Visit Myron's Facebook page here. There may still be parts available for those in the area who would like to participate. Contact Myron via Facebook, and stay tuned for updates here at the Blog Where Horror Dwells.
Sunday, March 10, 2019
39 Ghosts
Visit Myron's Facebook page here. There may still be parts available for those in the area who would like to participate. Contact Myron via Facebook, and stay tuned for updates here at the Blog Where Horror Dwells.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman Now an Audio Book!
JUST OUT... West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, the audio book from audible.com.
Narrated by Tim Lundeen, West Virginia; Lair of the Mothman is the story of Vance Archer and Marybeth Wilkins, a pair of thirteen-year-olds who have discovered geocaching, a high-tech treasure hunt that uses GPS technology. On one of their adventures, they encounter a mysterious, frightening figure with glowing red eyes. Soon, Vance begins to receive mysterious messages on his phone from a caller named Indrid Cold. He learns this name is associated with the legendary Mothman, a strange, unearthly being that is said to appear when some terrible event is about to occur.
Believing that they—as well as their friends and loved ones—may soon face mortal danger, Vance and Marybeth try to solve the increasingly strange clues before disaster strikes.
Read an excerpt here.
West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman is my first novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series for young readers, ages 8–14. My second, Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior, is currently in progress and will be finished very soon. Each Ameri-Scares novel is based on or inspired by an historical event, folktale, legend, or myth unique to that particular state. If you have youngsters who enjoy scary stories—or if you enjoy scary stories—this one is tailor made for you.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Excerpt 3: West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman
Here's another little excerpt from West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, my first novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series. In this scene, Vance and Marybeth, two thirteen-year-olds, and Vance's older brother, Zack, have just come out of a culvert after searching for a geocache....
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Vance had never felt such relief as when he saw the windshield of Zack’s Buick gleaming faintly in the darkness. The more distance they had put between themselves and the culvert, the more his nerves had calmed. Still, he felt anything but relaxed in the chilly night air. When Zack popped the trunk and they stowed their gear inside, Vance thought—sadly—that he had never been so glad for a geocaching adventure to end.Zack slid into the driver’s seat. Marybeth took the front passenger seat, and Vance fell into the back seat behind her. Zack glanced at him. “You, I don’t know about, but your girlfriend rocks.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Marybeth said.
“Whatever. We got first-to-find honors, a night cache, and an underground cache all in one. That’s not a bad night’s work.” Zack started the engine and shifted into reverse. As he began to turn the car around, he hit the brake. “Hey,” he said, and pointed into the trees off to the right. “I didn’t realize there were other reflectors out here.”
Vance and Marybeth both looked where he was pointing.
“Oh, no,” Marybeth whispered.
From high in the branches of the trees, two brilliant red eyes were peering down at them.
They were not bicycle reflectors, Vance thought.
“You two act like you’ve seen a ghost,” Zack said.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said to his brother. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Zack shrugged and completed his turn. Then they were speeding east on Potter’s Creek Road, which led to the turnoff to Broad Run. Vance slid toward the driver’s side and peered out. There they were—two blazing red eyes—just beyond the nearest line of trees. Keeping pace with the car.
Zack’s head kept turning so he could look out at the brilliant red orbs. “Gotta be a bird of some kind. Big owl, maybe. A very, very big owl.”
“Or a sandhill crane,” Marybeth said. “That’s what some people thought it was. But it’s not. It’s not sandhill crane. Or an owl. Or a bird of any kind. Is it, Vance?”
“No. It’s not a bird,” Vance said.
“Suppose you two geniuses tell me what you think it is,” Zack said.
“Mothman,” Vance said. “I think it’s the Mothman.”
In the rearview mirror, his brother’s eyes narrowed as they bored into his. Then Zack started to laugh.
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Reviews are VERY welcome. Please enjoy!
Sunday, March 3, 2019
Something About The Thing
Along with Jacques Tourneur's Curse/Night of the Demon (1957), John Carpenter's The Thing (1982) is my all-time favorite horror movie. When The Thing came out in '82, it didn't exactly hit the right nerves with most viewers. I remember horror fans and the general public alike heaping disapproval on it for its grotesque visuals, its not-altogether-sympathetic characters, and its lack of tidy resolution. At the time, I understood these criticisms, but I loved the movie all the same. And of course, over the years, The Thing has taken its place as a classic work of cinematic horror. Rightfully so.
