Scares That Care Presents AuthorCon VI, Williamsburg

Thursday, February 26, 2026
Obviously, these pics aren't from AuthorCon, but they were taken at a cool geocaching stop between Martinsville and Williamsburg—a cache called "Rock Out #2" (GCAA7W3), to be precise—along the Chickahominy River. It was a somewhat dreary drive, with a good bit of rain and fog, but I didn't let that interfere with the caching. Sadly, though, Brugger is unable to attend, due to her mom falling and breaking her hip and a leg, so she is having to go to Michigan to help both her mom and her dad get along. Thus, on this trip, I ended up going after more caches than usual, since I had no worries about taxing her patience while I hunted, heh heh.

I stopped for lunch at Indian Fields Tavern in Charles City, a few miles this side of Williamsburg. It's one of our favorite dining destinations, along with the nearby Cul's Courthouse Grill, which we usually visit on alternate trips. Both restaurants have some of the best burgers I've ever tasted, but through no fault of my own, I might have had one too many burgers this week (I didn't mean to, really!), So, I tried their "Barn Bird" chicken sandwich, which was quite good, though not in the same league as their "Charles City Burger."

At Angler's Park, Danville, VA

Once in Williamsburg, I stopped for provisions at a handy grocery store and then made my way to the Doubletree by Hilton Hotel Williamsburg, where I settled into my room, took a much-needed shower, and relaxed for a bit. Eventually, I made my way down to the bar to see if I might run into any familiar faces. I did indeed, and I'm looking forward to seeing several others of my acquaintance who will be arriving later this evening or tomorrow morning.

For dinner, I ordered some Thai food from nearby Thai Tara—a Crying Tiger appetizer and tofu fried rice. Once done, I headed back to the bar and hung out with several old writer friends, which was quite pleasant. The bartender makes a damned good Bloody Mary, and damn if these people don't feature some kind of vodka concoction in a bag. I did not have one of those, and I almost certainly will not.

 

Tomorrow, I'll be setting up in the ballroom as early as I can manage, and I'll be on the Cosmic Horror panel in the evening.

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Friday, February 27, 2026

Coffee! Lord, did I need coffee this morning. There's a coffeemaker in the room that comes with some of that not-so-good stuff, and there's a coffee shop in the convention area that has the not-so-cheap good stuff. So I compromised and got some not-so-cheap coffee and then drank some not-so-good coffee. It almost woke me up, but I may need to return to the coffee shop for the better brew. And soon.

 

I was right there when registration opened up, so I checked in and then went about the task of setting up my table in the ballroom. Having Brugger along to do the heavy lifting would have helped a lot, but, well, nope. (She has reached Michigan and is currently at the hospital with her mom.) For most of the morning, I socialized with some incoming authors/artists/friends and circumnavigated the hotel a number of times to get my mileage in for the day. I plagued a lot of people with my existence—folks like Bridgette & Mike Brenmark, Rebecca Cuthbert, Richard Dansky, Larry Hinkle, Justin Holley, Brian Keene, Todd Kiesling, Red Lagoe, Tom Lucas, Bryan Nowak, Stephen & Sharon Provost, J. Dennison Reed, Mark Sieber, Dave Simms, Sidney Williams, Valerie Williams, and others. I guarantee there will be considerably more plaguing before this weekend is over.

 

At 4:00 p.m., the opening ceremonies officially kicked off the weekend. Then the dealer's room opened up. I manned my table, shot shit with many people, grabbed tacos from the hotel's taco bar, and sold a few books. At 7:30, I went forth to participate in the Cosmic Horror panel, which also included Ben Farthing, Amanda Headlee, Thomas R. Clark, Todd Keisling, Mary SanGiovanni, and Tommy B. Smith. It was very well attended and most enjoyable. When I returned to my table, several people came by and bought books. There is happiness.

