an altogether different one, she had no idea. She didn’t really care to know.

However, preventing any further incursion by the something in question was her job.

Aiken Mill, Virginia. “The cold case capital of the world,” she’d heard this town called.

She slowed her jet-black Ford Expedition and parked it in a muddy circle at the end of the rutted dirt road she’d followed from the main highway. Beyond the windshield, a barrier of tall reeds impeded her view of the misty space beyond.

As she opened the door, a gust of icy air swirled inside and pummeled her face, so she grabbed her black knit stocking cap from the passenger seat, tugged it over her mop of dark brown hair until it covered her ears. Then she slid out and onto the uneven, half-frozen layer of mud. Yeah, it was cold out here, even colder than Alexandria when she’d left this morning. She paused for a moment and glanced around at the skeletal trees that towered around her. But there was no wind now. Not even a whisper of breeze.

Silent.

Damn near creepy.

She ambled toward a narrow gap in the barrier of reeds at the end of the earthen circle and peered into the space beyond.

There it was, glowering in the shadows beneath the skyscraping trees: the dark, glistening surface of Black Tooth Pond, named for the array of jagged, broken tree trunks that protruded from its far end. Around its banks, a thin layer of mist swirled and shimmered like a living, silken shroud. She saw no other movement, heard no sound except the gentlest of lapping of water at the nearest banks.

Still, she sensed an ethereal, dangerous atmosphere about this place, which raised her hackles anew.

And then…

A sharp, warbling trill, uncannily loud, pealed from somewhere in the distance.

A bird cry. The eerie, mournful voice of a whippoorwill.

Only it wasn’t a whippoorwill.

The cry had an unnerving, alien quality, for it was produced by some organ of sound that did not belong to any bird.

She listened for many long seconds, but the cry did not repeat. Whatever had made it was still out there, though. She could feel it: the uncomfortable certainty that some unknown, unstoppable—unearthly—predator was watching her.

After a couple of minutes, her anxiety diminished slightly, and she gazed again at the far end of the pond, studying the jagged, blackened tree trunks, the last remnants of some ancient forest fire.

She had seen countless photographs of this location and read the detailed reports filed by FBI Special Agent Tyler Kincaid, who had headed the Federal investigation of the previous month’s events in Aiken Mill. He had hoped to gather more intel about this place by placing a half-dozen trail cams at various points around the pond and in the woods. However, he had reported that, for reasons unknown, the batteries in those devices continually died within minutes, and none, during their short lifespans, had recorded anything unusual.

Two decades ago, Agent Kincaid had experienced a Close Encounter of the Fourth Kind—a physical interaction with something not of this Earth. It had changed both his life and his official job description. It was for this reason that he had been chosen to lead the FBI investigation of Aiken Mill’s missing six. What he found was a dire—and patently unbelievable—state of affairs.

Therefore, Kincaid’s superiors had turned the case over to Majestik.

And Majestik had dispatched Agent Celeste Muir to take up the torch.

# 

"Black Tooth Pond" by Charles Hill

New Banner for Authorcon

With Scares That Care: AuthorCon VI coming up next month in Williamsburg, VA, I figured I should make a new, updated banner for my vendor space in the main ballroom. In a vast area with several hundred exceptional writers packed in, visibility is paramount, and while I'll keep using my older banner for the front of the table, I hope a nice tall one will help pinpoint my location in the room.

The con runs from February 27 to March 1, 2026, at the Doubletree by Hilton Williamsburg. Scares That Care is a charity that, in its twenty years of existence, has raised and donated nearly a half-million dollars to organizations and families with a child affected by illness or burns, and women fighting breast cancer. A substantial percentage of the proceeds from AuthorCon go directly to the charity.

Yesterday, there was a geocaching event at The Cheesecake Factory in Greensboro, and since we needed to run a few errands down yonder, Ms. B. and I decided to attend. She tells me that I have been to The Cheesecake Factory before—a few years ago with friends—but I have no recollection of this. I suspect that she might have drugged me while she picked up copious amounts of cheesecake from the place and then, in case I had some vague memory of the dastardly deed, decided to bamboozle me by insisting I'd been there myself. I think not. We ate some good, if monstrously overpriced food. The geocaching company was excellent.