The Thing stood on its own brilliantly. It certainly didn't beg for prequel, sequel, or companion piece of any sort. But when 2011's The Thing, directed by Matthijs van Heijningen Jr., hit the theaters, there was no way in heaven or hell I was going to miss it. Prior to its release, I watched no trailers and avoided any and all press releases. I intentionally went into the theater knowing as little as possible about what was in store. (This is actually a practice I have adopted for most movies these days; quite the opposite of my younger days, when I would seek out anything and everything in advance of movies that looked exciting to me.)
I came out of this The Thing as happy as a clam. I enjoyed the hell out of it—and I still do. While not necessarily alone in my appreciation for the film, I seem to be in a minority, especially among fans of Carpenter's original. And that's fine, I reckon, although I've never quite understood the hate for it. True, it's louder (too much so, at least on the Blu-ray; whatever happened to decent sound engineering?) and gaudier. The characters, with a few exceptions, are not exceptional. The story offers material that is not so much new and original as intimately familiar. Yet, on almost every level, the movie works. As a standalone film, it takes its inspiration, as did Carpenter's original, from John W. Campbell's "Who Goes There." You get all the information you need to follow the plot and characters without having to watch a frame of the 1982 incarnation. As a prequel, it does a great job of setting up the events that came before the classic, usually with painstaking detail. Having just watched both movies, 2011 first, 1982 second, the flow between them is virtually seamless.
I was quite taken with the inclusion of Mary Elizabeth Winstead as paleontologist Kate Lloyd. She's a perfectly believable character, strong and resourceful without going over-the-top tough. The supporting cast—including Ulrich Thomsen as the driven, dictatorial Dr. Halvorsen; Joel Edgerton as American helicopter pilot Sam Carter, who befriends Kate; Kristofer Hivju (best known as Tormund Giantsbane in HBO's Game of Thrones) as polar ice researcher Jonas; Kim Bubbs as Juliette, a French researcher; and Jørgen Langhelle as Lars, who turns out to be one of the men in the helicopter chasing the dog at the beginning of Carpenter's film—all offer personalities distinctive enough to stand out amid the ensemble.
Much of the criticism I'm aware of centers on the CGI effects, often called outright "bad." As one who tends to not be a CGI aficionado, I absolutely disagree on this. While no effects in the film come near the technical brilliance achieved by SPFX masters Rob Bottin and Stan Winston in Carpenter's film, the CGI effects, far from being "bad," are generally beautifully executed. The creature designs reflect the shifting, insect-like character from Carpenter's movie while adding new physical permutations, such as the centipede-like "hand monster." At times, the critters move at lightning speed, which to me only increases the sense of panic. Those designs that need to be consistent with Carpenter's original, such as the "split-face" beast (whose origin I find absolutely horrifying) are visually consistent. But one of the film's most striking images comes when the horror inside the ice is first revealed—a shadowy suggestion of a spindly, insect-like form with clearly defined claws.
If I have any particular criticism of the film, it may be about the day/night cycle presented here. It's winter in Antarctica, though the days and nights appear to follow a normal 24 hour cycle as they would in distinctly non-polar latitudes.
As the plot unfolds, a sense of inevitable doom builds much as it did in Carpenter's film. There is something perhaps too familiar in the characters' attempt to create a test to determine who has been infected by the Thing, although the approach is different and novel enough to come across as anything but derivative. And there is a lot of flame-throwing. But as the Norwegian station personnel diminish in number, and we come closer to seeing the events that open Carpenter's film, that sense of inevitability becomes almost unbearable. The last moments of this film's plot are cut in among the closing credits—which I find an extremely effective technique here—and we know precisely where things must go from there: the opening scene of John Carpenter's 1982 The Thing.
Composer Marco Beltrami provides a tense, eerie soundtrack that at times reflects Ennio Morricone's 1982 score—which itself draws heavily on John Carpenter's own musical compositions. And in those climactic moments that lead up to the beginning of Carpenter's film, the familiar, distinctive notes of Morricone's opening theme tell us that we have come to that point where the film reels must change.
So, yes, I appreciate, admire, and enjoy Matthijs van Heijningen Jr.'s vision of The Thing. As far as I'm concerned it's The Real Thing. It's what came before Carpenter's masterpiece. It's canon.
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Blue Devil Island for Your Kindle, 99¢
FOR A LIMITED TIME...
Publisher Crossroad Press is offering the Kindle edition of my WWII novel, Blue Devil Island, for only 99¢. You can spend a buck, get yourself an exciting book to keep you busy for a coupla days, and still have enough to snag yourself a cold one or two.