Finally, I made my way to Rich Dansky's room for his traditional Scotch & Cheese Party™, which included lots of scotch, lots of cheese, and lots of people. We drank and made merry for a good while, and then... it was time to crash. Tomorrow, I have a reading (with Rich), a panel on Folk Horror, and a long day in the dealer's room. Hopefully, it will be a profitable day.

The opening ceremonies, with Joe Ripple extolling the virtues of Uranus

L: Old Dude; R: Sidney Williams, looking uncustomarily happy

Sasquatch...er...Richard Dansky in a rare, non-blurry photo

Old Dude and Grand Llama Bryan Nowak

An insidiously happy-looking Bridgette Brenmark

Stephen & Sharon Provost discovering that they accidentally super-glued their hands together

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Saturday, February 28, 2026
As with so many mornings lately, I woke up to a miserable allergy attack, so I reluctantly took a Benadryl, which works reasonably well on the allergy but turns me into a drugged-up zombie. To help compensate, I drank a couple of extra doses of coffee, but it failed to kill the zombie. I had a less-than-satisfying breakfast at the hotel's breakfast buffet, and then kerplunked into my chair at the dealer's table. I sold a couple of books before my 11:00 a.m. reading with Mr. Dansky. We ended up with a few folks in attendance, which is always better than no folks in attendance. Richard read a highly entertaining ghost tale, and then I read the first chapter of my sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond, tentatively titled Broken Barriers. Neither of us suffered an onslaught of projectiles.

 

Immediately afterward, I was on the Folk Horror panel, which also featured Jonathan Gensler, Thomas R. Clark, Tony Evans, and Bitter Karella. This one was also very well attended, and the discussion was lively.

 

I snagged a late lunch from the coffee shop, which, much like breakfast, wasn't very appetizing—a re-warmed, overpriced, rather stale sandwich. Anyway, I spent the rest of the afternoon at my table, and—happily—sold a lot of books. Several folks who'd been to my reading and panels came to visit and showered me with money. In return, I devalued their books with my signature.

 

Things slowed down a bit late in the day, so I was pretty glad when six o'clock rolled around. That chair gets hard after a while. But afterward, I trucked around the place for a while and got my daily steps in.

Michael Deady and David Simms, scaring and caring

Somebody left their lipstick at my table. I hope it wasn't a gift because it's not my color.

L: Another photo of the inimitable Mark "Horror Drive-In" Sieber for my collection; R: Ruh-Roh

At 7:00 p.m., I joined a cavalcade of horror folk on a pilgrimage to The Whaling Company restaurant, which has been an AuthorCon tradition since the day I started AuthorConning. About 7:15 p.m., these fourteen devilish writers descended on the place and proceeded to drink, eat, and carry on with wild abandon. I killed a dozen oysters on the half shell, a cup of some of the best New England clam chowder I've ever had, and two very stiff gin martinis. The food and service here has always been better than exemplary, and so it was tonight. Sadly, though, this was almost certainly the last time any of us will be able to enjoy this particular experience, as, much to our chagrin, the restaurant is set to close this coming August. This feels like the passing of an old friend, for the memories of the people and good times here are many, and they are deep.

Once back at the hotel, I yakked with Brugger for a while on the phone. She and her folks are doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. After we said our good-byes, I went round to the bar, where I met Mr. Dansky and some of his friends. We all sank another round of very potent drinks.

For tonight, this is all she wrote. Tomorrow is Last Day.

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Sunday, March 1, 2026

After dragging myself out of bed this morning, I got all my stuff packed up, took it out to the car, and checked out of my room. Then I settled myself at my table in the ballroom for a couple of hours. I sold several more books in that short spell. At noon, I had a final panel on vintage paperbacks, featuring Sidney Williams, Mark Sieber, Phrique, Jason Cavallaro, Craig Brownlie, and Bitter Karella, which turned out to be a lot of fun.

