From St. Augustine to the Bahamas, Part 1

Almost exactly a year ago, circumstances looked favorable for Ms. B. and me to plan another trip to places far and wide with friends and regular travel companions, Terry & Beth. They had been hoping to go to the Caribbean for some time, so we committed to taking this trip with them. We made reservations, put money down, and decided that, since it was a relatively short cruise (four days), we would visit St. Augustine for several days beforehand.

Then Brugger got laid off from her job at The Mailbox (the company where we'd worked together for well over a decade), and, concurrently, I lost my lucrative freelance gig with them. Still, since we'd lose a prohibitive amount of money if we opted to cancel, we figured we'd carry through with our plan. So...fookin' onward it is.

The logsheet of "Knock Knock Let Me In" (GCAZNPV)

Thursday, February 6, 2025
Departure day. Brugger and I rose about dawn, tossed our stuff in the car, and drove from Martinsville to Terry & Beth's place in Kernersville. We wasted no time transferring our belongings to their vehicle and getting our asses on the road. The first part of the trip was easy enough; I found a cache at a rest area, and we stopped for a tolerable lunch at J's Corner in Columbia. Afterward, though, traffic picked up considerably, and we ran into a few snags, particularly around Jacksonville, FL, where a car had crashed and burned up real good. Still, in general, the drive wasn't intolerable, and we made decent time—for Ms. B. and me, a total of about nine hours. Once we arrived at our lodgings, a nice AirBnB in north St. Augustine, we unpacked and then set forth to find dinner, as the Great Starvation was upon us. We opted for a nice restaurant in the Spanish Quarter called Forgotten Tonic, which had great atmosphere and mostly delicious food. I had a big-ass burger with havarti cheese, bacon, pickles, and other goodies on a big old pretzel roll. Then a supply run at a nearby grocery store.

By now, we were all feeling pretty wiped, but there was a geocache only a quarter-mile from our lodgings, so I decided to walk after it. Interestingly, some fellow geocachers of our acquaintance from back home—known as The Border Reivers—had just been to the cache a couple of days ago. I signed the log beneath their entry, then returned to the AirBnB to pen this little portion of blog, and then crashed.

B-b-boom!

Feeling blue at GCAZNPV

Friday, February 7, 2025

Home away from home—our St. Augustine AirBnB

Although the AirBnB is very comfortable, particularly the bed, I unfortunately had a poor night's sleep, due to some persistent, niggling physical issues; hopefully, nothing serious. Anyhoo, once up, about, and fortified with coffee, I felt reasonably human again. After a breakfast of biscuits and cinnamon butter, which Beth had brought home from last night's restaurant dinner, we set sail for the historical district and commenced to wandering. Eventually, we settled in for lunch at a decent Italian-ish restaurant called Pizzalley's Chianti Room, where Brugger and I split a fig & prosciutto pizza, which was delicious. Then we opted to separate for a while, some of us to go shopping, some of us to go geocaching (guess who did what).

St. Augustine Basilica

I hunted and found quite a few caches; in fact, I just about cleaned up the entire historical district. (There really aren't that many here, so this wasn't a particularly impressive feat.) They were all fun, though, and I added seven or eight finds to my Florida cache count. We regrouped at a nice wine bar called Bin 39, but because it's pretty hot and muggy here, I felt more in the cold, refreshing beer mode. Found a Hibiscus Wheat Ale that really hit the spot. From there, we headed for an art gallery/wine bar called The Bart on Aviles (Bar plus Art equals Bart) and split a bottle of very good California GSM.

Again, some wandering. After a time, for dinner, we settled on Prohibition Kitchen, right next to Pazzalley's. At first, we were a little leery because their live music, though mellow in character, was really, REALLY loud. However, the very kind staff there seated us in the balcony at the far back of the restaurant, which was perfect, as far as acoustics and intimacy go. Since I've not consumed a healthy morsel since we got here, I ordered a veggie sandwich (corned beets and spicy datil pepper slaw), though it came with yet more fries, which have accompanied every meal so far. I love me some fries, but I think I've hit the wall. Exceptionally high marks for this restaurant—very good food and service that couldn't be beat.

The Usual Suspects at Bin 39

Given that this is my first visit to St. Augustine, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I must say, in general, I love the city's character. Lots of history and culture, blended with the best of contemporary food, drink, shops, and other attractions; touristy in places, but not overwhelming (at least at this time of year; at peak season, the crowds are probably oppressive). Our lodgings are as comfortable as any we've had anywhere we've traveled—convenient to everything, but situated on a quiet, picturesque avenue, with plenty of amenities. Terry and Beth have been here several times, and I understand what draws them back for repeated visits. I expect that we'll return at some point in the future.

Sadly, unless the local geocachers add some caches to the landscape, any future caching here is likely to be disappointing.