THE STORY
AUTUMN, 1943: The beginning of the American offensive against the Japanese in the South Pacific. Just west of the Solomon Islands lies a remote, desert island called Conquest, where the U.S. Navy stations a new fighting squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Drew McLachlan, an ace pilot and veteran of the Battle of Coral Sea.With his group of air warriors, who call themselves the Blue Devils, McLachlan soars into frequent combat with the Japanese, inflicting serious casualties upon the enemy. However, on the squadron's island home, signs appear that it may not be entirely alone, for in nearby volcanic caves, McLachlan finds evidence of habitation by unknown natives — natives that resemble no known living race, and that may yet exist in the mysterious subterranean catacombs. As the tension on the island mounts, McLachlan is forced to fight on two fronts: against their known enemy, the Japanese, and an unknown, predatory force that leaves mutilated victims as the only evidence of its presence.
As the Solomons campaign enters into its final skirmishes, the Japanese, at last, turn their attention to Conquest Island. In the final conflict, the Blue Devils find themselves the target of an overwhelming assault by the desperate Imperial Japanese forces—and McLachlan must face the reality that the key to his men’s survival lies deep in the dark and deadly caves of Conquest Island itself.
"Rainey skillfully mixes military fiction with alien encounters to present a fast-paced tale of wartime heroics and unearthly terrors. Blue Devil Island is a good selection for large science-fiction or horror collections."—Library Journal
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Excerpt #2 from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior
Jeff looked out at the vast, crater-like gorge. To his surprise, he noticed a movement off to his left. There! A figure moving among the boulders. He realized it was a girl—at least, he thought so, judging by the long, flowing black hair. Her back was to him as she crept toward the path that led to the top of the gorge.
“Hey! You!” he called out.
For a second, she paused but did not turn around. Then she started moving again.
“Wait up, all right? I want to talk to you!”
This time she stopped. Slowly, she turned and gazed at him.
Wow, he thought. She must be a Native American. She had copper-colored skin, high cheekbones, and wide, very dark eyes. She wore blue jeans and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt. From here, she looked pretty tall. He made his way along the rocky floor of the gorge toward her. She watched him with suspicious eyes. He raised a hand and smiled, hoping she would understand his intentions were friendly.
“Hi,” he said as he came up to her. She was taller than he—by a couple of inches—and she looked strong and muscular. Probably strong enough to pop him a good one if the mood took her. “I’m Jeff. I was just exploring back there.”
She raised one eyebrow but said nothing.
He pointed to the roaring cascade. “Exploring. Cave. Behind waterfall.”
“I heard you the first time,” she said. Suspicion still gleamed in her dark eyes. “You’re not a Yooper, are you.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, I’m from Midland. I’m on vacation here with my parents. So I guess you are a Yooper.”
“Oh, yah.”
“Have you been to this waterfall before?”
“Yah, a good many times.”
”I didn't even know it existed till now.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I rode out on my bike this morning, headed down Miner's Castle Road, and I just sort of ended up here.”
“Odd place to just ‘end up.’”
“Speaking of odd—there’s something very weird about that cave. When you go only a little ways inside, it gets quiet—like you’re suddenly far, far away.” Trying to explain seemed awkward. He motioned to her. “It’s easier if I show you. Come with me, how about?”
She hesitated, once again eyeing him with suspicion.
“Hey, it’s not like I’m a serial killer or anything.”
She finally offered him a faint smile. “I know you aren’t. How do you know I’m not?”
Her question took him by surprise. For a second, he could find no words.
She must have found his expression amusing because she laughed. “Now I know you’re not dangerous,” she said. “A little goofy, maybe.”
“Well, thanks a lot,” he said, embarrassed. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Singing Bird of the Forest.”
“What? Really?”
“No.”
“Huh?”
She gave him a mocking smile. “It’s Anna. Anna Hendricks.”
She seemed to enjoy poking fun at him. He sighed. “I’m Jeff.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“I mean, I’m Jeff Grigg.”
He must sound completely stupid. Why had he become so nervous?
“So, you want to go to the cave and see what I mean?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Okay, then.” He started walking back toward the waterfall. A little of his confidence returned when she fell in behind him. “What about you? How come you’re out here all by yourself?”
“It was something—” She cut herself off. After a moment, she said, “I spend a lot of time by myself. Today, I just decided to come here.”
Jeff stopped and looked back at her. Her gaze shifted away from his.
She was not telling the truth.
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Friday, February 15, 2019
Happy Bloody Valentine's Day
For dinner, we indulged in a couple of excellent small plates—spicy sausage, pepperoni, and yellow pepper schiachiatte for Ms. B. and Chicken Liver-Foie Gras Paté with daikon radish, prosciutto, honey, and toast for the old man. Heavenly from top to bottom, it was.