The Vintage Paperback panel, with Sidney Williams, Phrique, Old Dude, Jason Cavallaro, Mark Sieber, Craig Brownlie, Bitter Karella

Then it was time to hit the road. I was starving, so I zoomed straight to Cul's Courthouse Grill in Charles City, about a 40-minute drive. This time...yes, I did have that burger. An incredibly huge, indescribably good burger. It's hard to say whether Indian Fields or Cul's makes THE best burger, but they're both among my favorites in the world.

Cul's Courthouse Grill in Charles City

THE burger

Over many years of traveling to Williamsburg, I have found most of the geocaches anywhere near the highways between here and there, but a scant handful still appeared on my map. Not anymore, though, because I made a few stops and grabbed all the caches—at least those that don't require going some distance out of the way. These were all fun, and at one in Clarksville, I happened upon a couple of very sweet little kache kitties. They were friendly enough, though they didn't let me come too close, and I approve of this. A lot of humans are not as kindly disposed toward cats as I am.

Kache Kitties

By the time I reached South Boston, the sun was setting, and the view was pretty spectacular from the highway. I managed a couple of pictures, though as usual, they don't adequately capture the sheer vista and range of colors.

 

Sales-wise, this was one of the best AuthorCons I've had, and despite Kimberly's absence, I had an all-around excellent time. I got to hang with so many good friends, a few of whom I've not seen in a very long time, and I also met a bunch of great folks I didn't already know. It goes without saying that I plan to attend the next one, and I hope very much that, next time, Brugger will be along to do the heavy lifting.

 

Of course, AuthorCon is great for bookselling, networking, and having fun, though its true mission is to support the Scares That Care! volunteer charity. To date, the charity has raised and donated over a half-million dollars to organizations and families with a child affected by illness, burns, or women fighting breast cancer. So, supporting the con directly helps individuals in dire need. In fact, thanks to the generosity of so many creative individuals, Scares That Care! was able to present a check for $10,000 to this year's breast cancer survivor, Mindy Rhone, at the convention.

 

Till later, all my fiends and neighbors.

Scares That Care! presents a $10,000 check to the 2026 breast cancer nominee, Mindy Rhone

A Book Release Without a Book

Friend and fellow author, Richard Dansky, from Durham, NC, has a new novel release (Ghosts of Smoke and Flame), so last evening, he had a book release party at Bond Brothers Beer Co. in Cary, NC. Brugger and I decided to attend the event, and since Cary's a good couple of hours from here, we made a day of it in the Raleigh-Durham area. We left Martinsville shortly after noon, grabbed a couple of geocaches, and stopped for a late lunch at Ted's Montana Grill in Durham, which has long been one of my favorite dining destinations when I've been geocaching out that way. Ted's has bison. Lots and lots of delicious bison. So, yes, I had a bison burger. Brugger, however, is not so enamored of bison and had a beef burger. But she loved it, and that's what counts.

She had some shopping to do, so I dropped her off at Streets at Southpoint shopping area and went after a number of caches nearby. After all this, we made our way in the direction of Cary and discovered a nice wine bar called Maximillian's, which was very near our destination, so we each had a glass of wine. And from there, it was off to Rich's event.

Only problem was that he had no books! The copies he'd ordered from the publisher had not arrived on time, so we were forced to simply enjoy a party and his company. Heavens, I tell you! Bond Brothers has some very good beer, though I took it pretty easy since I would eventually have to drive us back to Martinsville. We had a really fine time all around, and Rich will surely have copies at Scares That Care AuthorCon VI next week, where we'll be doing readings together. I shall grab a copy then.

 

We snagged a late, light dinner at Scratch Kitchen & Taproom, right around the corner from Rich's party, which was enjoyable; worth a return whenever we night be in the area again. 

 

You can order Richard Dansky's Ghosts of Smoke and Flame here. And if you're planning to be at AuthorCon VI, I hope to see you!