My only real caveat about the place is the prevalence, at least in certain areas, of right-wing exhibitions of outright hatred, particularly from local businesses. The most egregious I saw was a sign on a restaurant that read "Dimmycrats are the evil within!" This kind of shit is why we can't have the proverbial nice things. So often, I hear that liberals are the ones who spread lies and hatred; but in my experience, all evidence points to precisely the opposite—in the real world as well as the virtual. I've never, ever seen public displays anywhere as vile and hate-filled from the left, whereas it's become more and more commonplace to see it from the right. So don't ever, EVER tell me that the right is not spreading hatred and division because that is absolutely verifiable bullshit.

And that's my closing for today. More tomorrow.

Haunted Inn in the historic quarter

Bustling St. George Street

A troupe of dastardly, evil, murderous sociopaths running loose in the streets of St. Augustine

Saturday, February 8, 2025

What IS that? (GCAAEC)

A virtual cache lurked about a half mile up the road from our place, so once I was up and had downed a jumbo-sized coffee, I set out on foot to see if I might find what I needed to claim the cache. GZ looked like a pump station for the city water system, but amid it all, there was monument to an individual who had apparently died while saving a child from some industrial accident at that site back in the 1980s. Not something one might expect to see at that particular location. Anyhoo, success! I recorded the necessary information to log the find and hoofed back to the house.

Old Rodan and the Old Senator

After we were all sufficiently caffeinated and felt up to the task, we ventured down to the historical quarter, circled the same block several times looking for parking (which we finally managed), and sought lunch at a nice little joint near Flagler College called The Floridian, recommended to us by an old friend from our days working at The Mailbox, as she'd gone to school at Flagler. I found their brisket tacos quite good, if not quite up to the standard of Catrina's (in Mebane, NC).

The rest of the gang needed to do some shopping and drinking, so Terry drove us a little ways north of town and I set out on foot for a half-dozen geocaches within about a mile radius of our drop-off point. I hoofed it to several very fun caches, including one at the Fountain of Youth Archaeology Park, another at the Old Jail Museum, and another at "Old Senator," a roughly 600-year old live oak tree. I knocked out a few others nearby and then headed back to meet up with the rest of the gang at Carrera Wine Cellar on San Marco St. This turned out to be a colorful, enjoyable place, and I ended up having a lengthy conversation with one of the local folks who was apparently something of a horror fan. She was particularly taken with the fact that I'd written some Dark Shadows books and audio drama scripts, since she'd been a huge DS fan back in the dark ages. Fun shit.

The St. Augustine Lighthouse at sunset

At last, we headed out to the St. Augustine Lighthouse & Maritime Museum, where I hunted yet another fun cache and the other folks went shopping (again). Right at sunset, the lighthouse lit up, which made for a lovely early evening sight. By the time we headed back toward town, the evening tourist/dinner rush was well under way, so it was a slow ride across the bridge over the Matanzas River.

For dinner, we chose Casa Reina Taqueria, which turned out to be one hell of a popular place. We had over an hour wait, but once in, they seated us on a second-floor balcony with a scenic view of the city. Since I'd had tacos at lunch, I opted for chicken with rice, beans, guacamole, pico de gallo, and tomatillo salsa, which was delicious—particularly once I added some of their homemade hot sauce, which was satisfying, though not that hot.

And that was pretty much our day's adventure. Tomorrow, we're heading for Fort Lauderdale, and the day following, onto Royal Caribbean's Liberty of the Seas for a four-day cruise to the Caribbean (specifically, CocoCay and Nassau). Hopefully, we'll avoid any unpleasant snags.

Till tomorrow!

Heading for Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth

On the balcony at Casa Reina

A couple of old folks at Longboards in Melbourne, FL

Sunday, February 9, 2025
Terry and I rose almost with the sun so we could venture out for an early breakfast. We had settled on a little breakfast joint less than half a mile from our lodgings, but to our dismay, we found it was closed. So, we wandered most of another mile down the road to the local Denny's, where we indulged in a couple of cardiac-attack breakfasts—eggs, bacon, hash browns, and pancakes (cinnamon swirl slapjacks for me; quite delicious). Then we waddled back to our place.

Alas, it was time to bid adios to St. Augustine. We particularly enjoyed our AirBnB lodgings; very clean, spacious, attractive, comfortable, and very reasonably priced. Top marks to our hosts. From St. Augustine to Fort Lauderdale is a couple of hundred miles and some change, but we took a few turns for vittles, gas, and geocaches. We went into Melbourne for lunch on the beachfront at a place called Longboards, which had a most appealing ambiance, though the service was slower than a salted slug trying to run uphill. The food, though, was delicious. I had a platter of the biggest and best steamed shrimp I've ever tasted.

