E-burst

The western sky at dusk, viewed from U.S. Hwy. 58, just east of Martinsville, VA, 6-29-12

When I left work at 4:30 PM yesterday afternoon, it was 105 degrees in the shade. I didn't let that alter my plans to head to Danville, VA, to get in some geocaching, and then go over to Martinsville to visit Mum. First stop was Angler's Park, just east of Danville, where I put in about a mile hike and claimed a handful of caches. Yes, I took plenty of water. Hit the road to grab a few more, only to end up at the Corner Cafe in Ringgold, VA, where I went for the fabulous Friday night meatloaf special. Proprietor and fellow geocacher Keith McCoy was on hand, so we sat and yakked geocaching for a good while; then I left to make my way toward Martinsville.

The air was unbelievably humid and still, the sunset fiery and gorgeous. The weather report came on the local radio station, indicating record-breaking heat, of course, and partly cloudy skies, with only a minimal chance of scattered thunderstorms. However, not three minutes later, here comes a severe weather warning for the entire listening area, alerting us to impending violent thunderstorms and damaging winds.

Sure enough.

I arrived at Mum's just after dark and had just made a martini when I noticed the wind picking up outside; only a minute or so later, the power went out. I stepped out to the front porch and was promptly just about blown right back in. Now, every few years, a hurricane will move this far inland and hit us with some severe weather, but I don't think any hurricane I've experienced has brought winds like those that blew through town last night — at least not when I've been out in them. (This morning's Roanoke newspaper put the gusts in excess of 80 miles per hour.) There was thunder and lightning aplenty, but not a drop of rain. Mum lives in a very wooded area, and I could hear trees cracking and falling, and a couple came down with such force I thought I was hearing explosions. The energy burst lasted only a few minutes — certainly less than half an hour — and we were lucky, as no trees crashed down on the house or on my car, which was parked in the driveway.

With no air conditioning, it was a right warm night, and when I woke up at 8:00 this morning, the power was still off. I decided to go out and try to find some coffee, since I obviously wasn't going to be making any at home. I knew the winds would have done some damage, but holy Moses....

The first thing I encountered was power lines down across the road, only a quarter mile from Mum's house. Next, I saw huge trees lying in yards, branches across the roads, more lines hanging from splintered telephone poles. I essentially took a tour of the entire town of Martinsville, and there was no electricity, anywhere. Once I reached Collinsville, a few miles north, there was power — and a regular stampede of human beings looking for food, gas, water, groceries, you name it. I managed to get into McDonald's to grab coffee and some breakfast, and to their credit, they were moving the massive line through at express speed. Would that they were always so efficient!

On my way home, it finally occurred to me to take a few pictures. The worst damage I saw was a massive, 200-foot-tall tree that had crashed down on a beautiful house on Mulberry Road, but the owners asked me not to take any photographs, and I respected their wishes. The entire time I was out and about, I didn't see a single utility truck. Apparently, a large part of southwestern Virginia got hit hard, and no doubt electrical crews are taxed to the limit. The Martinsville Bulletin website has not been updated since yesterday — no doubt because they have no electricity — but I imagine it will have significant news about the storm when power is restored, which may be quite some time yet.

Addendum: The tree in question in the paragraph above: Storm damage

I headed on back to Greensboro this afternoon, after once again getting in some hiking in Danville, which appeared to have suffered considerably less damage than Martinsville. I hope I sweated off last night's meatloaf and this morning's McDonald's crap. And though my house is hotter'n hades, even with the air conditioning on, I count myself quite lucky not to have been adversely affected beyond a bit of discomfort. Quite a few folks in Martinsville — and elsewhere in southwestern Virginia — clearly were not so fortunate.

Click on the images to enlarge.

The temperature on my car thermometer at 4:30 p.m. A couple of hours earlier, it had been even hotter.

Power lines down on Indian Trail, in Martinsville

One of the big old trees that came down on Mulberry Road

The most common sight around town — big tree limbs down in people's yards.

Danville didn't get it as badly, but there were a number of trees down on the Riverwalk Trail this morning.

HorrorWorld v. Moab

"After devouring The Gods of Moab in one short sitting, this novella has not only has become my favorite work by the author, it has become one of my favorite reads of the year. Rainey balances his supernatural frights with the natural, and it works beautifully. From the first page to its mind-bending final sentences, The Gods of Moab will have readers wide-eyed and enthralled." So writes HorrorWorld's reviewer, TTZuma, of my recent novella. Very gratifying to see that, in general, Moab is doing its part to satisfy some horror cravings. Read the whole review here.

And on that note, be advised that The Gods of Moab Contest ends this coming Saturday night (6/30) at midnight. Three (un)lucky winners will receive their just comeuppance, in the form of these prizes — an autographed copy of Blue Devil Island (trade paperback, Marietta Books), an autographed copy of Legends of the Night (trade paperback, Wildside Books), and a CD of Dark Shadows: Curse of the Pharaoh, which stars original Dark Shadows cast members Nancy Barrett and Marie Wallace. Pick up The Gods of Moab for your Kindle at Amazon.com for only $2.99. You could do worse for the price of a beer.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

An opulent spread at Volcano Hibachi & Sushi Restaurant in Elizabeth City, NC

Note that these pics are in no particular order. I'd hate to hurt anyone's feelings, particularly the sushi's. Anyhoo, this past weekend has been one of those that is really special to me because so many of my favorite people/places/things/experiences have all been rolled up into one.

David Niall Wilson — writer, editor, publisher, proprietor of Crossroad Press — has probably been my best friend in the wacky world of writing and publishing since the late 1980s. I published his short story, "From My Reflection, Darkly" — in Deathrealm #13, I believe — and after that, his work became something of a staple in the magazine. We met face-to-face for the first time at Necon (I suspect it was back in 1988), and from that time on, we started getting together regularly, whether it be at cons or at our respective residences. Over the years, we've shared a lot of experiences, creative energy, writing (we collaborated on a tale or two; see Joined at the Muse for a horrific example), and some significant life changes (i.e., divorce, re-marriages, re-relationships, etc.). It's been over three years since we've seen each other, and that's the longest time between visits since we first became acquainted. Those big life changes get in the way, don't you know....