For afters, we viewed William Castle's original 13 Ghosts (1960), which I was due a viewing, since I will be playing Dr. Zorba in filmmaker Myron Smith's upcoming parody 39 Ghosts. We followed this with 1999's House on Haunted Hill, which didn't impress viewers in its day, but I've always rather enjoyed it. Geoffrey Rush is superb, as is Famke Janssen, and the supporting cast all seem to have a good time. The climax features an impressive otherworldly thingummy, and I like the ending. So I'm gonna stand out from the crowd and give this one overall high marks.
And that is how one celebrates a most romantic Valentine's Day. No shit.
Sunday, February 10, 2019
A Weekend at the Crossroad
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Author/Crossroad Press Founder & CEO David Niall Wilson riles the crowd at the Page After Page Author Fest |
Come lunchtime on Friday, I bolted out of Greensboro and set out for the most haunted and horrific Wilson House (a.k.a. Dave and Trish's residence) in Herford, NC. For this was the weekend of the Page After Page Author Fest in Elizabeth City, NC (see my blog entry from Wednesday, February 8), and we were all set to appear.
Actually, I first had to swing up to Martinsville, VA, to take care of business at my mom's. Then I hit the road for the most haunted and horrific Wilson House. I did stop for a number of geocaches along the way, and somewhere about Emporia, VA, I discovered what is surely one of the few Shoney's restaurants still in business. Back in the dawn of man, I worked as a fry cook at Shoney's in Martinsville. Their food was never exactly gourmet fare, but for old time's sake, I stopped for dinner, and I've gotta say, it was not bad at all. The HOP (half o' pound) hamburger steak was quite satisfying, as a matter of fact.
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| I really didn't know there were any of these left. The restaurants, I mean, not strange old white men. |
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| Don't see one of these every day... |
As I was driving past Elizabeth City, only a few minutes shy of Hertford, I did see what at first struck me as an unusual phenomenon. Along the western horizon, as far as the eye could see, what appeared to be a thousand red lights were flashing in unison. I wasn't entirely sure what I might be seeing, but I suspected it might be a wind farm. And that is exactly what it turned out to be. I'd never seen one before at night, and I found the view spectacular.
Once I'd settled in at the most haunted and horrific place, my hosts and I stayed up till the wee hours sipping whiskey and trading most excellent tales of comedy and tragedy.
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| At the waterfront. A gull on every post. |
Come Saturday morning, we headed out to Elizabeth City and the author fest. Page After Page is a small but well-stocked bookstore in a scenic area of town along the waterfront. About 20 authors attended the event, including children's authors, young-adult fiction authors, adult-fiction authors, poets, and creative writers of every ilk. To my surprise, rather than have the writers set up in strategic locations, we were sequestered at the back of the store so each of us could give a presentation about our showcased works. It was an unusual approach, and while I enjoyed listening to these recountings of personal inspiration, I felt we had been essentially separated from whatever customers did show up. And a few did. Clearly, there was less selling than personal and professional fellowship happening here. If I'd had any great expectation of making a killing, I might have been put out, but knowing that Elizabeth City is not necessarily the Mecca for that kind of thing, I had come more for the joy of hanging out with other writers, specifically Dave and Trish (not to mention more than a modicum of geocaching). It is well that these were my expectations.
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| Trish Wilson tells you what's going down in the business |
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| Author Reginald Buchanan recounts an exciting passage from his novel. |
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| Books from Crossroad Press |
All in all, it turned out to be an enjoyable and informative day. At the fest's end, the Wilsons and I transported ourselves to Volcano Japanese Restaurant, where I had dined once before ("These Are a Few of My Favorite Things," June 24, 2012). It was good then, and it was good now. I ripped up three superdynawhopping sushi rolls—a spicy shrimp & scallop roll, a spicy volcano roll, and a spicy tuna & seaweed concoction called "A Christmas Tree." For dessert, I partook of some geocaches and a chai latte from Starbuck's. We had to pick up the Wilsons' daughter Katie at the nearby college campus following a field trip, but the kids were a bit late getting back. So we three adults sat in the Vladmobile for some time, shooting shit and shitting you not.
Back at Chez Wilson, for the evening's entertainment, we watched The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, one of my all-time favorite comedies, made by champion of science Larry Blamire; followed by Polar, a violent thriller starring Mads Mikkelsen. In general, I quite enjoyed the latter, though it feels rather odd to say so, considering the gratuitous sax and violins, not to mention an over-the-top body count. It did have great atmosphere and a driving musical score. We also availed ourselves to some exceedingly pricey whiskey, which I enjoyed, but Dave and I agreed that we both enjoy a lot of whiskeys that cost a quarter of its price at least as much or more. Still, many thanks to Dave for sharing a healthy splash of it with me. There's no one I'd rather share expensive whiskey with.