We ran into very heavy traffic on our approach to Fort Lauderdale, but eventually we made it to our lodgings: a nicely priced, reasonably comfortable inn close to the interstate, airport, and cruise port. Once checked in, we set out in search of dinner. We'd found what looked like a very nice bistro not far from our inn—a hotel restaurant, it turned out—but when we arrived, the menu barely resembled the one posted online, they were out of cheese, and hopelessly understaffed. After waiting at our table for twenty minutes without acknowledgment, we decided to ride over to a nearby Outback Steakhouse, the very act of which went against our long-held tradition of avoiding chains in favor of local establishments, but by this time, it was getting very late, and the Great Starvation had settled upon us. The food and service turned out to be very good.

The need for additional wine for our upcoming adventure was strong, so we found a nearby Total Wine—the biggest Total Wine I've ever seen, actually—and commenced to shopping. A cache lurked on the premises, so I snagged it for good measure. Once back at our hotel, I decided to hoof it after a couple of caches less than a mile away. As I made my way toward one of the caches, I noticed a laser-like spotlight aimed into the sky, no doubt from the airport, which is less than a mile from our hotel. Not sure of its significance, but I found it very cool looking. I managed to turn up both caches without undue difficulty, and then trucked back to our room for a goodnight glass of wine.

And tomorrow, lord willing, it'll be off to the Caribbean.

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Go to From St. Augustine to the Bahamas, Part 2

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Release Day—THE HOUSE AT BLACK TOOTH POND

It's here—release day for my newest novel, The House at Black Tooth Pond! Now available in paperback, ebook, and audiobook.

“Welcome to Aiken Mill, Virginia—The Cold Case Capital of the World.”  

A mutilated, unidentifiable body has turned up in this legend-haunted town in the mountains of southwestern Virginia. During his investigation, Sheriff Bryce Parrott uncovers a series of frightening clues that lead him to believe that some inhuman force may be responsible for the gruesome murder.

While exploring the darkest corners of Sylvan County, psychology professor Martin Pritchett and his brother, Phillip, happen upon a crumbling, century-old house beside a dark body of water called Black Tooth Pond. A strange compulsion leads both men back to the house time and time again, but neither can remember any of the events that occur there.

As both Sheriff Parrott and the Pritchett brothers attempt to solve their respective mysteries, their paths begin to converge—paths that lead directly to the ancient, foreboding house at Black Tooth Pond.

The word on the street...
"Author Stephen Mark Rainey takes the abandoned house in the woods trope and turns it inside out as the walls of the House at Black Tooth Pond close in on the reader page by page, scene by scene. Rainey tells a dark, claustrophobic story bursting with atmosphere, with just enough dread to keep horror fans satisfied, and mystery to whet the appetites of thriller fans."—Michael Laimo, author of Dark Ride, Missed Connection, The Demonologist, and others

"Stephen Mark Rainey's The House of Black Tooth Pond dwells at the intersection between the traditional haunted house story and tales of cosmic dread, expertly combining both into a frightening, genre-bending novel that both thrills and chills.—Peter Rawlik, author of Reanimators, Reanimatrix, The Book of Yig

"What T.E.D. Klein did for Lovecraftian horror set in upstate New York and NYC, Stephen Mark Rainey does for the rural South."—Leverett Butts, author of Guns of the Waste Land

"Stephen Mark Rainey's talent is on display here like never before. His masterful use of imagery transported me to Sylvan County. I heard the eerie cry of the whippoorwill, the cry that marks the presence of an evil entity that roams the woods and lurks within the walls of the house at Black Tooth Pond. You will hear it too."—Mike Davis, Lovecraft eZine

"I read The House at Black Tooth Pond in one sitting—it was that exciting and that frightening. Think of a traditional haunted house story but on LSD."—Carson Buckingham, Hellnotes

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Buy The House at Black Tooth Pond
(ebook, paperback, and audiobook)

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My rendering of the actual structure on which "The House at Black Tooth Pond" is based

Now Available: The Horror Collection: Crystal Edition

KJK Publishing has just released its latest entry in their Horror Collection anthology series—Volume 22, The Crystal Edition. This one features my frightful little tale, "Magic Eye," along with these horrific gems:

• "Chasing the Dragon" by Brian Moreland
• "Frozen in Terror" by Devin Cabrera
• "Headed North" by Sarah Jules
• "Mistral" by Mark Morris
• "Nightmare Channel" by Lee Mountford
• "Dummy" by Jeff Strand
• "Misophonia" by Veronica Smith
• "Gracious Mother" by Stephen Barnard
• "Remembering Falls" by Zachary Ashford
• "In Three Days" by Thomas Stewart
• "The Devereauxs" by Lisa Breanne
• "Unnatural Selection" By Gord Rollo
• "Celebrity Skin" by Harrison Phillips
• "Winter’s Whistle" by Dexter McLeod

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Order The Horror Collection:
Crystal Collection at Amazon

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Fire in the City

Many years ago, mainly back in my college days, I wrote songs, which I performed on guitar and wailed along with real loud. It's been a long time since I even touched an instrument, but a few years back, I played semi-regularly in various public venues, sometimes accompanied by Ms. B. (some of you poor wretches may recall this). One of the last songs I ever wrote (probably 1987, when I lived in Chicago) was called "Fire in the City," and it was largely about my difficulties dealing with the chronic madness of the human species as I saw it at the time. But never has there been a more challenging time to live with said chronic madness than today—and it's at a level far beyond any I could have imagined in my youthful and certainly more optimistic days.