Coming Soon — AuthorCon VI in Willamsburg

It's less than two weeks to Scares That Care: AuthorCon VI in Williamsburg, VA, and I'll be there with a passel of scary, fun, cosmic goodies, including The House at Black Tooth Pond, Blue Devil Island, Gods of Moab, and many others. This year, I'll be set up in the main ballroom. I'll also be on a handful of panels and doing a reading with Richard Dansky. Here is my schedule:

 

Friday, February 27
7:30 p.m.–8:30 p.m., Cosmic Horror 2026, with Ben Farthing, Amanda Headlee, Thomas R. Clark, Todd Keisling, Mary SanGiovanni, and Tommy B. Smith (2nd Floor, Room 18)

 

Saturday, February 28
11:00 a.m.–11:45 a.m., Reading with Richard Dansky (Second Floor, Room 1)

12:00 p.m.–1:00 p.m., Folk Horror, with Jonathan Gensler, Jennifer McMahon, Thomas R. Clark, Tony Evans, and Bitter Karella (Second Floor, Room 17)

 

Sunday, March 1
12:00 p.m.–1:00 p.m., Vintage Paperbacks, with Sidney Williams, Mark Sieber, Phrique, Jason Cavallaro, Craig Brownlie, and Bitter Karella (Second Floor, Room 18)

 

I can't wait to see bunches and bunches of you there!

A DISTURBANCE OF SHADOWS: From Creepy to Creepier

Sidney Williams' newest novel, a fairly short one titled A Disturbance of Shadows, begins on an intriguing note: Bryn and Reyes, on a trip to investigate a ghostly legend for their paranormal podcast, end up with their vehicle disabled, are found by a man who appears genuinely helpful, and are led to Lovegrove Farm, where help appears imminent. However, the house itself has a haunted history, which involves Aleister Crowley, so they turn their efforts from their original story to the house. As things begin to turn truly weird, it becomes clear they may have bitten off more than they can chew.

Sidney Williams has an engaging authorial voice, and I loved following the characters as they make their way down increasingly intriguing—and menacing—corridors. We have some quirky (and a few dangerous) characters, a smattering of genuine surprises, and a powerful climax. A Disturbance of Shadows is a solid, well-crafted story, and I quite enjoyed it. My only real caveat is that the text is typo-heavy, occasionally enough to distract me from the narrative. Cleaning those up would help the reading flow.

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A Disturbance of Shadows by
Sidney Williams at Amazon.com

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Do or Do Not. There Is no Try.

Neither Brugger nor I feel any great affinity for Valentine's Day, but we do enjoy it as an annual opportunity for a night out that we probably wouldn't bother with otherwise. I know, really romantic, right? This isn't to say we haven't had some superb Valentine's outings in years past; we certainly have, such as at GIA and Imperial Koi in Greensboro, The Celtic Fringe in Reidsville, The Third Bay in Martinsville, and many others. (We've had our share of miserable ones as well, such as in 2020, when a seriously impaired young man—who has since died, evidently of a drug overdose—smashed into my car.) We opted to stay local last night, so we made reservations at TAD Tavern here, which has been around for a couple of years, and we've visited it on a few prior occasions.

 

I cannot tell you how much we want to love TAD Tavern. It's one of the few reasonably upscale restaurants in town, the atmosphere in the place is lovely, and we've had good food there. Unfortunately, on every one of our visits, we've had issues ranging from serious staffing shortages, unavailable menu and drink items, and an only sporadically manned bar. We pretty much expected not to have a zippy dinner last night because it was quite crowded, but sadly, all three of the above issues raised their ugly heads, which really took some of the zip out of our experience.

 

It took 30 minutes after being seated to get a couple of glasses of water, 45 minutes after ordering to receive our bar drinks (they did not even have the fixings—gin & vermouth—to make a martini), and 90 minutes to get food (we'd kept our order simple, realizing it might be a very long night—chicken tenders for both of us). I know the servers were trying hard, but they were hopelessly inadequate to handle the crowd. Since TAD Tavern promoted the hell out of their Valentine's night dinner, we'd really hoped that the place would finally come through with flying colors. Alas.