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| A big honking bottle of Eagle Rare. Not the most expensive stuff, but among the best. |
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| Brother Tomás |
This morning, we had to make a quick stop in Elizabeth City to pick up some copies of my novel, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, from Dave's office. That done, we said our goodbyes and I hit the road—and began a long day of driving and geocaching. I claimed about 30 this weekend, more than half of which I snagged on the trip home today. It was a long but not-at-all uncomfortable drive back, as I stopped every few minutes to do a bit of hunting. The majority of the hides I found this weekend were park & grabs, but I still managed to turn up a good number of ingenious, appealing caches, such as "Where Eagles Soar" (GC7N4K2), and "Harbor Log" (GC6CQ24), a short distance down the street. It's always fun to have a few challenging hides in the mix. It's not always just about the numbers....
All in all, this proved a most enjoyable weekend with a couple of the best friends I have, both in the wild and woolly writing business and the wild and woolly business of life in general. Back home now, a bit weary and a little peeved that tomorrow is another day at the office. What I could use right now is a good couple of full days working on Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior, which is going swimmingly but deserves a good spell of uninterrupted writing time.
Till then.
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| Old Rodan on the prowl along the waterfront |
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
Page After Page Author Fest
If you're anywhere in the area, please come on by. It won't hurt a bit—well, not much, anyway. For more info, visit...
Sunday, February 3, 2019
From Bringle Ferry Bridge to My Witty's End
After the Bringle Ferry Road run, we headed back into Salisbury for lunch at The Smoke Pit, which I had discovered with Old Rob and Ms. Fishdownthestair a few weeks back. I think I've found a new favorite BBQ restaurant, as their beef brisket, Texas-style green beans, and fried okra might best be described as heavenly. Hoooo!
After lunch, we took a walk around the downtown area to snag a few more hides, one in a nice old cemetery. I got back home in time to go to dinner with Ms. Brugger at Simply Thai in Elon, which is my favorite Thai restaurant—and apparently a lot of other people's as well, as the place was more packed than I've ever seen it. Still, most enjoyable, and then we retired to Ms. B.'s to watch Prometheus, which neither of us had seen in a while. It's okay, not great. But since we'd watched the director's cut of the original Alien the other night, we were kind of in a mood.
Today, friends Tom (a.k.a. Skyhawk63) and Linda (a.k.a. Punkins19) hosted a pre-Super Bowl geocaching event at their place in Brown Summit, which Ms. B. and I enjoyed immensely. A big, big crowd; good chili; and door prizes that included an autographed copy of West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, which I donated to the cause. Following the event, Ms. B. and I rode out to Witty Road, north of Greensboro, so I could do some much-needed maintenance of that series of caches. Got 'er done.
My TV shows me one football game a year—the Super Bowl. Tonight, I've been sitting here watching it, and my TV is threatening to turn itself off.
Not spectacular. Getting back to writing Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior is bound to be more exciting.
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| "Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Suntigres." At the Evil Spirit of Gravity Hill |
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| "Hey, don't fall and break your face, you dorky old fart!" I swear, that's what I heard Bridget yelling at me. |
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A conclave of birdies on the river. Great Blue Herons, cranes, seagulls,
ducks, geese, and I think a Pteranodon or two. |
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| Part of the caching crew at the Pre-Superbowl Chili Event at Tom & Linda's place |
Friday, February 1, 2019
Enter the Lair of the Mothman
It's here. Today is the official release day for West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, my debut novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series. Just for good measure, last week I placed an order for the Kindle edition at Amazon.com and—sure enough—at precisely 12:01 a.m. this morning, the e-book appeared on my device. I will say I was pleasantly surprised to find that the paperback edition actually hit the streets a few days back, ahead of schedule; I even have a few copies in my possession at this point. Crossroad Press did an impressive job packaging this one. The cover, composed by artist David Dodd, consists of a photograph of the entrance to one of the TNT bunkers (called "igloos") in Point Pleasant, WV, which I took on my visit there in September; my own little doodle of the Mothman; and one of the Ameri-Scares series's signature kids' silhouettes.
The flyer above is one I whipped up at lunch one day last week. It's part of a package I've put together to send out to various outlets to hopefully generate some interest. Like all the books in the Ameri-Scares series, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman is aimed primarily at readers ages 8 to 14, but adults will also enjoy these stories.
Sunday, January 27, 2019
I Warned Him...