In July 2018, at one of the singer/songwriter events hosted by the now sadly defunct Daily Grind in Martinsville, I played "Fire in the City," which Ms. B. bravely recorded. I'm gonna post it here just because it is my personal statement for today. The sound quality is only so-so, but listen if you wish, or don't; I can't guarantee the performance won't harm your eardrums.

Fire in the City

The chilling air is hot with sound
As snow turns the ceiling gray
People crawl through streets of ice
How hard it is not to hate

Snail’s pace is the pulse of the city
Sounds of traffic grow and fade
Wintry voices slash my ears
How hard it is not to hate

People laugh and people cry
But I have turned my eyes away
Compare their lives against the truth
How hard it is not to hate

Pollution of the heart and mind
Runs rampant in the human haze
And drowning in this sea of life
How hard it is not to hate

Some release would help the heat
That rises up within
But the burning fire below is lost
And smothered by the snow

Signs of the Sasquatch and Others

This past couple of weeks have been stressful for both Ms. B. and me, sometimes in the extreme, with daily salvos of sheer lunacy from that fucking orange shitgibbon in the oval office. I've tried to find a good balance between staying informed and retreating to recharge my mental health. I'm pretty much picking my battles and avoiding the dreaded "doomscroll," as they say. But it's clear that we are in for unprecedented hard times, and, quite frankly, I'm not sure the country as a whole is capable of weathering it. Without question, many of us will suffer great (and such goddamn needless) hardship. On top of that, we've had a couple of expensive household breakdowns that aren't improving my spirits.

I'm focusing as much as possible on my fiction writing while also writing my senators and congressmen. We'll be taking a Caribbean trip fairly soon, which we reserved about a year ago, so I hope that will help with the recharging (though if we'd had any inkling at the time our income would be less and our expenses more, I think we would have changed our plans). Last night friend Scott (a.k.a. Diefenbaker) came up from Asheboro, NC, and spent the night so we could make a geocaching trip to Roanoke today. Scott hadn't found a couple of my nearby caches, so we hoofed it out to them, and he made the finds without help from me (meaning that, even though he's older than the hills, his geocaching eyes are still pretty good). Once back home, I made a killer batch of spicy Thai beef. And while we sampled several bourbons from the bar downstairs, we watched an eclectic assortment of music videos on YouTube, all of which elevated our spirits.

The No-Dead-Weight Irregulars at the famous
Mill Mountain Star

This morning, we headed out fairly early, drove to Roanoke, and met friend Natalie (a.k.a. Fishdownthestairs), thus completing our traditional trio, known to some as the No-Dead-Weight Irregulars. We spent most of the day at Mill Mountain, navigating its numerous trails on the hunt for geocaches of various types, including traditional, virtual, and Adventure Lab. Mill Mountain is best known for the almost 90-foot Roanoke Star at its summit, which is visible for many miles around, particularly when it is illuminated at night.

We put in about five miles on the mountain, with terrain that ranged from medium difficulty to downright rugged. Sadly, we bombed out on our very first hunt, as the cache appeared to be missing; however, for the rest of the day, we managed to claim all our targets. My favorite was a Bigfoot-themed cache called "Signs of the Sasquatch" (GC76KTA), although we never laid eyes on Bigfoot himself (even though, against the sign's admonition, we oftentimes left the marked trails).

When I was a wee lad, my parents took me to the Mill Mountain Zoo (although I have little memory of it), and when I was a student at Ferrum College, not too far from Roanoke, some friends and I drove to the top of the mountain and smoked pot in some secluded corner; but since then, I had never gone back. I didn't even know the zoo still existed, and we saw nothing of it today, not that zoos hold any particular allure for me.

After we had hiked ourselves out, we drove back down the mountain and found a late lunch at a nice little tavern called Fork in the Alley, where I went to town on their Inferno Burger and fries, accompanied by a Devil's Backbone Vienna Lager, all of which hit the spot so hard it about gave me bruises.

We snagged a couple of caches near the restaurant, and then set sail for Martinsville (though I very kindly dropped Natalie off at her vehicle rather than at some random spot a long way away, which Scott and I thought might be entertaining, at least until she killed us dead). Brugger had spent a long weekend in Hillsborough at one of her regular artsy-craftsy retreats, and she arrived home not long before we did.