After work on Friday, Brugger and I set out for Elizabeth City, only to encounter some of the biggest, most violent storms shy of a hurricane that I've seen in quite some time. Consequently, driving was not fun, and geocaching was minimal. It seemed a bad omen, though I don't think either of us allowed the inclement weather to significantly dampen our spirits. Happily, we made it safe and sound to Stately Wilson Manor — but a different Stately Wilson Manor than I was accustomed to, for the last time I ventured in this direction, the Wilson folk lived in a historical, haunted mansion in the little town of Hertford. Not anymore. In this new place, it appeared, the only ghosts we'd find would be the ones the Wilsons brought with them (which, granted, could be plenty...).

Brugger had never met Clan Wilson before, so I suspect there was some nervousness involved (see photo of said clan below and tell me you wouldn't be fucking freaked). Immediately upon our arrival, though, drinks and conversation began to flow, and I don't think anyone felt under immediate bodily threat. Yap went on till the wee hours, until crashing and burning up and interrupted our revelry. Saturday morning, in its own inimitable way, greeted us with superb Keurig coffee and some delicious crap from McDonalds. There was caching (yay!). Then... Mystery Men! I had seen this 1999 superhero bonanza exactly one time — at Stately Wilson Manor — many years before, but it seemed only proper that we introduce Brugger to the fun. For us, this movie was number one. (Everything else is number two, or lower.)

Major highlight: sushi and sashimi combination dinner from Volcano Hibachi and Sushi Restaurant in Elizabeth City. Oh, but gracious, the presentation was purty (see above) and every bit as delicious. The sake martini was most appealing: vodka, gin, and sake with a slice of cucumber. A little too cloying to have more than one but enjoyable the first time. I noticed some negative comments about the price and quality of the sushi in various restaurant reviews, but I had absolutely no issue with the dead fish — I mean, it really is dead, if only just — and the price was no better or worse than any comparable local place. I rate it as decent indeed. After dinner... more movies, in this case, some old black-and-white thrillers, including Crimes at the Dark House (awesomely bad fun from 1940) The Long Hair of Death (mostly dullness but featuring a hot Barbara Steele from 1964), and The Incredible Petrified World, from 1957, starring John Carradine, which finally sent most of us snoring. The best thing I can say about the latter film is that I discovered what I suspect is the origin of the stock military march music used in the American version of War of the Gargantuas.

I always feel a bit sad on the last day of a fabulous visit, and this morning was no different. We all headed out for a final meal together at The Circle Restaurant, which was tasty, if not exactly zippy in the service department. Dave found himself confronting this giant hot dog that could have stomped Coney Island to smithereens. Finally, Brugger and I set out for home, this time sans rain but with high temperatures and high humidity, making for some particularly sweaty geocaching. However, we stopped at Dairy Queen in Rocky Mount for sundaes and blizzards, and once again, all was right with the world.

Now, I'm all creatively recharged and have a new novel bursting to get out. Dave and I tend to be good for each other that way. Well, I get the novel; he gets charged. I'd say that's okay by me. Hah!

Clan Wilson: Zane, Zack, Stephanie, Katie, Bluto, and Trish

Brugger (supporting a tree stump that was falling down on the job)

Damned Rodan's backside at "Guarding a KISS" (GC39QJV)

The Bermuda Depths

One of my little pleasures in life is revisiting some of the scary TV movies from the 1970s. For the most part, they weren't particularly good, but they were often quite creative, sometimes even compelling; some were based on noteworthy works of fiction; and, despite relatively tiny budgets, they frequently showcased some decent acting talent. My favorite of the lot is certainly Something Evil — Steven Spielberg's second directorial effort, circa 1971 — starring Darren McGavin, Sandy Dennis, Johnny Whitaker, Ralph Bellamy, and Jeff Corey. Between 1970 and 1978, there were scads of others that left lasting impressions on me. One of them is The Bermuda Depths (1977), produced by Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass, best remembered for producing Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964); the animated King Kong series (1966–1969) and its companion film, King Kong Escapes (1967, co-produced with Toho Studios); Mad Monster Party (1967); and Santa Claus Is Coming to Town (1970).

The Bermuda Depths is now available on DVD from the Warner Bros. Archive, and of course I had to snap it up. I only saw it on its first airing in 1977 or 1978, and all I really remembered of it were images of a giant sea turtle; an impossibly hot Connie Sellecca; and a vague, haunting quality that lingered more as a general feeling than as a specific memory. Seeing it again after all these years, it's easy to see why. It's a simple yet intriguing tale of a young man named Magnus Dens (Leigh McCloskey) who grew up on the island of Bermuda, met a mysterious young girl named Jennie, raised a newborn sea turtle with her, and lost his parents in an unexplained disaster. Years later, he returns to try to piece together what happened in his youth. He soon finds himself encountering the same girl, now a young adult, (Connie Sellecca). He joins up with an old college friend, Eric (Carl Weathers) and Dr. Paulis (Burl Ives), who are investigating crypto-creatures that reportedly thrive in the Bermuda Triangle. They turn up firm evidence that a gigantic sea turtle exists in the vicinity and set out to hunt the thing; along the way, Magnus becomes convinced that it — or one such monster from the deeps — killed his parents. When he tells Dr. Paulis about encountering Jennie Haniver, the girl he'd met as a child, Paulis tells him there's no such person; "Jennie Haniver" is simply a name made up by sailors for the legendary mermaid that supposedly frequents the local waters. However, Paulis's housekeeper, a native islander, tells Magnus the story of Jennie Haniver, who, in the 18th century, was a beautiful young woman who made a pact with the devil to stay young forever, and anyone who meets her is doomed. Naturally, he believes none of this, yet every time he meets Jennie, she appears and disappears mysteriously. He remembers that, when they were kids, he had etched his and Jennie's initials on their sea turtle's shell. Eventually, out, at sea, Magnus, Eric, and Dr. Paulis find the giant turtle, and Eric wounds it with a powerful harpoon. The beast retaliates by killing Dr. Paulis and Eric. At the end, Jennie saves Magnus, but he resolves to leave the island forever; as he sails away, he drops a necklace Jennie had given him years before into the sea, where we see the giant turtle, with Magnus and Jennie's initials on its shell now revealed.