We ended our outing with a fine lunch at Basil Leaf in High Point. Until last week, it had been quite a long time since I'd seen much of High Point. On MLK Day, friend Natalie and I hunted three new one down that way. Then, last night, Ms. B. and I paid a visit to The Claddagh Restaurant & Pub for some fine fish & chips. And today, I headed back again with the old fart contingent (operating today as Team Three Stooges). Nice to see a few new caches in the Furniture City. There hadn't been any for years, and some of us hardcore geocachers were beginning to feel the despair and desolation.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
A Nightmare Revisited
I was rummaging through some bookshelves at my mom's this weekend, and happened upon her copy of the British edition of The Nightmare Frontier—a lovely hardback volume of my fourth novel, published by Sarob Press in 2006. I hadn't seen a physical copy of it in quite a long time, as my own personal copy is tucked away somewhere in the vault back home.
I've related the inspiration for the novel in this blog before, but seeing that image on the cover brought to mind, very vividly, the waking dream that inspired it—truly, one of the most terror-filled moments of my adult life. It was late evening, and I was drowsing on the couch in the living room, dark but for a few streamers of light filtering in through the Venetian blinds. I was aware that I was lying on the couch, yet peculiar images were beginning to waft up from my subconscious. As I lay there, I noticed a pool of warm, golden light forming at the corner of my vision. I shifted just enough to peer around the arm of the couch, and then I saw the source of the light.
Creeping across the living room floor, perhaps six feet away, there was a gigantic centipede, five feet long, its body glowing gold and red, as if a flame burned within it. Its head resembled a human skull, and as I watched, the thing slowly turned toward me, and I became aware of a horrifying, malevolent intelligence, observing and appraising me. It made no further move, yet my fear rapidly intensified until I jerked violently awake. The most disturbing thing at that moment was that I knew I was fully awake, yet I could see a circle of golden light on the floor, slowly fading, vanishing only after several seconds had passed.
It took some time before my nerves settled enough for me to drag myself off the couch and retire to my bedroom. By the time I finally drifted off to sleep again, I had a rudimentary plot in my head for the novel that was to become The Nightmare Frontier. So, yes, in the novel, you will encounter the thing that crept out of my darkest imaginings to pay me a visit that night. You will meet the individuals responsible for calling up such a thing from the remotest depths of hell. You will find yourself trapped in a town cut off from the rest of the world by some inexplicable force, rendering you helpless before the advance of these murderous monsters, known as Lumeras.
The e-book edition of The Nightmare Frontier can be had for a mere $2.99 at Amazon.com. The audiobook, narrated by Basil Sands, is $17.99.
Monday, January 21, 2019
I See a Blood Moon Rising
That's not my own photo—my phone camera doesn't exactly take beautiful photos of blood moons (or much of anything at night with any clarity)—but that image is precisely what I saw last night, directly overhead, in a crystal-clear sky. About 11:30 p.m., I popped out into the icy, windy night; looked at the encroaching shadow of the earth on the moon for a bit; then hauled myself back indoors to watch a couple of episodes of Space: 1999 ("Mission of the Darians" and "Dragon's Domain," the latter being the best episode of the entire series). Several more times until well after midnight, I ventured into the frigid night air to gaze in awe at the spectacle upstairs.
It was nice to have Martin Luther King Day off today, although it seems to be at the expense of extra days at Christmas and New Years at the end of this year. Feh. In any event, despite it being a blustery, frigid day, Ms. fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie) and I went down to High Point to pick up three new-ish geocaches. All were relatively easy and quite fun. I also needed to do maintenance on my puzzle cache, Coordinate Crossing (GC2TC82), in Gibson Park. This involved climbing some ways up a tree to change out a waterlogged logsheet, an experience made unusually intense by the biting wind. Got it done, though. Yesterday, on a maintenance visit to Martinsville, I climbed the tree at The Tilting Terror (GC7VZND) to replace that wayward container. So it's been a fine couple of days for going up trees in very cold weather.
Today, had a post-geocaching lunch with Ms. fishdownthestair today at Thai Chiang Mai in High Point, which is actually quite close to the office, though I never venture over there at lunchtime because that area is a madhouse, and I'm not that bloody insane. Even today it was busy, though at least tolerable. Very good, very spicy pork larb for me.
And for the rest of the day, I'll be making forward progress on my Ameri-Scares projects, both writing-wise and promotion-wise.
Bless ye.
Saturday, January 12, 2019
More Midland Misadventures
"Welcome aboard Delta flight 2027, with service from Greensboro to Atlanta. We are excited you have chosen to travel with us today."