So, I reckon we're as recharged as we're gonna be for a while. And this week, it's back into the trenches. Gird your loins.

View of Roanoke from the observation deck at the Mill Mountain Star

A massive rock formation high up on the mountain (yes, there is a cache hidden in there, which we found)

Big honking bikes!

Inferno Burger at Fork in the Alley

Website Revamp on the Way

My author website, stephenmarkrainey.com, is currently undergoing a total revamp at the capable hands of long-time friend Deena Warner, web and graphic designer extraordinaire. I designed my site back in the early 2000s, but as interwebz technology has exploded over the past couple of decades, I've not been able to devote the time, energy, and resources to remain proficient at web design beyond the most basic; at best, I've been able to keep my site updated semi-regularly. However, since my former host, helpinghost.com, is closing down as of February 1, I decided to take the opportunity to have the old webmonster remade and based at a new site host.

Deena has created and maintained websites for many of the biggest and the best creative names in the dark lit field (among many others), so I am confident that, after all these years, my virtual home will not look quite as old as I am. For the time being, the thing is under construction, so it may show up as wonky or nonexistent.

Will update here when there are updates to announce, and I do thank those of you who see fit to follow my (mis)adventures here, there, and everywhere. In the meantime, check out Deena Warner's site here. Her clients include Nicholas Kaufmann, Dean Koontz, George R.R. Martin, Kimberly McCreight, Katherine Ozment, Tim Waggoner, and many, many others.

Near the Pigg River

After such an enjoyable day of geocaching yesterday, and with a trio of newish caches lurking not too far northward, I decided this morning that another outing was crucial for my peace of mind. So, I hit the back roads, bound for Franklin County, about 9 AM and aimed myself at a couple of caches in a little series called "Near the Pigg River," both of which—believe it or not—are near the Pigg River. Both of these were published over a week ago, but neither had been logged, probably due to the snow and ice last week, which is only now clearing up in many areas.

Upon arriving at the first location—"Near the Pigg River: Watch for Animals!" (GCB26R7)—I found myself looking at a bridge, and the terrain rating at the coordinates—three out of five—gave me an idea of where I needed to hunt. Sure enough, I found the cache in the first place I looked, and it was a cool enough hide to warrant giving it a favorite point (some geocachers look at favorite points to determine their targets in any given location). And, as I expected, I signed a blank log sheet, thus claiming the (not-really-all-that-coveted) first-to-find (FTF) honors.

The second cache—"Near the Pigg River: I Got a Big One!" (GCB26RD)—put me at another bridge over the Pigg River near an old dam and power station. At the near end of the bridge, I immediately saw a boat put-in area, so I decided to park there, only to discover as I drove down the steep hill that a substantial layer of ice still covered most of it. Ah, well... too late to back out now. So, I hoofed it across the bridge toward ground zero, only to discover a closer, less hazardous parking area. Oy vey! Anyway, I found the cache quickly, again taking FTF honors. Then I returned to the car and looked up that hill with some trepidation. I also discovered I had only one bar of phone service, and that was if I squinted and held my mouth just right. So, I really, really hoped the Rodan Mobile was good for getting past that ice.

I gave it a good running start and, fortunately, surmounted that hill with no problem. Thank you, my little Rodan Mobile!

The last of the caches—"Are You Guys Sick of Micros" (GCB1WET)—hid in Rocky Mount, in a well-populated commercial area. It had already been found, so no more FTFs today (although Scott and I claimed 16 yesterday, which was more than I had realized until I counted them all this morning). Once I had that one in the bag, I headed back to Martinsville, parked in the neighborhood, and went walking until I had reached my daily 5,000-step goal. I've now gone just over one full year of putting in at least 5,000 steps (about two and half miles) every day. Most days, I walk considerably more than that. My 366-day average (last year was a leap year) stands at 8,700 steps a day (just about four miles).

This next week, the weather is not looking good for geocaching (or outdoor activities in general), so I'm glad I availed myself of the opportunity today. Total geocache find count now stands at 15,394. The 13th of this month was my 17th geocaching anniversary, as a matter of fact. Dunno how I got that freakin' old...

Yee-Haw and More

It's been a cold, snowy week, during which sweet little Frazier passed away and Ms. B. got stuck in Michigan due to canceled flights. So, it was mighty nice to get out geocaching today with friend Scott (a.k.a. Diefenbaker). A passel of new caches have been placed between Greensboro and Durham—in Burlington, Graham, Haw River, Swepsonville, Mebane, Efland, and more—so we decided to tackle some of them today. We particularly enjoyed "Yee Haw," along the Haw River Trail in Swepsonville, which I hiked frequently when I lived in Greensboro. Very nice to return, it was.