Like many movies of its time, The Bermuda Depths is a bit slow and ponderous, yet I find this particularly refreshing in light of ubiquitous contemporary films playing at short-attention-span theater. The musical score, by Maury Laws, is particularly emotive, and I'd love it if a soundtrack album were available for this movie. It's oftentimes reminiscent of Robert Cobert's Dark Shadows themes, with swirling, reverberating flutes and punctuating, staccato brass. Rather than playing as eerie and foreboding, most of the music builds a wistful, romantic, occasionally tense mood. It suits the film's tone perfectly, and in fact is one of the reasons the movie has haunted me for so many years.

There's not a whole lot of acting going on in this picture, but this is really not much of a flaw. There are long passages of no dialogue whatsoever, leaving the music and imagery to propel the story. Magnus Dens is not your usual TV movie protagonist. He's moody, troubled, and, despite his tragic past, not particularly sympathetic. Burl Ives provides a sincere but vain attempt at gravitas; you just can't do much with lines like, "Magnus, you're a scientist... but you're also a human being." Regardless, it's kind of wrenching when Ives's character meets his end. I mean, that's the dude who voiced the kindly snowman in Rudolph; you're really not supposed to go killing him. Ah, well, writers do what writers must, right? And really, it was for the best. A very young Carl Weathers is a little too exuberant as the intern marine biologist. As Magnus's only real friend, he tries very hard to convince us that some warmth exists in the relationship, since Magnus doesn't exactly have a lot in him, but it never does happen — though at the end, I did believe, whole-heartedly, that Magnus was all about saving Eric from certain death. Alas, too little, too late....

As I mentioned earlier, my most vivid recollection of this movie from my teenage years was Connie Sellecca all hotter than hot. Truly, in this film, she is the most beautiful woman on Earth, and with one look, she effectively conveys both innocence and self-destructive vanity. She's the perfect actress to play the part of a doomed, beautiful woman willing to sell her soul for eternal youth. She doesn't have a lot of lines, and they're not necessary. Her body language is perfect, so to speak....

The Warner Archives DVD is bare-bones, but the print is decent, and after all these years, I'm ecstatic to have this thing in my eager little paws. Also on the way is the Rankin/Bass Production, The Last Dinosaur, starring Richard Boone. I remember it being entertaining as all get-out, despite the very sad absence of Connie Sellecca from any of its frames....

 

 

The Deeps

Okay, not "the deeps," as in Bradbury's "The Foghorn"; more as in "Let's grab a geocache down in a big honking drain pipe!" For me — Damned Rodan, geocacher — such places are commonplace settings these days, so I'm really glad I'm not utterly freaked out by giant freaking rat bastard hairy ugly vile beastly monster man-eating spiders... at least, not the way I used to be, or some caches I would just put on my ignore list (and really, most caches I consider very good friends of mine). Yesterday, I found myself underground again — not far — but absolutely surrounded by these big old Wolf Spiders. There was a time — even as recently as a three or four years ago — I would have been utterly paralyzed with terror. I shit you not, pee-in-your-pants, speaking-in-weird-obscene-tongues horrified scared. I suspect it all goes back to the time that, as a five-year-old, there or about, I was playing under the back porch at home, and a grandaddy longlegs the size of Sheboygan dropped down on me and started prancing about. I was, I must tell you, unenthused. To the point of screaming bloody murder unenthused. Ever since then, arachnophobia has been a very real, very intense issue for me. As I've come to find over the years, though, geocaching is handy as hell for conquering old fears. Hang around with giant freaking rat bastard hairy ugly vile beastly monster man-eating spiders long enough, and you kind of begin to take them in stride. (Mind you, hopefully not too much in stride.)

Anyway, if you have phobias you'd like to undo... my advice is to take up geocaching and go after a few challenging hides. Then make a habit of it.

It works for acrophobia, too. More on that one later.

PROMETHEUS: An Engineering Marvel

It's a bit of a mess, Prometheus, but it's an exciting, visually stunning, and ultimately satisfying mess. I was a fan of Ridley Scott's Alien from day one (a bunch of us in Chicago saw it three times on opening day in 1979) and damn near as much a fan of James Cameron's Aliens (1986). The subsequent films in the franchise went downhill and finally over the cliff, but those first two entries set an impressive benchmark for science fiction films for the next few decades. It's possible that Prometheus, at least in the spectacle department, has bumped it up another notch. Now, while this movie ostensibly ventures beyond technical excellence and delves into meaningful, universal themes — such as the origin of our species and the mystical and religious beliefs that have pervaded our various cultures since the beginning of time — it's not fooling anyone. Prometheus, like Alien before it, is a big old B-picture in extravagant garb.