 

After the event, Ms. B, had some errands to run in town, including a trip to Costco. And once the necessities were concluded, we hied ourselves over to Cooper's Hawk Restaurant and Tavern to sample their spirits (excellent), and then State Street Wine Company, which, when we lived in Greensboro, was a nearby, always enjoyable venue to snag a few drinks. It is, of course, considerably farther away now, but whenever we visit Greensboro, if State Street is open, that's where you'll find Brugger and Rainey.

 

So, it was a nice outing to our old hometown. I'll be going back next week for a dentist appointment. Not quite so fun.

KOLCHAK ERAS Is in the House

My contributor copy of Kolchak Eras has arrived from Monstrous Media. This one features my story, "Up From the Underground," along with a dozen more escapades of the inimitable Carl Kolchak from the classic Night Stalker TV series starring Darren McGavin.

FROM THE PUBLISHER: "Carl Kolchak has faced more than his share of monsters throughout his infamous career. Now, Monstrous Books presents 13 short stories chronicling the intrepid reporter's exploits from his time in World War II until his semi-retirement in the 1990s. Kolchak's luck runs out during World War II. Devils in the outfield stir up trouble in the '50s. A road trip with editor Tony Vincenzo in the '70s takes a turn for the worse. Lovecraftian horrors escape from the beyond in the '80s. A dead cult leader threatens to return in the '90s."

This is fun stuff...and scary!

 

Edited by James Aquilone, Kolchak Eras includes tales by James Chambers, James Aquilone, Bobby Nash, David Avallone, Will McDermott, Natching T. Kassa, Owl Goingback, Jim Beard, Lev Butts, Charles R Rutledge, Lisa Morton, and Simon Bestwick

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Order Kolchak Eras at Amazon.com here

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Oh, To Be Young Again and Others

Now, where do you reckon that geocache is? If you said somewhere up in that tree, then you'd be right. More on that in a few moments....

It was a lovely morning, so I headed toward some caches within about an hour's drive south of here. A trio of them lurked in the Caswell County, NC, gamelands, so I made those my initial targets. Each of them required solving a little puzzle to obtain the final coordinates, none of which were complicated...

...Unless you transpose a couple of numbers in the solution. At one of them, I ended up trekking into terrain that I would rate T4 (T5 being the most difficult), which I didn't think was quite right. I finally checked the cache page to see what the true rating was (it turned out to be T1.5), so I knew I'd made an egregious boo-boo. I reworked the puzzle, and, lo, I was indeed several hundred feet off. So, with some difficulty, I made my way back to the proper location where, happily, I found the cache in a wink.

Next up, there was a hide located several hundred feet across the main roadway into what looked like not-terribly-dense woodland. So, rather than drive around the long way to the recommended starting point, I figured, well, why not bushwhack? I needed the exercise. About 300 feet in, after wading through endless barriers of briers and other painful pricklies, I determined that this was the worst idea ever devised by a human being. Thus, I went back and did things the regulation way. For this, at least, I was rewarded with a quick find.

Next up, some ways down the road, there was a cache called "Oh, To Be Young Again" (GCB9JMV), the description of which suggested that I might have to climb a tree. And this made me happy because I love climbing trees. Once I reached the location, I found the proper tree quickly, and found myself facing a conundrum. The lowest branch was just above my head, and its diameter was too large to get a firm enough grip to pull myself up. However...

Behind the nearby park building, I found some empty five-gallon paint buckets, so I grabbed a couple and stacked them so that I could get that extra step needed to boost myself upward. And shortly, I had the cache in hand.

Now, getting back down was a little trickier, but I didn't break or bend anything I shouldn't have. So...yay.

After these, the subsequent caches were generally easy and, of course, very satisfying. But, perhaps needless to say, it's the challenging hides that are, in the end, most memorable and the most fun.

On an altogether different subject, today marks one year since Frazier left us. I'd had him for 18 years, and I felt a pretty strong rush of grief today. But our house is still full of cats, and they are as loved as probably any cats on the face of the earth—even if they feel they are perpetual victims of the Great Starvation.

Old dude on the hunt

L: The tree; R: The reward

The Land Route

A new geocache came out yesterday at the Knight Brown Preserve along the banks of Belews Lake, NC, not too far south of here. I was otherwise disposed yesterday, and friend Tom, a.k.a. Night-Hawk, picked up the first-to-find honors. This morning, though, it was so pretty outside that heading after the cache seemed like just the ticket. Now, this cache, "More Kayaking on Belews Lake" (GCBH33D) is intended to be reached by watercraft, but since I have none, I was relegated to the land route. There are a couple of older caches out here that I found by said land route about five years ago, so I was heading for familiar territory. It's about a three-mile round trip, and I walk or run well over that every day; the only difference being that the terrain out here gets pretty rugged in places.