We ran into friend Tom (a.k.a. Night-Hawk) while out on the road, so that too was fun. He'd come out to hunt some of the same ones we did (and we each picked up first-to-find honors on a handful of them).

There are enough of these new hides to keep us busy for a while, which makes me happy. And there are a few north of here as well, which I'll probably go after on my own, perhaps tomorrow....

TFTC (Thanks for the Caches)!

The Last Farewell to My Little Sweetheart

I buried Frazier in the backyard this afternoon, which brought on a whole new rush of tears and memories.  I'd had to wait until the ground thawed a bit before I could dig, so I had laid him in the garage, where it stayed pretty cold. I remember burying my first dog, Patty, back in 1981, very near where Frazier's body now lies. That was the first time I'd ever had to bury a pet, and it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. It was almost as hard with Frazier, though I've had to bury all our other cats who have passed away over quite a few years. Maestro, Abbott, Charcoal, Dusty, and Chester all still lie behind the old house in Greensboro.

The photo above is the last one I took of Frazier while he was still alive. Moose seemed to know that something was amiss, and he stationed himself nearby for most of the night.

I can't say I have any belief in a spirit afterworld, but in my mind's eye, I see all of our beloved pets playing together happily. If there is any such thing, whenever the time comes, I want more than anything to be reunited with them, and all my loved ones.

Moose and Frazier watching TV together. They liked that a lot.

One of my favorite Frazier memories — Halloween 2014

R.I.P. Frazier Rainey — 2007–2025

Frazier passed away last night at the age of 18—almost 19. He'd become pretty frail over the past several months, but he remained active, otherwise healthy, and always hungry. A couple of days ago, he took a rapid downturn, and we knew the end could not be long coming.

Back in 2007, he showed up on our doorstep (as have most of our cats who became our cats) and wouldn't go away. The little girl next door started calling him Frazier, and the name stuck. He fit right in with Dusty and Chester, our other two fuzzies, and it wasn't long before he and Chester became inseparable best friends.

Frazier and I developed a strong bond immediately, and it reached the point where I could scarcely move from one room to another without tripping over him. He helped me write (I constantly had to edit cat words out of my manuscripts), watched TV with me, and slept on top of me. In late 2012, Droolie arrived on the scene, and—unlike with Chester—the two of them didn't do much bonding. However, every morning, they'd mock-wrestle in the kitchen as I prepared their breakfasts, while Chester circled like a referee in a wrestling ring.

Dusty passed away in 2013 and Chester in 2015, leaving me with Frazier and Droolie, who got along, but only just. In 2021, Ms. B. moved into the house with her three boys—Moose, Ralph, and Rufus—and this created a new, very tumultuous dynamic. No one trusted anyone, cat fights became more commonplace, and our respective kitties strengthened their bonds with their original people. Eventually, a somewhat uneasy peace broke out. After poor little Ralph passed away from congestive heart failure in 2023, the cat world settled into a still-uneasy but generally less agitated state.

Through it all, Frazier remained essentially unfazed. The most mellow of the bunch, he continued his sweet, friendly ways, and even as an older cat, he became more and more playful. Oftentimes, usually at night, I'd hear this loud, long wailing noise ringing out of the darkness, which at first alarmed me. Then I found out that Frazier had simply found a cat toy and was announcing to the world, "I GOT IT! I GOT IT! I GOT IT!" Whenever we had visitors—whether friends, a plumber, an HVAC service guy, a painter, an electrician, or what have you—all the other cats ran and hid, but Frazier always trotted out to say, "HI! I'M FRAZIER!"

When it was clear that Frazier's health was declining, I made a special point to spend as much time with him as possible; it felt like every day we had together was a gift. I truly believe he knew how much both Ms. B. and I loved him. On his last day, he made a strenuous effort to get up on the bed beside me, and that is where he spent his final hours.

Since my elementary school days, I have lived with and lost many animals, and I have loved every one of them dearly; Frazier, though, was a particularly special little guy, and I will miss him with all my heart for the rest of my days.

“Magic Eye” to Appear in The Horror Collection: Crystal Edition

I'm happy to announce that my short story, "Magic Eye," has been accepted for KJK Publishing's The Horror Collection: The Crystal Edition (Book 22). The Horror Collection is a long-running series featuring hundreds of authors, ranging from the best-known to the newest up-and-comers. Currently, KJK Publishing is offering all 21 books in the collection to date on Kindle for $62.79. Individual volumes are of course available.

About "Magic Eye":

A woman named Billie Jane Valance lives alone in the high desert. An unknown party gifts her an antique radio with a "magic eye"—a vacuum tube that resembles an eyeball and glows green when the radio is properly tuned to a station. One evening, the radio in question turns itself on and begin to play mysterious music on a station that typically does not appear on a radio tuner. As she seeks to discover who sent her the radio, a series of strange, ominous events unfold, and Billie Jane finds herself embroiled in a mystery that may not have originated on this Earth.