All that said, the food was very good, and this experience beat the hell out of having your car smashed for Valentine's Day. Still, given the fact that after a couple of years, the issues we've dealt with in the past have not improved (quite the contrary), I can't help but fear that TAD Tavern will be unable to fulfill their promise of becoming a top-notch restaurant. Trust me, I want to be proven wrong, and we may yet give them one more chance. I know they're trying, but as a certain Jedi knight once said, "Do or do not. There is no try."

 

Cmon, guys—let's DO. 

Be Wiched to Save the Day

This morning, the timer on the coffeemaker was one minute from going off when — ZZZZT! POW! — out goes the power. We're having major winds, with gusts up to 55 mph, and they hit us early.

If you've had the misfortune of experiencing morning Mark before he's had coffee, you are aware that this is a horrid state of affairs. After several hours in this state, we hauled ourselves into town and found coffee, plus a really fine breakfast, at Be Wiched, in Uptown Martinsville. Thus, I am marginally alive again. Be Wiched owner Kathy Kitzmiller also owns a brand-new boutique — The 9th House — and today was its grand opening. There were mimosas and other treats, so Brugger was ecstatic about finding such a cool place in town.

Happily, we made the best of an increasingly uncomfortable situation, and the power came back on a short time ago. It's freezing out there, and it was getting that way inside. So, we're hoping the wind dies down, and we don't go dark again tonight. Temp is supposed to be 13° F, with a wind chill below 0°.

Ironically, we're about to have a generator installed, but alas, too late to help us this go-around.

 

Last night, though, was an enjoyable time. Lately, we've been spending Friday afternoons at Hamlet Kitchen, right up the street from us. They have a good selection of their own wines, and some decent food you can get for take-out. Last night, we spent an enjoyable couple of hours with some wine. Our regular hostess brought us a couple of glasses with "personalized" napkins — a party theme for Brugger (naturally!) and a semi-humorous Hemingway quote for me (even more naturally!). For afters, we watched Alien: Covenant, which really isn't a favorite, but we've been watching others in the Alien franchise, so we figured we otter.

 

In the immortal words of the late, great Dr. Franklin Ruehl, it was better than a slap in the belly with a wet trout.

Sylvan County's Voice of Love, Wisdom, and What All

Know what? I feel compelled to inflict this on you. When we were kids, my brother and I made tape recordings of a little fictitious radio station, WDUM, and on it, we did a show called "Mother Bell" which consisted primarily of prank phone calls. It occurred to me the other day that I should include Mother Bell as a podcast in the sequel to The House at Black Tooth Pond, tentatively titled Broken Barriers.. Prepare to be inflicted upon.

The Mother Bell Podcast
Sylvan County’s Voice of Wisdom, Love, and What All

Hello, children! This is Mother Bell, back with you on a chilly Sunday evening, hoping that come tomorrow, you survive your daring leap back into the workweek. I myself have had the loveliest weekend, and I trust you did too. My son, Scott, and his wife, Bethany, and my two grandchildren, Johnny and Mary Lynn, visited me yesterday, and I can’t tell you what it means to me that they give so freely of their time and energy in my old age. Without them, I could not get by. Oh no, I could not! And I know, many of my friends and neighbors are envious of this, and even some of you, too. But that’s okay. Y’all just envy away. Someday or another, everybody’s gonna get what’s coming to ’em.

Speaking of, whatever is coming, ain’t nobody knows, but I’m here to tell you things here in our town are spooky. It’s like, not so long ago, all these people from here vanished under 'mysterious circumstances.' So, what about our good ol’ sheriff, huh? Well, he and his people did their investigation stuff and such for a while, and then...they up and threw up their hands. Well, that’s what I heard. Then the FBI comes along, and they do their FBI stuff and such, and then they throw up their hands and go away.