In the late 21st century, scientists Elizabeth Shaw (Noomi Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green) discover that virtually every ancient civilization on Earth has left a record of having encountered oversized humanoid beings from a specific cluster of stars. Sponsored by billionaire Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce), who, for his own reasons, desires to learn the ultimate answers, Shaw and Holloway venture spaceward in the Weyland Corporation's spaceship Prometheus. Along for the ride, we have some 15 crew members and scientists, plus a prototype android — Weyland's brainchild — named David (Michael Fassbender). Overseeing corporate interests on the mission is the lovely but icy Meredith Vickers (Charlize Theron), whose authority is constantly at odds with the exuberant scientists and crusty captain Janek (Idris Elba), all of whom have their own priorities for the mission. Once Prometheus arrives at the planet where Everything Evidently Began, the exploration of where we came from begins in earnest. The elder race, whom the scientists call "The Engineers," have apparently left some serious evidence about just what they were up to way back when, and — as we in the audience have all been figuring (and hoping) — it isn't terribly benign.

The epithet "Engineers" basically says it all, especially as it relates to the origin of our favorite aliens. For a time, in fact, the film appears to be revealing events that directly precede the original Alien; however, as the plot unfolds, the connection between the two films becomes less direct, and I think this may be for the better. Prometheus works as well as it does because it exists as more than just a prequel, which cannot be said of the recent prequel to John Carpenter's The Thing, to which Prometheus actually pays subtle homage. In fact, at the very end of the film, the not-so-subtle suggestion of the Aliens' genesis proves superfluous, if not actually detrimental to the picture. If a direct link is necessary, there are umpteen better ways one could be made.

The film's focus, like Alien before it, is fear of the darkness. Of the unknown that lurks within it. Though graphically much more explicit than its forebears, Prometheus successfully generates dread of what's out there because, even when you've seen the "out there" up close and personal, you don't know whether you've seen it all — much as in The Thing — or even a representative sample of it. The big questions, all that philosophical stuff that might have been meaningful to the characters, these things don't mean squat to us; we're busy ducking and covering because the fuckers on the screen are bloody lethal. And we pretty much believe in them. For that couple of hours in the theater, I sure as shit believed in them.

Some movies invite you to pick them apart, chew them up, and spit them out. A few weeks ago, Dark Shadows offered me an engraved invitation to question it, deconstruct it, and show it no mercy. Prometheus, by all rights, should have offered me the same invitation, and if I felt it worth my time, I could rip it apart and be downright happy about it — especially when it comes to the department of supposedly intelligent people doing bonehead things — yet, perhaps oddly, I feel no such compulsion. Unlike Dark Shadows, I never felt that Prometheus was insulting my intelligence. It may toy with thoughtful, imaginative concepts and do little with them, but it never sets up any real expectation that it's going to do more than that. Happily, it forgoes political sermonizing, à la Avatar. It's about the critters. Those nasty, beautiful, monstrous critters. I scratch my head over reviewers scratching their head about what this film actually means. Really, seriously?

None of the characters stand out as particularly deep or distinctive. Even the relatively unspectacular crew of the Nostromo kept us engaged with constant, witty banter. Not so much in Prometheus, though I couldn't help but appreciate one brief, sexually charged encounter between Captain Janek and Ms. Vickers, as well as the crew's display of loyalty to Janek at the film's climax. Scientists Shaw and Holloway, whom we see at closer range than most of the others, are far from pointless but don't give us much to identify with. David, the nonhuman, is easily the most entertaining personality in the film. Excellently portrayed by Michael Fassbender, David is an amalgamation of Alien's Ash, Star Trek: The Next Generation's Lt. Cdr. Data, and 2001's HAL 9000. David models his appearance and mannerisms after Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia, a film he is apparently fond of. The fact that the eccentric Weyland created David for his own selfish reasons tells us all we need to know about his raison d'être. The playing out of David's drama is probably the most satisfying of all the characters in the film.

Prometheus is a catalog of cinematic flaws, but a near-masterpiece of visual and emotional excitement. I'd love to catch it again at the theater, and I expect it'll be a keeper when it comes out on DVD — as much for Charlize Theron in her black catsuit as the incredible special effects. For those who just don't get it... you have my sympathies.

Better Places

I'm quite certain I heard the big black tree say to the little one next to it, "I AM YOUR FATHER."

A nice evening with Kimberly in Martinsville last night — including an excellent dinner with Mum at The Third Bay Cafe — and a fair bit of hiking and caching in Danville today. We put in a good five miles on the trail, and by the end of the day, I had claimed thirteen caches, bringing my total count to 4,670... at least until tomorrow.

On a sad note, I lost two relatives this week. My uncle Gordon — my late dad's elder brother — passed away on Wednesday, and my great uncle Herbert — my mom's father's last surviving brother — passed away today. In my younger days, I was pretty close with both of them, but I haven't seen either in quite a few years, and from what I understand, Herbert was failing both physically and mentally, to the point he didn't recognize most of the people around him, including my mom when she'd be in touch with him. I do have very fond memories of both of them, but given that both had reached quite advanced ages and lost just about any appreciable quality of life, I believe they're both in a better place.

Uncle Gordon lived in Jacksonville, FL. For most of my childhood years, at Christmastime, the Rainey family would gather in Atlanta at my grandparents' place, and it's those occasions that make up the bulk of my memories of Gordon. He very closely resembled my paternal grandfather, and that resemblance grew more pronounced over the years. I recall on his last visit with my father, who died in 2001, Gordon said, "Whenever I look in the mirror, I see Dad looking back at me." In 1975, I went with my family to Jacksonville to visit Gordon; his wife, Lin; and their son, Gordon III. On that trip, young Gordon, my brother, and I went to see The Land That Time Forgot, which stands out vividly and pleasantly in my memory, and for the first time ever, I discovered the horrible bliss of tearing into a big old Wendy's hamburger. From Jacksonville, we went to Disney World in Orlando, which... rather sadly... I remember being mostly hot and miserable. Obit here: Gordon Rainey, 1928–2012

Herbert, of Gainesville, GA, was an antique car enthusiast, and he had collected a considerable number of them. He owned the 1949 Hudson (as well as its stand-in) that appeared in the 1989 movie, Driving Miss Daisy, which starred Jessica Tandy, Morgan Freeman, and Dan Aykroyd. I remember riding in that car as a youngster, and it was exciting to see it on the big screen those good many years ago. One of the last times I saw Herbert was at his 90th birthday celebration in June 2006 (Monday, June 19, 2006); his 96th would have been next week. Obit here: Herbert Bell, 1916–1912

Here's to better places for all of us.