Needless to say, I will post more details when they are available.

The Winter Storm Aftermath, Sort Of

For the past few days, the local forecast called for a potentially serious winter storm starting yesterday, and a winter storm we indeed got. Thankfully, for most of us in the area, it stopped short of being terribly serious. The severest issue in our area was vehicle accidents last night as the roads became slippery, and I've heard reports of a handful of power outages. We've kept ours, at least so far; around here, it's typical to weather the worst of a storm without problem, but when it's all over with, then the power goes out. The temperature dropped well below freezing early last night, but it's on the rise this morning, and right now, the snow and ice have become mostly slush.

I went out for my usual morning ramble and took a few pics around Lake Lanier, just down the street.

Big Honking Winter Weather

It's supposed to be a big honking weather event today and tomorrow, starting with snow and ending with ice, which is not a good combo for the power staying on and trees not smashing your house. The snow started about 1 p.m., at first just flurries, but shortly thereafter, it began falling in earnest, and I swear to Yog, these are the biggest snowflakes I've ever seen. Many of them are four to five inches wide, and it went from almost no accumulation to four inches of accumulation in about an hour. In the photo above, you can kinda see the big-ass flakes, but the photo certainly doesn't do them justice. These are definitely Godzilla-sized.

The forecast calls for freezing rain later, which is a really bad finish for several inches of snow. I really do hope the power stays on, and—even more than that—that no trees around the house decide to give up the ghost because some of these fuckers are big, as in house-whomping B-I-G. Now, I do love these woods around here, and we had reputable firm do a health check on the biggest of the trees a while back, which reassured me that we're probably okay, at least for the foreseeable future. Still, this past year, a falling tree totally demolished a house not too far up the road, and that's not the kind of thing I wanna see up close and personal.

Anyhoo, I had some writing to finish up this afternoon, so to complement the work, I made myself a lovely smoked Old Fashioned, using the smoker Ms. Brugger gave me last Christmas, with a skull ice cube, made with the mold she gave this Christmas. For the moment, at least, I have a warm house and a good drink. We'll just have to see what develops over the next 24 hours.

Before any of the weather started, I took down all the Christmas decorations, including the lights around the trees I had put up in the woods. Now I kinda wish I'd at least left the ones in the woods because they'd have looked fooking cool in the snow tonight.

If ice begins accumulating before bedtime tonight, I might just sleep downstairs, for whatever good that might do should the worst happen.

A Long, Deep River Day

Yesterday really was a long, long day. Ms. Brugger had a pre-ass-crack-of-dawn flight to Michigan, as her dad is having surgery, and she wants to be on hand to help out. Allison was here for the New Year's holiday, and I had a dentist appointment in Greensboro at 2:45 p.m., so we all got up at 3:30 a.m., hit the road at 4:15 a.m., and arrived at Piedmont Triad International Airport right at 5:00 a.m. We saw Ms. B. off, and then I headed after a couple of geocaches not far away, largely to kill some time until the nearby Carolina's Diner opened for breakfast at 6:00 a.m. We arrived at the diner just as they opened; enjoyed a delicious, cardiac-event-type breakfast, and then I took Allison home.

From there, I had several hours to kill before my dentist appointment. So, I booked it down to the Ramseur/Franklinville area, about 30 miles south of Greensboro, and hit the Deep River Trail, which I have hiked many a time over the past several years. There were several relatively new caches along the trail, so I spent several hours on the hunt, putting in almost seven miles before it was all said and done. The morning started out pretty fuckin' cold, but it did warm up a bit during the day. I ended up logging thirteen caches, which brings my total find count to 15,357.

I made it to my dentist appointment right on time, got some very clean teeth, and then hit the road back to Martinsville. Arrived home at 4:30 p.m.; had something for supper, I can't remember what; and decided to watch a movie before I crashed for the night. A short time back, I had found a pretty cool streaming channel on the Roku, the Essential SF Channel or something like that, and decided to check out The Beast of Hollow Mountain, which I hadn't seen since I was a teenager. I remember thinking back then that this was the most boring monster movie ever made, so I was curious if that ancient impression retained any merit.

The Beast of Hollow Mountain is, in fact, the most boring monster movie ever made.

I dunno what time I went to bed, but I crashed pretty damned hard. Ms. B. comes back next Friday, and it's a mid-evening flight.

If she's really, really sweet, she'll buy me dinner.

Haunted house up in the woods

The Deep River Trail meets US Hwy 64

Based on this and the "No Trespassing" signs, something tells me they don't want you to go this way.