Once I got out there, I managed to find the cache quickly. The container was nothing out of the ordinary, but this was such a welcome outing, almost entirely free of other human beings, which right now more than hit the spot. Fortunately, for the most part, my interactions with individuals in the real world are generally cordial, and I know a lot of genuinely wonderful people. But the awful hatred (and delusional thinking) online, especially in regard to any number of current events, has about worn down my patience, and thus I've found myself quicker to anger than I like (and at the best of times, my patience is anything but infinite).

So, taking the land route today made me very happy. Peace to ye.

A North Myrtle New Year

Tuesday, December 30, 2025

To celebrate New Year's, Brugger and I usually go... somewhere... more often than not with friends. This year, we'd settled on North Myrtle Beach, including special guest stars Terry & Beth and Bob & Yvonne. As it turned out, Bob & Yvonne couldn't get away on Tuesday with the rest of us, so they opted to come down on Wednesday morning.

Brugger and I took off about 9:30 a.m. this morning, bound for a nice condo called Crescent Sands we'd found in North Myrtle. On a previous trip southward, we'd stopped for lunch at La Cabana Mexican Restaurant in Rockingham, NC, which was really excellent, so we visited it again this time. Again, excellent. I highly recommend their margaritas.

I snagged a handful of geocaches along the way, and we rolled into our lodgings at the beach about 4:00 p.m. Terry & Beth had just arrived themselves, so we opened a couple of bottles of wine—the really good wine—and generally made merry. Just before sunset, I hoofed it up the beach to find a cache. Done and done. We enjoyed some fabulous smoked pulled pork for dinner, courtesy Terry & Beth's son, Brian, and then spent the evening shooting all kinds of shit. As of now, as it's closing on midnight, we're about shit-shot out, and our beds are calling us loudly.

 

Till tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 31, 2025

I was up and at 'em first thing this morning, heading into the wilds of North Myrtle for some caching—after a bucket of coffee, of course. I set my sights on two relatively nearby hides. I found one; the other one, a puzzle cache, was missing a vital piece of information for the final coordinates, so it was, unfortunately, a bust. The scenery was cool, at least.

Shortly, I got back to Crescent Sands, Bob & Yvonne arrived. We had a fairly massive charcuterie spread for lunch, courtesy of Beth, Kimberly, and Yvonne, along with a few lovely beverages (Dark & Stormies for Brugger and me). During the afternoon, I went trucking around the long outdoor corridors to get in my daily steps and burn off the lunch drink. It was pretty danged cold out there, I can tell you.

 

Toward the end of the afternoon, we gathered ourselves up and headed to Wine Therapy, a nice little wine bar a couple of miles up the road. It was happy hour, so we sampled several wines, all of which were very good, and some were even better.

 

We had reservations for 6:00 p.m. at The Brentwood Restaurant in Little River, not far up the road, so we arrived right on time and had a fine feast for our last dinner of 2025. I had escargot, duck confit, and bread pudding, with a very good Willamette Pinot Noir to accompany. I think everyone was satisfied with their choices, and our servers were excellent. They've been implementing a new payment system, though, and it didn't work properly, so we had to spend a fair while afterward trying to sort things out. I think it's all good, but if not, I think everything will be made right. (This was NOT a cheap dinner.)

I picked up a nearby cache afterward, and then we retired to Crescent Sands, where we played dice games and generally made merry for most of the evening. A little before midnight, Ms. B. and I went walkies on the beach, though we found neither fog nor fireworks, which have traditionally been the hallmarks of New Year's Eve at the beach. It was frigid and windy out yonder, so we didn't walk far.

At the strike of midnight, we old folks enjoyed a champagne toast and then crashed for the night. Happy New Year.