Uncle Herbert's 1949 Hudson that appeared in the 1989 movie, Driving Miss Daisy.

One of the numerous critters we encountered in the great outdoors today.

Clearly, the birdhouse isn't spacious enough for these two little bluebirds, hanging out at Mum's window.
For them, it's the big house or bust.

The Nightmare Chasm

I'm pretty sure I heard King Kong and a T-rex fussing in the distance.

In the past year, I have written numerous blog entries about what I call "The Bigfoot Trail" (The Great Blue Heron Nursery, Bigfoot's Library, Return to Bigfoot Country). This past week, I've had reason to hike in those woods numerous times, specifically to hide a new geocache. A couple of weeks back, I headed out to the farthest end of the new, as-yet-unfinished hiking/biking trail and placed a cache that I called "The Nightmare Frontier" (GC3KPWD) — yes, after my novel of the same title. Unfortunately, due to an error I made in taking the latitude/longitude coordinates, I had placed it too close to another cache that had already been hidden but not yet published at www.geocaching.com, so I had to move it. Then, because of an oversight on the cache reviewer's part, it was determined that the new location was too close to another as-yet-unpublished hide. So, I hiked out there... again... and placed "The Nightmare Frontier Redux" (GC3MNR6) at another location.

Fortunately, this is a pretty big area of woods — many hundreds of acres, most of it totally unspoiled by human encroachment. Unfortunately, photos such as these can't begin to convey the sheer scale of the landforms out there. I do consider my difficulty getting this cache placed and listed a blessing in disguise, since, at the end of it all, I put in many miles of much-needed hiking and came upon some spectacular terrain, most notably a huge ravine, almost dizzying in its depth and breadth. I would have happily risked placing a cache in one of the more harrowing locations along that ravine (probably out on one of the fallen trees that spanned it) had the site not proven too close to another existing cache. I'm guessing the other cache hiders out there missed this area altogether because I can't imagine finding it and not placing a cache there. I could about envision King Kong, dinosaurs, and giant spiders roaming about this primal and serene area of woods — so close to town yet, for now, virtually devoid of human presence. When the trail is completed, there will certainly be a greater influx of human creatures out there... but, generally speaking, the hikers and bikers in this area are environmentally conscious — geocachers above all — and I anticipate them respecting the pristine character of these woods. One can hope....

Today, one of those caches that had been in the way of "The Nightmare Frontier" — "Creaking Trees" (GC3D7DB) — was published on the geocaching website, so I booked my butt out there bright and early and got first-to-find on the thing. Oh, yeah.

Click on the images to enlarge.

A promontory out on the ravine; the photo doesn't begin to convey the
dizzying height of the narrow passage.

A snakeskin on the bole of massive tree; I looked in vain to make
the acquaintance of the skin's owner.

On the edge of the woods: Bigfoot's outhouse.

THE GODS OF MOAB: A Contest!

You do enjoy being scared silly, don't you? Enter The Gods of Moab Contest for a chance to score some of the scariest crap that ever laid eyes on you!

How to do it: Pick up my e-novella, The Gods of Moab (available for Kindle from Amazon.com for $2.99 — that's less than the price of a decent beer, don't you know!); send me an email (at damnedrodan-at-yahoo.com) to let me know; and I'll send you a question about the story (no two readers will get the same question). Answer correctly, and you'll be in the running to win one of the following: an autographed copy of my acclaimed novel Blue Devil Island; an autographed copy of my fiction collection Legends of the Night; or a CD copy of my very Lovecraftian Dark Shadows audio drama, Curse of the Pharaoh (starring Nancy Barrett and Marie Wallace from the original Dark Shadows television series). Contest ends on June 30, 2012.

"Only a few modern writers understand Lovecraftian fiction. And of those few, only a couple stand out. Mark Rainey is one of those and he writes the most traditional — but no less cosmic — form of this kind of story. I've read very few tales like this one, and Rainey uses kinetic style to great effect! It's a stroke of brilliant writing. Mark Rainey's fiction is a must-have for anyone searching for a good horror story."

—James Robert Smith, author of The Flock, The Clan, and The Living End

 
Order The Gods of Moab for your Kindle from Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0080KF71E/

This Old House

Not many things strike fear in the old dude's heart more than Rob "robgso" Isenhour saying, in reference to one of his new geocache hides, "Aw, it's an easy one." Usually, when he tells me this, I know I'm going to be hunting for quite a while. This one lurks out on the West House Trail, between Lake Townsend and Lake Jeanette. The trail is the shortest of Greensboro's watershed lake trails — less than a mile end to end — and leads to an old brick house, known as (believe it or not) the West House, which was built around 1820, though there's no surviving record of its actual history. Rob's cache, aptly titled "This Old House" (GC3M018), is hidden right at the edge of the meadow where the house stands. Sure enough, the hide took a fair bit of hunting, though, truly, by Rob's standards, it pretty much is "an easy one." The trail, short though it is, passes through some of the most scenic woods around the lakes, and, happily, I got out early enough to avoid the worst of the day's heat... which is beginning to crank up.

Next stop for the day... The Grove Winery. Yay!

Click on the images to enlarge.

(L) The spillway between Lake Townsend and Lake Jeanette
(R) Ground zero. Yep, the cache is in there....

 One of the little fellows sharing the trail with me today.