I ask you, children, what is going on here?

Imma let you in on a secret. A lot of y’all know that I live up on Copper Peak, and in my lifetime, I have seen devils flying around up here. These are real, true devils, not just bad people who’ve never had the Lord in their hearts. I know, nowadays, we prefer to think that the devil is nothing more than the evil that human beings do, but I’m here to tell you, it’s not like that. These are the most frightening things you could ever imagine, and sometimes you can even smell ’em. Sometimes, that’s the only way to know they’re nearby.

And listen. They’re not just up on Copper Peak. Oh, no, they’re all around in this old, old part of the country, lurking and skulking in the dark shadows.

So, I’m telling you, children, keep the Lord in your hearts and be vigilant. Be careful of these devils. If you see them, they may well see you. And if they do, you’d better be wearing the Lord’s armor, else they may not pass you by. I keep my armor on day and night, and I surely do thank the Lord every day for His protection and His mercy.

We gonna talk more about this in a bit, but right now, I’m gonna put on one of my all-time favorite praiseful songs, “This Is the Day That the Lord Has Made,” sung by the incomparable Mr. Fillmore Skillman, for you to contemplate and enjoy. And while I’m gone, let it be known, like I always tell you: you won’t see me, but Imma see you, because I’m gonna be around, children. So, bye-bye for now, and I’ll be back in five.

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"It's Pitch White Outside!"

Our solar lights are wearing little Cossack hats

Indeed, in the immortal words of The Peanuts' Linus Van Pelt, "It's pitch white outside!" While last week's winter storm didn't bring much snow, it left a two-inch-thick sheet of ice all over everything, and almost none of it has melted. Currently, at just past noon, we've got about six inches of the white stuff on top of the ice, and it's still coming down hard. I reckon we're gonna be holed up here until the temperatures rise sometime next week.

 

Yesterday afternoon, before the snowfall began in earnest, Brugger and I went out in her car (mine has been garage-bound since the ice storm and probably will be for a good many more days) to run some necessary errands and have a couple of glasses of wine at nearby Hamlet Kitchen. It was nice to have a brief spell out and about before we're completely snowbound—and, to our surprise—our friend Yvonne popped in and had some wine with us. Back home, we again had to park Brugger's car at the bottom of the driveway, since it was still a solid sheet of ice, and unfortunately, on the way up to the house, I took a spill and banged up one knee pretty good. I'm fine, if a little ornery; mostly, I'm glad our neighbors weren't out to witness the brief comedy sketch (though they might have heard some colorful descriptors of the situation wafting skyward).

 

As with last week's storm, I very much hope we don't lose power, as there won't be any quick fixes under these conditions. The snow itself is just fine powder, and there are no cars out there—at least not nearby—likely to knock out any power poles. I'm X'ing all my appendages.

 

Till laters.

Solar light starbursts last night before the snow covered them over. Below, some photos
Brugger took of the white outdoors and a couple of pics after dark

Forty Years Gone — Space Shuttle Challenger

I'm remembering the loss of the Space Shuttle Challenger and its crew, 40 years ago today. I lived in Chicago at the time and was at work when the news broke. A bunch of us had gathered in the hall outside my office, all feeling shocked and empty, when my boss came up to see what was going on. When we told him, he said, "That's a shame, but it's not important right now, so get back to work."

I've always hoped it didn't take him long to realize this actually was important. At the time, I felt somehow traumatized, and I think that was because teacher Christa McAuliffe was on board, and teachers have always been special heroes to me. It made this kind of personal, above and beyond the horror of the actual explosion and fatalities.

Later that day, I watched the videos of the event over and over, and I broke down and cried — quite a bit. I've lived through many national tragedies, but this was the first that I was old enough to understand its depth and ramifications. And to this day, the images of that day haunt me more than any other, save those from 9/11.