Thursday, January 1, 2026 Bob & Yvonne made a fantastic breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast this morning, and talk about hitting the spot. It hit the spot, yes. Afterward, I ventured out on the caching trail, i.e., south toward Myrtle Beach proper. The highlight was a long walk on the East Coast Greenway, where I found three caches and a couple of cool sights—a large fossil rock and a big tree trunk carved into a bench, labeled "Caution." I found it amusing. At the end of it all, I found eight caches, which, for me, cleans out most of the Myrtle Beach area, except for several way down south toward Surfside. I expect I'll have an opportunity to hunt those on a future trip—and it'd be nice if some new ones come out between now and then.

L: Interesting fossil rock found along the trail; R: My first signed log of 2026

Don't sit on THAT bench!

Once back at Crescent Sands, I had a wee lunch, courtesy of Yvonne, who made some ham & cheese sliders. Soon, the women all went shopping, leaving Bob, Terry, and me to our own devices. These devices included going to a nearby liquor store and buying Bloody Mary fixings. We took advantage of those and made Bloody Marys. Twice over.

During this little spell of mellow time, I made reservations at a nice VRBO in Providence, RI, in August, when Kim and I will be heading up to Necronomicon and very likely Newport.

 

For dinner, we opted for Landshark Bar & Grill at nearby Barefoot Landing, a resort area where we spent many good times in years past with my late, much-lamented friend Bridgett and her husband, Gerry. Dinner was very enjoyable—good food, drinks, and service.

 

And so that pretty much completed our New Year's adventure. In general, this trip turned out to be fairly low-key; a bit more mellow than some in recent years. All in all, though, this made for a welcome respite from some of the lunacy in our "normal" day-to-day states of being.

 

May 2026's light shine bright for all of us.

MYTHS REBORN: Author Profile for the Old Dude

Mark Scioneaux, of October Nights Press, is posting author profiles in advance of the release of Myths Reborn, which is now available for pre-order. Here is mine, so read it and weep!

Myths Reborn Author Showcase:

Cryptid: The Wampus Cat

Stephen Mark Rainey is here with a tale that blends supernatural terror with primal fear titled "The Devil of Transylvania County."

In the misty woods of Transylvania County, North Carolina, two men make a gruesome discovery and a mysterious barrier hiding unspeakable horrors. Haunted by a creature from Cherokee folklore known as the Wampus Cat, they confront a nightmare that echoes a tragic encounter from decades past. Stephen Mark Rainey's chilling tale blends supernatural terror with primal fear in a gripping modern monster story.

Stephen Mark Rainey is the author of numerous novels, including (but not limited to) The House at Black Tooth Pond, The Nightmare Frontier, Blue Devil Island, The Lebo Coven, and Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark. He has written six short story collections, over 200 works of short fiction, and the scripts to several Dark Shadows audio productions. For ten years, Rainey edited the award-winning Deathrealm magazine. He has also edited various anthologies, notably Shortwave Publishing’s best-selling Deathrealm: Spirits. Rainey lives in Martinsville, Virginia, with his wife, Kimberly, and a passel of precocious housecats.

Myths Reborn, edited by Kelly Hearty, will be available in ebook, paperback, and hardback on 1/23/26.

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Pre-order Myths Reborn here.

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Coming Soon—MYTHS REBORN From October Nights Presss

Coming in early 2026—Myths Reborn, from October Nights Press, edited by Kelly Hearty. This new anthology features my story, "The Devil of Transylvania County," along with 18 other tales of cryptids, critters, long-leggedy beasties, and things that go bump in the night.

"You’ll ask can a skinwalker become the savior of two terrified young girls? How might the tale of Sasquatch be different when told from his perspective? Could a vampire exist undetected in your city or a Tatzelwurm make its way into the very walls of your home?

"In this anthology, you'll encounter cryptids and folk characters portrayed in novel and frightening ways. Nineteen talented authors breathed new life into traditional tales to create a unique collection of re-envisioned, re-contextualized myths."

"The Devil of Transylvania County" is set in the mountains of North Carolina and is based on one of the creepiest legends from the region, which I learned about when I was a kid at summer camp—and I hope this tale will terrify you the way the original legend did me.

Myths Reborn is now available for pre-order, and is slated for release on January 23, 2026.

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Pre-order Myths Reborn here.

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Put a Little Fear in Your New Year!

When New Year's Eve is on the horizon, I love to recommend my 2012 novella, Gods of Moab, which is available in paperback ($9.99) and ebook (only $2.99). Don't know what you might be in for? Well, here's a little something...