Music From the Shadows

I've been on a Dark Shadows kick lately, in case that hasn't been obvious to you who who've lurking in dark corners. (I know you're lurking; I've been watching you. While you're here, how about dusting those corners for me, thx.) Big Finish Productions, as you may well know, has released something in the neighborhood of thirty Dark Shadows audio dramas, of which I've written three. A while back, Big Finish compiled the scores from several of the productions (including those I wrote) in two volumes. I finally got around to picking up the first of them, and I must tell you, if you enjoy somber, eerie mood music, then this stuff is absolutely for you. The scores, composed by Nigel Fairs, provide effective ambiance for the audio dramas, but because the music is necessarily muted in favor of the actors' vocal performances, getting a true feel for its depth and quality is difficult. Listening to it all by its lonesome, it seems a whole different creature — oftentimes mesmerizing and occasionally unsettling. Fairs interpolates numerous motifs from Robert Cobert's original Dark Shadows scores, capably creating a sense of continuity with the original show, though, in the overall, his original work is in no way derivative. Several tracks from the various dramas bring to mind the dark, orchestral style of Dead Can Dance or Nox Arcana, which, though departing from the more familiar, minimalist flavor of Cobert's signature themes, still conjure an atmosphere apropos of Dark Shadows. All vanity aside, his score for Curse of the Pharaoh strikes me as the best of his work, at least on this album. It's relentlessly deep and throbbing, highlighted by reverberating choral passages that convincingly conjure haunting images of ancient Egypt.

Unfortunately, at least with the download version, the individual tracks are not identified by name or the story they accompany. I recognize the music from the three that I wrote — The Path of Fate, Curse of the Pharaoh, and Blood Dance — but without track listings, I can't differentiate the scores from The Skin Walkers, The Wicked and the Dead, Echoes of Insanity, Final Judgement, and London's Burning. It would be nice if the cuts were identified on the Big Finish website. Regardless, taken as a whole, this volume is an excellent addition to wealth of music available from Dark Shadows' various incarnations, from the original ABC-TV series of the 60s and 70s to Tim Burton's 2012 feature film, nicely scored by Danny Elfman. I'm more than a little inclined to go ahead and pick up the second volume of the audio drama music, which includes music by David Darlington, Nigel Fairs, and Mike Maclennan.

You can acquire these volumes, as well as the complete range of Dark Shadows audio dramas, from the Big Finish website. They're available on CD as well as via download.

If You Can't Laugh at Yourself...

Damned Drowned Rodan

...God and the rest of the world can. I've a pretty strong feeling that, yesterday afternoon, God was looking down at me, shaking his head, and thinking, "What a dink." Had to do maintenance on one of my caches on the Bigfoot Trail, so, despite the weather forecast calling for scattered thunderstorms, I headed on out there. It's a good mile and a half to ground zero, but I rarely let the threat of rain keep me from a good hike. The closer I got to the cache, the darker the sky got, and — sure enough — the moment I reached my destination, the bottom fell out. I was under the trees, so I only got a moderate soaking as I took care of business. But right about the time I started back toward the trailhead, the lightning started popping. Close. Terrifically close!

Now, my hiking pole is made of metal, which clearly made me a walking lightning rod. I didn't want to just leave it out there because that pole and I have a long and sordid history together (yes, I know how it sounds, so STFU). To make forward progress, I started spear-hurling that pole down the trail, running after it, grabbing it, spear-hurling, etc., etc. I'm sure I heard God laughing his ass off, but... yeah... the pole and I survived. By the time I got back to the car, the skies were clear and sunny. Job done, no death by electrocution, and you, perhaps, get a chuckle. I say go for it.

Ah, Critics

Dark Shadows fandom is a relatively big, organic thing, encompassing several generations, and the new Tim Burton/Johnny Depp movie has brought many an old fan out of the woodwork as well as gathered new ones — though clearly not as many as Warner Brothers hoped, since the first week's box-office numbers came in lower than expected. Regardless, the buzz has been significant, and, having kept up with the reviews, not to mention general fan reaction, there seems to be a pretty even split between those who loved it and those who hated it. Middle ground... not so much. For at least some hardcore fans, messing with the established mythos is something that ought not be done, while others have happily embraced Burton's new imagining. Some, such as me, don't care a whit that the new movie departs significantly from Dan Curtis's original product but find that, as a standalone cinematic work, it doesn't quite cut the mustard.

As with any subject matter that's near and dear to so many hearts (the original Dark Shadows certainly is to mine), enmity between those with opposing points of view is simply to be expected, and on this count my expectations have been fulfilled in Imax and 3D. Now, I've not been made aware of any particular grumbling about my review of the film (Moments of Shadow, May 12, 2012) — and if there is, who the bleep cares? — so I have no personal axe to grind with anyone. Rather, just for shits and giggles, as someone who has been in the trenches of the creative business for quite a few years, I figured I'd express a few thoughts on the subject of criticism, particularly as it applies to Dark Shadows.

Inevitably, in these clashes of like versus dislike, the typical reaction from each side in regard to the other is "what the hell is wrong with you?" To my mind, this is simply shallow thinking — or straight-up immaturity — which thus explains its prevalence (because, face it, deeper thinking hurts). In the case of Dark Shadows, there's a sizable contingent who were so put off by the trailer that they proudly boast they'll never watch the film and evidently find meaning in life by looking down their snoots at those who enjoyed it. However, the most prevalent misconception I've seen, particularly among certain longtime fans, is that if you didn't like the movie and — lord help you — publicly expressed the fact, it's absolutely, positively because you can't abide anyone mucking around with the original property, and maybe you should just shut up because, by criticizing Burton's movie, you're doing grievous harm to the entire franchise and all the people who've ever been associated with it. Now, indeed, there are plenty who do possess this attitude, and while to some extent I understand it, I think in the bigger picture it's misguided.

Whether you liked the film or didn't, if you present a fair case for your way of thinking and don't dismiss out of hand the positions of those who disagree with you, then you have my ear. If you're not interested in having my ear, or someone else's outside your own little choir, then why are you blathering?