2024: The Best of Times, the Worst of Times, and All That In-Between

Over and out, 2024. Loved you and hated you (a sentiment I've seen from many folks of my acquaintance). For Brugger and me, 2024 was the first full year we have lived together at Ground Zero, as I sometimes refer to our homeplace. I absolutely love this old house, much about Martinsville (at least, the better aspects it has retained since my youth here), many of our neighbors, and the prevailing atmosphere of tranquility—a critical quality that came to be sadly lacking in Greensboro.

We're farther from so many of the people and activities that made living in North Carolina better than bearable, but not so far that we can't make regular trips back and forth. We have some good friends here in town as well, and we've managed to get some of those unruly North Carolina foreigners together with our local compadres numerous times—including last night at friends Bob & Yvonne's superb New Year's Eve party.

Yesterday morning, I went to Greensboro to witness NC friends Tom & Linda sign some legal documents, have lunch with them, get in a quick bit of geocaching, and pick up daughter Allison to bring her back to Mville for a few days' visit. A little later in the afternoon, friends Terry & Beth drove up from Kernersville, NC, to attend the aforementioned party at Bob & Yvonne's place, less than a mile from Ground Zero. We were soon joined by friend Gretchen, and off we headed to the party—the others by automobile, I on foot because I wanted to make sure I got in my requisite 5,000 steps for the day. Accomplish that I did, plus a couple of thousand in advance for New Year's Day, since I opted to walk home as well. (For the past 365 days, I've averaged 8,800 steps—about four miles—a day, with only two days, both back in January, that I didn't get in at least 5,000 steps.)

Bob & Yvonne throw dynamite parties. We already knew this, but I think last night might have been their best yet. Bob acquired a hell of a nice bar setup, and he served us a variety of killer drinks for the entire evening. What a gentleman! There were 15 to 20 people in attendance, some coming and going at various times, while about a dozen of us lingered till midnight to ring in the New Year with a champagne toast.

This past year, I've done a ton of writing I'm rightly proud of, perhaps most notably my novel, The House at Black Tooth Pond, due for release in February from Crossroad Press. It'll be available as an ebook, trade paperback, and audiobook. You can preorder it from Amazon.com here. I've also completed a few short stories (which I hope you'll be reading in various upcoming publications) and am currently co-writing a new novel with Elizabeth Massie titled Freezer Burn. We hope to have it wrapped up in the spring of this year.

In other writing-related business, I attended Scares That Care: AuthorCon III in Williamsburg back in April, NecronomiCon Providence in August (and I returned to Providence for a wonderful long weekend with Ms. B. in November), and had numerous successful booksignings over the course of the year.

2024 also hit Ms. B. and I with some significant setbacks, most notably Kimberly being laid off from her job of twenty-plus years in February—almost two years to the day after the company laid me off. Since losing her job, Ms. B. has fashioned herself into a very capable freelancer in the educational publishing business. Unfortunately, she makes considerably less than she did at her full-time job, but she enjoys the work, and as things currently stand, her income is adequate for us to get by. But here's the rub: in order to get health insurance, she had to purchase it through Virginia's ACA Exchange; and since her income is relatively low, she receives a decent subsidy to keep her policy affordable. However, by all indications, the Shitgibbon-elect and the Party of Freedom From Every Policy That Helps More People Than It Hurts don't plan to renew the subsidies later this year, so we may well find ourselves in dire straits—along with many millions who depend on the ACA subsidies to afford healthcare. I don't need to go into further detail about how calamitous this will be, but yes, if the GOP goes through with its plans, a lot of us are likely to end up in mortal danger. Yeah, that's the way to make America great, right?

What a load of pure horseshit, my friends.

Enough of that particular commentary. However, on a somewhat related note, while I've generally enjoyed pretty good health, especially since I've taken up my daily lengthy walks, I have occasional complications and unexpected setbacks that do—and will—require medical services. I'm on Medicare, so I also have to hope that the party in power doesn't decide to fuck over everyone who isn't rolling in superfluous dollars.

Coming up for 2025, we have a relatively short Caribbean cruise to look forward to, at least one convention to attend (Scares That Care: AuthorCon V in Williamsburg at the end of March), and I plan to participate in numerous other book-related events, as I did this past year. I've also plotted a few other writing projects, which I plan to undertake once done with the collaboration with Ms. Massie.

And that's about all I've got in me for right now. One more year relegated to the personal history books, and another coming up that represents the next step in the walk of the unknown, as friend Larry Blamire has put it.

I wish we could all be together on this journey into the future, but I swear, I cannot fathom all too many mindsets around me, especially the insane delight in indulging ignorance, stupidity, and general negativity. It's hard to stay above it when the world around us seems to thrive on it. Regardless, I wish everyone in my sphere of influence the very best, and I hope, however bleak things sometimes look, that there are silver linings galore for everyone. These have been known to happen.

Peace out.