A pleasant New Year's Eve outing becomes an experience in otherworldly horror when two close-knit couples discover a shocking secret in the darkest corners of the Appalachian mountains. At an opulent mountain inn, Warren Burr, his fiancee, Anne, and their friends, Roger and Kristin Leverman, encounter a religious zealot named John Hanger, who makes it his business to bear witness to them of his peculiar... and disturbing... faith. His efforts rebuffed, Hanger insidiously assumes control of the couples' technological devices, leading them to stumble into unexpected, surreal landscapes... landscapes inhabited by nightmarish beings that defy explanation. To survive, Warren and his friends must not only escape the deadly entities that pursue them but somehow stop John Hanger's nightmare-plague from spreading to the outside world.

"After devouring The Gods of Moab in one short sitting, this novella has not only become my favorite work by the author, it has become one of my favorite reads of the year. Rainey balances his supernatural frights with the natural, and it works beautifully. From the first page to its mind-bending final sentences, The Gods of Moab will have readers wide-eyed and enthralled." —TTZuma, HorrorWorld 

Love it or hate it, Amazon.com reviews are always appreciated. Thanks!

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Order The Gods of Moab from Amazon.com here!

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Karaoke, Trolls, Bumbles, and Drumpfs

Last night, Ms. B. and I hadn't planned on doing anything like going out to a brewery and performing karaoke, but friends Scott & Jamie sent us a message in the afternoon and invited us to go out to a brewery and perform karaoke. So, that's what we did. Scuffle Hill Brewing, in nearby Collinsville, makes a few decent brews and, as I discovered, some pretty fine mead. In general, I'm not really a fan of mead; it's too sweet for my palate. However, I decided on a lark to try some of theirs, and damn if it didn't hit the spot. Not all that sweet, and very flavorful (it was their Wildflower variety).

Jamie's son Wesley came along, and he led the way for us to wail some serious songs. He performed several, including a wonderfully riotous rendition of "Mr. Brightside," my favorite Killers song. Brugger killed the Indigo Girls with "Galileo," and I hollered REM's "Driver 8" and Gordon Lightfoot's "Carefree Highway" (okay, well, I didn't really holler the latter as much as croon). When we left, Brugger forced us to pull into the nearby Cook Out and order a couple of burgers. Yes, she did.

Geocaching on Christmas Eve and/or Christmas Day has been something of a personal tradition since I started caching back in 2008. I didn't manage it this year, but I reckon a couple of days after Christmas is plenty good. This morning, friend Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) and I met up in High Point, NC, to hunt some new and some older caches. On my drive down, I was in good spirits until I saw some dumbfuck had put a great big inflatable of Donald Drumpf in their front yard, and the graphic reminder of human idiocy sent my spirits plummeting for a couple of seconds. But it wasn't long until Scott and I met at High Point's Piedmont Environmental Center to kick off our day of caching.

On our hunt, we found a couple of dozen caches, a very humble bumble (though it didn't bounce for us), and a massive troll sculpture. When we arrived at the latter site, there were tons of people around, which struck us as odd because it was in a kind of run-down section of High Point. But as it turns out, there is a troll sculpture back there, one of over a hundred created by artist Thomas Dambo. I was not aware that such critters existed, but apparently, they're a fairly well-known thing. They're damned cool, I can tell you that.

 

We found lunch at B3 Smokehouse in downtown High Point, which was surpassing tasty, if a little lacking in quantity for the money. (This is actually where we found the bumble.) After this, we trucked a ways southward to Randleman, where we hunted a couple of most interesting caches. One was a two-stage multi cache, and you found the second stage by pressing a radio button found at the first stage because it chimed at you. Follow the chime, find the cache. We did. The other was a locked ammo can, and you figured out how to unlock it by watching some ancient View-Master reels and collating the info to obtain the lock's combination. Fun, fun stuff.

Tomorrow, Imma gonna be writing, real good and a whole lot.

A Smashing Hot Christmas!

Amid all the turmoil out there in the world, Ms. B. and I have managed to have a pretty mellow Christmas season, for which both of us are very grateful. Recently, we both have had to deal with some unpleasant health issues, expensive cat health issues, and the loss of a dear loved one a couple of weeks ago, so a little holiday joy has gone a long way.