Hand in hand with the above, the position that most chaps my ass is the fallacious notion that, if you haven't actually made your own multimillion dollar movie, you can't credibly criticize it; yet, if you do, your words are somehow influential enough to sway the minds of the masses against the movie maker. Let's look at it from a slightly different perspective. You know, I'm not a chef de cuisine, but I've had enough experience with well-made seafood dishes to know when I'm getting an inferior oyster and shrimp creole, even though I've never made it myself. If I publicly state the dish in question wasn't well made, then I'm doing the world a grave disservice, wot? Now, it may be that someone with different tastes will find said creole completely satisfactory, and that's fine, but that's sure as fire not going to dissuade me from voicing my opinion. Chances are, tending to be as objective as possible, I will also find some complimentary things to say about the bits that were done right. In my book, objectivity builds credibility.

Having put numerous novels, a hundred or so short stories, three anthologies, several audio drama scripts, and a long-running fiction magazine out in front of the world, I've had my share of critiques, running the gamut from "This Rainey fellow is some kind of Other God" to "He couldn't write his way out of a wormhole." As a creative person, you take the good with the bad, and it's healthier not to take either too much to heart. If you submit your work for public consumption, you might better expect to be trashed because, believe it or not, there's always someone who will find fault with it. Usually, however good the overall package might be, there are faults to be found. In the end, it doesn't matter how long you've labored, how many dollars you've spent, how much sleep you've lost to put your baby in front of what you hope is a receptive audience. The only thing that matters is whether it works or it doesn't. What works for some may not work for others. The credible critics, the ones who stand out from all the noise, the objective ones, are those who back up their opinions. They ought not be told to shut up, whichever position they take.

Again, this has nothing to do with any specific comments about my personal review; it's just my reaction to some of the general shouting out there. Yessir, Dark Shadows fans can be an emotional bunch. More power to us. But let's some of us not be quite so ugly and shallow. It really is unbecoming.

Dark Shadows: The Labyrinth of Souls

Back when I had more hair, Elizabeth Massie and I co-wrote our first novel together—Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark—for HarperCollins. Since both of us were devout Dark Shadows fans, we had a grand time writing this book. It did well, and things looked promising for contributing future entries to the series. Once Dreams was finished, I immediately took to plotting a new one, titled Dark Shadows: The Labyrinth of Souls, this one overtly taking up the Dark Shadows story where the original ABC-TV series ended in 1971. It featured as the main characters Quentin Collins, Barnabas Collins, Carolyn Stoddard, Julia Hoffman, and a new antagonist, Dr. Maitland Karswell (if you've read a certain pair of stories by Robert Bloch and M.R. James, respectively, you know exactly where that name comes from). I completed a detailed synopsis, wrote the first three chapters for good measure, and packaged it up for HarperCollins. Then... the very next day... Harper dumped its media tie-in division, HarperPrism, and thus went their Dark Shadows novel series.

Sometime later, there were rumblings that Tor might take up the line, and indeed, Tor did pick up Lara Parker's follow-up to Angelique's Descent, titled Dark Shadows: The Salem Branch. At that point, I was pleased enough with the initial work on The Labyrinth of Souls to go full bore and complete the thing, hoping to have a leg up if things went well with Tor. S.E. Hinton (The Outsiders; Rumble Fish; That Was Then, This Is Now) had also written a new Dark Shadows novel, but the publisher declined it, and Ms. Hinton repackaged it as an original, stand-alone book and sold it as Hawkes' Harbor. Tor decided that, as far as Dark Shadows novels went, they'd proceed with Lara's work but weren't interested in looking at other potential entries. So much for that avenue.

At that point, I placed Labyrinth on my website, strictly as fan fiction, one chapter per week, making it a continuing drama, and it picked up a pretty good following. A few years later, Big Finish began producing their series of Dark Shadows audio dramas — I was fortunate enough to script three of them — and they initially took a serious interest in producing Labyrinth of Souls as an audio book. Thus, with that possibility open, I removed the novel from my website. However, within a relatively short span of time, Big Finish's audio series developed its own continuity, and they felt that attempting to shoehorn Labyrinth into it would prove prohibitive. So, yet again, the book fell by the wayside.

Since Dark Shadows fan fiction has been a thriving noncommercial enterprise for many years, and this novel is essentially unsalable in its current form, rather than go the route S.E. Hinton took with Hawkes' Harbor, I am once again offering Dark Shadows: The Labyrinth of Souls on my website, strictly as a work of fan fiction, free of charge. It can be downloaded in PDF or Mobi (Kindle) format. Fair warning: the novel never made it past first-draft stage, so the version you download is the first and only draft. I hereby offer the disclaimer that all characters and settings directly based on the Dark Shadows franchise are owned by Dan Curtis Productions, and that no copyright infringement is intended. The author does not and will not receive any remuneration for this work. That said, you may find this monster on my website's freebie page: Dark Shadows: The Labyrinth of Souls by Stephen Mark Rainey

Trail of Dark Shadows

The hollow between Sam Lions and Cherokee Trails, in Martinsville, VA — the beginning
of the Trail of Dark Shadows

That's what I used to call it — the old trail through the woods near Lake Lanier in Martinsville, VA, between Sam Lions and Cherokee Trails. As a youngster in the 1960s, back when Dark Shadows was in its heyday, I found those woods creepy because I was convinced they were inhabited by witches, warlocks, werewolves, and vampires. The trail ran behind my friend Frank's house, and he was the one kid in the neighborhood whose family had cable, which meant we could watch Dark Shadows at his house. (I took every opportunity to invite myself over there so we could be scared in the afternoon.) On occasion, we'd go back into the woods near dark, and there was a particular portion of the trail where, in my mind's eye, I could just see Barnabas Collins, vampire, standing there watching me as the sun went down. It was deliciously chilling.