Not Exactly a Snowpocalypse

Saturday night ice accumulating on the paved surfaces

The weather reports for the weekend were all pretty dire, and some places did get hit hard with snow, ice, and wind. What we got was mostly sleet and light snow, which, now that it's over with, has formed a dangerously hard and slippery sheet of ice. At this point, at least, most of the roads are clear enough to travel. Our driveway, however, is a different story. At least an inch of ice has rendered it completely unusable. Last night, I managed to get the trash can down to the street so the trash would get picked up this morning. This morning, though, I could not get the can back up the driveway. Every time I set foot on the ice, I'd slide down the incline back toward the street. Fortunately, I'd thought to bring my hiking stick with a sharp tip, so using it, I was finally able to get over the worst of the hump and back to the house. I'd actually feared for a bit there that I literally couldn't make it up the sheet of ice. 

 

Happily, Brugger made it safely home this afternoon from her (extra-long) weekend retreat in Asheville, NC. She didn't encounter any problems on the road until she arrived in town—and at our driveway. She managed to get the car just a few feet in, enough so that it's not hanging out on the street. I wouldn't go leaning on it, though, else it might go sliding.

 

During Ms. B.'s absence, the cats and I managed pretty well. I got in a lot of writing, a few movies, some strenuous exercise, and an argument on Facebook that prompted me to boot someone of my acquaintance from our Greensboro days. This was a person I'd known in the flesh for several years, and despite the fact she's a pretty hardcore conservative, we generally managed to get along. However, on more than one occasion, I would put considerable thought into a diplomatic and 100% factual response to some of her blathering, but then things would go south from there. So, yesterday, after just such a post of mine, she goes and puts up one of the most blatantly false articles in existence about the "lies of the left" regarding the killings of Renee Good and Alex Pritti. I confess I really lost my temper in a PM to her, and I'm not proud of that; however, after the horrific events of the past couple of weeks, and the worse-than-egregious lies from the "administration" (i.e., these people were domestic terrorists and intended to harm agents involved in an official operation), I am over and done with those blatant lies and those who either swallow or propagate them. At the end of the day, I am better off without her half-brained "reasoning" to rile me, and she's better off without having to suffer my temper.

C'est la vie.

 

Anyway, I am intensely thankful that the big storm wasn't the nightmare it originally portended. More than anything, though, I am glad that Ms. B. is back home. Hopefully, tomorrow, some of that ice will start melting.

Sunday morning white stuff — a wee soupçon

A sneaky mountain lion looking to steal my breakfast

EARLY KAIJU FANDOM #5 — JFFJ

A few years ago, Bradford Grant Boyle, the second editor/publisher of the fanzine, Japanese Giants (which I originated in 1974 and published one whopping issue), began compiling a number of massive volumes, titled Early Kaiju Fandom, featuring reprints of the full runs of almost every kaiju-themed fanzine published in the 1970s (and some beyond). My late, lamented friend and mentor, Greg Shoemaker, kicked off the daikaiju fanzine craze in the US in 1968 with his long-running classic, The Japanese Fantasy Film Journal. JFFJ ran until 1985, starting as a 16-page, ditto-printed solo effort and ending as a fully pro-quality, highly respected fixture in fan publishing. Greg died in 2019, but he had provided an informative interview about JFFJ for fan Brett Homenick's Vantage Point Interviews, which you may read here.

And now, with Early Kaiju Fandom Volume 5, Bradford Grant Boyle compiles all 15 issues of The Japanese Fantasy Film Journalin a massive, 600-page tome. The volume also includes interviews, photographs, and essays by participants in early kaiju fandom, documenting how films, information, and discussion circulated in the pre-internet era. This has been a year-long effort for Mr. Boyle, and I expect this massive volume will become a landmark in the world of kaiju fandom.

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Order Early Kaiju Fandom Volume 5 Here

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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 (titled Broken Barriers)...

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.