Last night, we went to visit and have dinner with friends Bob & Yvonne, which was a lovely time. We had some delicious food, excellent drink, fun games, and great music. One of their (several) cats, Fry, hung out with us as well, which gave us a few good laughs. Since they don't live very far away, I walked both ways (though Ms. B. drove because she transported the foodz, presents, and other goodies), and I enjoyed seeing so many nice holiday decorations around the neighborhood. Down at nearby Lake Lanier, there's a floating wire Christmas tree, about 25 feet tall, which is quite lovely at night, as you may see in the photo at left.

 

This morning, Ms. B. and I opened a fair passel of lovely presents we got for each other. I got a Space Godzilla figure, which I'm sure y'all will be seeing amid one of my miniature sets very soon. To celebrate, as you can see above, Godzilla took a festive Christmas morning stroll. The cats enjoyed some fun wrapping paper adventures. After all the gifts were opened, I went for a stroll around the neighborhood, only to find it unpleasantly hot out there. It's not like I'm all that keen on freezing winter weather, but Christmas morning ought not feel like it's late summer. But I did enjoy getting out there, walking around the lake, and taking a few photos of the scenery.

This afternoon, we'll be having Christmas dinner with friend Samaire. And to all of you who visit this little corner of the virtual world, Scary Christmas to those who celebrate it, and Happy Horrordays to all.

Old people making merry at Bob & Yvonne's

Old dude, Yvonne, Fred, Bob

Frey, nonplussed by all the excitment

L: Our Christmas tree; R: Ms. B. is festive on Christmas morning!

Do you see Mr. Moose?

Working up a sweat walking around Lake Lanier

The boathouse

Apparently, this is where Great Pumpkins go to die.

R.I.P. Richard "Dick" Wickliffe, 1932–2025

My "second dad"—Richard "Dick" Wickliffe—passed away on Thursday, December 11, after a brief but severe bout of pneumonia. He and two of his three young'uns, Gretchen and Todd, had been over for Thanksgiving dinner only two weeks earlier, and he had been doing very well at the time, so his death came as a shock. Dick was 93 years old. His funeral was this morning.

Dick and his wife, Martha (who passed away in 2013), and my parents were long-time best friends, and since we all spent so much time together, the Wickliffes literally became our second family. Gretchen is my age, Todd is a couple of years younger, and Scott is five years younger (the same age as my late brother), so we had a lot in common, especially in the mischief department. Dick and Martha always seemed to catch on to the mischief sooner than my parents did, and this was always a blessing because they tended to have more patience than my folks.

 

Dad and Dick worked together at the E.I. du Pont de Nemours & Co. plant here in Martinsville for many years, which was how they got to know each other. Mom and Martha hit it off immediately, and though their personalities were oil and water, they somehow managed to get along better than human beings in general have a right to. It was Martha's habit to call Mom on the phone every afternoon, no matter what, about 2:00 p.m. After Martha died, Dick took up the mantle and called her daily without fail until Mom became too debilitated to even use the phone. His faithfulness always meant the world to me.

In his younger days, Dick was an avid scale modeler, and in more recent years, he took up the activity again, building plastic scale models of airplanes, tanks, ships, and even the starship, USS Enterprise (essentially the same model kit that I had when I was a kid). These were intricately detailed and painted, and his collection had become impressive indeed. Lately, every time I'd go for a visit, he'd have some new model in the works.. His completed models occupied a several tables at the funeral today.

All of Dick's family, as well as Kim and I, were pretty well shocked when he passed so suddenly. But while that shock is hard to deal with, I think that, in the long run, the fact he didn't suffer a long, debilitating illness is, in its way, a great relief.

 

The funeral service today was a fitting tribute to Dick—intimate, uplifting, and reassuring. I know his family, Kim and I, and so many good friends will remember him with love for the rest of our days.

 

Here is his official obituary from Roselawn Funeral Home: Obituary, Richard E. Wickliffe

Martha and Dick in our living room in the early 1990s

Dick, Martha, and Mom, Christmas 2008

Geminids

Pixabay image

I went out a little after midnight last night to see if I could see anything of the Geminids meteor shower. It was a very clear sky, and for about 15 minutes, the show was pretty spectacular—I saw several meteors, a couple of which were brilliant and streaked all the way across the sky.

Then Kimberly comes outside to watch, and for the next ten minutes... only a single, quick, fizzling streak. It had gotten pretty cold out there, so we went back inside.

Dammit, Brugger.