The flight attendant spoke in such a low monotone over the PA system that I was pretty certain she wasn't excited at all. In fact, I don't even think she liked us. But at 7:00 a.m. this past Tuesday, Kimberly and I took off on another trip to Midland, MI, to visit her parents, Del & Fern. Since we hadn't been able to see them at Christmastime, they arranged for us to come up for a slightly late Christmas in January. The first leg of our flight took us to Atlanta, where we landed at 8:30 a.m. The Starbucks coffee on the plane, proclaimed GREAT by Delta, really wasn't, but it did keep me going until I could get a slightly better cup on the next leg. Our flight into Flint, MI, arrived about 11:00 a.m., and there we met Del and Fern.
Midland is about an hour's drive north of Flint (and the town's water supply is just great). When we have a morning flight, it is Fern's custom to have on hand for us a lunch of sausage/cabbage/vegetable soup and her special, patented sandwich spread. And so she did. It is also custom to make a trip to Meijer—basically the anti-Walmart—for vital supplies and assorted goodies (read wine).
And hey, look here! There's a bunch of geocaches in the area that have been put out since we were last in Midland. Del & Fern were kind enough to allow me the use of their vehicle to go caching in the neighborhood. Most of these newer hides are traditional and not too difficult, although one of them provided an unusual challenge: it was a magnetic container stuck to a metal crossbeam on an old billboard, about 15 feet above the ground. The recommended "tool of the trade" to retrieve it would no doubt be a ladder. However, in the absence of said tool, I improvised something a little different, which allowed me to acquire, sign, and replace the cache exactly as I found it. However, on this outing I apparently discovered a mighty mudhole with the family vehicle, and I was unaware of the severity of its decorative qualities until Del pointed it out upon my return.
Oh, the shame of it! I did make appropriate amends, and Del & Fern had no qualms about allowing me to use the vehicle on subsequent caching outings. There were some decent ones.
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Yeah, I found the cache, but that sucker was hard-frozen in place |
On Wednesday, Del, Fern, & Kimberly had a mind to visit Houghton Lake, a small community on a good-sized lake a little over an hour north of Midland. Their specific target was an arts-and-crafts outfit called Arnie's. My specific target was a bunch of caches. In Midland, there was a wee falling of snow, but as we drove north, the snowfall became a bit more enthusiastic. Houghton Lake, we found, was blanketed by a relatively deep fall of snow. But this is Michigan, and getting around in such conditions is no big deal—unlike here in Greensboro, where a couple of inches of snow results in a wholesale clearing out of all the bread and milk in town, as well as an accident on every other street corner. I managed to find a handful of nice caches, two in a snow-covered cemetery, which made for all kinds of fun. As in, "This sucker is frozen in place!" That kind of fun.
For lunch, following the recommendation of a kind soul at Arnie's, we chose a little diner called MJ's Eatery, which turned out to be more or less fantastic. Chicken & dumpling soup, fried fresh cod, and onion rings bigger than your head. Fine food and a good time all around.
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| A little graveyard caching in the snow at Houghton Lake, MI |
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| And a virtual cache at a neat array of sculptures at a rest area near Clare, MI |
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| One really ought not eat things bigger than one's head, but sometimes you just gotta. |
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| Darren (a.k.a. D.J.), Ms. B., Old Rodan, whining away the time at Whine |
To Gratzi's absolute credit, because I was not satisfied with the fettuccine dish, they not only comped it, they offered us a meat and cheese plate to take home that was some kind of delicious. The manager and staff were beyond courteous, and I would not hesitate to return to sample other, hopefully more appealing dishes on their menu. I very much hope we can go back on a future trip to Midland. Hopefully, the not-too-distant future.
Geocaching, yes.
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| Young lady and Old Rodan at Bar Oxygen in downtown Midland. That's one SPICY drink in front of me. |
Friday morning was our almost-month-delayed Christmas celebration. Kim, Del, Fern, and I exchanged some very nice gifts. Then I set about preparing our midday feast—the lemon shrimp linguine dish to which I previously alluded. Now this stuff did turn out all kinds of good. Would that the dinner at Gratzi been so all kinds of good. It's a simple recipe I discovered online, doctored up the way I customarily doctor up things.
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One of Midland's multitudes of very black, very fat squirrels |
And then, to work off a couple of those delicious shrimp, I spent the rest of the afternoon out and about geocaching. Most of it was spent exploring the relatively expansive Barstow Woods a couple of miles or so from the Brugger homestead. I found half-dozen nice caches on this expedition. Now, there were several over the course of the trip that I hunted long and hard but never did find. At least a couple appeared to be missing; the others... who knows. They could be gone, or it may be that the old geocacher just wasn't able to turn up some well-concealed hides.
Last evening, Kimberly and I stayed home but were joined by her longtime friend whom we shall call Gordier, since her name is... Gordier. There's more to it than that, but I'm not sure Kimberly remembers what it is. A spirited and most enjoyable visit it was.
And today... it was up at 3:30 a.m. to get down to Flint for our 6:00 a.m. departure. I am now home.
Throughout the trip, I did manage to find considerable periods of time to make forward progress on my next novel in the Ameri-scares series, Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior (excerpt here). While the novel is set in the Upper Peninsula—and we unfortunately could not visit the UP this go-round—just being in Michigan, in a mellow, enjoyable setting, made for a very positive writing experience, much as it did when I was working on West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman on our last visit, back in September. That novel is due for release in just a couple of weeks (see my blog entry from January 10).
I may be due for just a bit of sleep. Sleep well.
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| "Christmas" dinner: lemon shrimp linguine a la Damned Rodan |
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| The rigors of arriving back home... |
Thursday, January 10, 2019
West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman e-Book Now Available for Pre-Order!
Pre-Order Now—the e-book (Kindle) edition of West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, my first novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series for young readers, published by Crossroad Press. The e-book will be delivered on February 1, 2019, and the paperback edition is scheduled to follow shortly.
In the town of Broad Run, West Virginia...
Vance Archer and Marybeth Wilkins, a pair of adventurous seventh graders, have discovered an exciting activity called geocaching—a kind of scavenger hunt using GPS technology—which leads them after hidden treasures in the woods around their community. However, on one of their outings, they encounter a frightening, half-seen creature with glowing red eyes watching them from the shadows. Soon, Vance begins to receive mysterious messages on his phone from a caller named Indrid Cold. He learns that this name is associated with the legendary Mothman, a strange, unearthly being that is said to appear when some terrible event is about to occur. Believing that they—as well as their friends and loved ones—may soon face mortal danger, Vance and Marybeth try to solve the increasingly strange clues before disaster strikes.
* * *
In September 2018, I spent a few days in Point Pleasant, WV, where
the legend of the Mothman originated (see
"Lair of the Mothman," September 30, 2018). Those days provided me with a wonderful sense of the actual location's
mysterious and alluring character, which I believe will deepen the reader's
immersive experience in this book.The novel's brilliant cover, composed by Crossroad Press graphic artist David Dodd, incorporates a photograph I took of an old munitions storage bunker near Point Pleasant, where the Mothman was reputedly seen; an enhanced rendering of a drawing of the Mothman I created (see "Completed! Lair of the Mothman, October 18, 2018); and one of the series' signature kids' silhouettes. These elements come together to make a striking and atmospheric piece of art that I think captures the air of mystery at the heart of this novel.
Pre-order
West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman
Each Ameri-Scares novel is based on or inspired by an historical event, folktale, legend, or myth unique to that particular state.
Thursday, January 3, 2019
Excerpt #1 from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior
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Jeff sped down the rough road, standing on the bike's pedals as he barreled over roots and rocks. Some of the earthen mounds made ideal ramps for launching his bike—and himself—into the air. Each time, he made a perfect landing on the rear wheel and sped onward. The farther he rode, the denser the trees grew. Soon, the road narrowed, becoming little more than a rugged path through the woods.Ahead, he saw a large, dark mound in the middle of the path. It looked like the perfect jump ramp. He stood on the pedals and pumped them hard to pick up speed. The mound, he realized, appeared almost perfectly oval and rose at least three feet high. It was gray-black in color, with a texture like tree bark.
But it could not be a fallen tree, not shaped like that....
As he hit the mound, he pulled up on the handlebars to lift the front wheel. The bike flew into the air. But then, as if the mound had thrust itself upward, something hit his rear tire and threw him off balance. The bike lurched, and his feet left the pedals. The next thing he knew, the ground was hurtling toward him.
Thud!
He hit the dirt hard, and his breath exploded from his lungs. He saw his bike above him, falling toward him as if in slow motion. It crashed down right on top of him. The end of one handlebar slammed into his stomach. For the first time in his life, he knew what it meant to see stars.
He lay there for what seemed like an hour, struggling to breathe. Once the stars dimmed and his vision returned, he saw his bike lying a few feet away. It looked okay, he thought—until he saw the chain hanging loose from its sprockets.
“Oh, no,” he groaned. If the chain was broken, he had a long way to push his bike.
Taking care not to move too quickly, he sat up. With a sigh of disgust, he brushed the dirt from his arms and legs. When he glanced back the way he had come, every blood cell in his body turned to ice.
“That’s impossible.”
The mound that had caused him to wreck was gone.
Gone.
In its place, he saw a deep depression, roughly oval shaped, at least eight feet long and four feet wide.
“Impossible,” he whispered again.
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