Ever since then, to me, the trail has been known as the Trail of Dark Shadows. That portion of it in the photo to the left — just beyond the carpet of ferns — is where I often used to envision Barnabas standing. Those flights of imagination were so vivid that my brain can scarcely separate them from memories of actual events.

Beyond the Dark Shadows connection, I've had a near life-long history with that trail, and it's still one of my favorite places to go walking. Today, being Mummy's Day, I trekked up to Martinsville to visit Mum, and during the late afternoon, I went out for a little hike on the trail, as it's been awhile. With the taste of the new Tim Burton Dark Shadows not terribly pleasant on my tongue, this was just the ticket for reflecting on the real Dark Shadows and what an influence it was on my impressionable young mind. And how it has lingered.

In later childhood years, once bike-riding (and riding other friends' motorcycles) became my predominant pastime, I spent yet more time back on the trail, riding and wrecking with gleeful abandon. In my college years, it was a great place to find privacy for activities about which parents and law enforcement officers would have had uncomplimentary things to say. Since becoming an almost honest-to-god writer, I've brainstormed many a horror tale — not to mention the Dark Shadows audio dramas I've scripted — back in those woods. And during those tough recent years, they became a favorite retreat from the stresses of a crumbling marital relationship.

After I'm gone, perhaps I will haunt the Trail of Dark Shadows. What a treat to scare the living shit out of the next generation of kids taking delight in those woods, eh?

Click on the pics to enlarge.

Still haunting the trail after all these years.

The old clay banks of the creek along the trail, from which Frank and I could actually
sculpt Godzilla and other monsters.

Looking up through the woods to Frank's old place.

Beyond the trail was the steep hillside on which we used to play army and shoot at the legions
of dinosaurs that stalked through the forest. Oh yeah, they were out there.

Moments of Shadow

Imax definitely adds a little something to the cinematic experience, and I'm glad I saw Dark Shadows in Imax because the experience definitely needed a little something added.

I've enjoyed a lot of Tim Burton films. Sleepy Hollow, Ed Wood, and his original Batman are easy favorites, and I'm pretty fond of The Nightmare Before Christmas and Edward Scissorshands. When, however, came Burton's Planet of the Apes in 2001, for the first time, one of his films about made me chuck some biscuits, to put it in the old Martinsville vernacular.

Sadly, Dark Shadows is more akin to Planet of the Apes than Sleepy Hollow.

There's little point comparing this Dark Shadows to the original franchise; from its opening moments, it quickly becomes clear that this film is its own animal, and that's as it should be. This animal's biggest problem is that it suffers the same malady as the Roger Moore James Bond films of the 1970s and early 80s: the blend of humor and seriousness is awkward, even schizophrenic, and the script is more about timed punches than solid storytelling. Dark Shadows has no idea whether it's a juvenile comedy, a dark fantasy, a tribute, or a parody. It could be any or all of these, but its individual components are all a-jumble, in strange and mismatched proportions. Time after time, scenes that open with all kinds of dark resonance, offering hints of character motivation or development of plot points, switch gears and go for the joke. This is not so much comic relief as comic overkill. With numerous vampire properties currently going strong, such as Twilight, True Blood, and The Vampire Diaries, if comparisons are to be made, it's more apt to compare this film to them. It's not a happy thing that a major motion picture, helmed by numerous respected veterans, suffers so in comparison to even a weekly vampire series on CW TV. (Matter of fact, The Vampire Diaries does more credit to Dark Shadows' legacy than this film, and I'm convinced that Ian Somerhalder would make a perfect Barnabas Collins.)

Note: Here there be spoilers.

The film opens with a brief back story detailing how Barnabas Collins (Johny Depp) became a vampire. He's in love with Josette DuPres (Bella Heathcote) but, in a terrible error of judgment, has a tryst with resident witch, Angelique Bouchard (Eva Green). Smarting from the subsequent jilting, Angelique smacks him with the vampire curse, sends Josette plummeting to her death from the cliff at Widows' Hill, and sees to it that Barnabas is chained in his coffin for the next couple of centuries. The prologue is superficial, at best, but — fair enough — there's only so much running time this part of the story can occupy. Moving forward to 1972, in a scene that sets up a tone that would have been admirable, had it been sustained, prospective governess Victoria Winters (also Bella Heathcote) makes her way by train to Collinsport, Maine, to the haunting, wistful strains of The Moody Blues' Nights in White Satin. Her introduction to the Collins family members and attendants is disconcerting, for they are an odd and initially hostile lot: Elizabeth Stoddard (Michelle Pfeiffer); her daughter, Carolyn (Chloe Moretz); her ne'er-do-well brother, Roger Collins (Jonny Lee Miller); his son, David (Gulliver McGrath), who enjoys conversing with his long-dead mother; alcoholic caretaker Willie Loomis (Jackie Earle Haley); and alcoholic psychiatrist, Julia Hoffman (Helena Bonham Carter). One can sympathize with straightlaced-to-the-point-of-quirky Victoria as she comprehends the depths of the peculiar personalities with whom she will be forced to interact. However, before any of these relationships can be cemented, the point of view shifts to Barnabas as he emerges from his coffin in the 20th century, and for much of the picture, Victoria is all but forgotten.

Once Barnabas becomes the center of attention, we have a long, tedious run of gags involving his displacement in time and a bit of not terribly amusing sexual innuendo with young Carolyn. Clearly, Victoria Winters is a reincarnation of Josette, though this connection is never explained or even addressed. The Collins family is suffering financially, primarily due to their business rival, who turns out to be none other than the immortal Angelique herself. Barnabas, having the literal key to the hidden family jewels, swears to put things right and return the Collins family to its former prominence. There's some obligatory over-the-top sexual interplay between Barnabas and Angelique, most of which feels like padding. In a nod to the original series, Julia Hoffman takes it upon herself to attempt to cure Barnabas of his vampirism but, in an odd twist, attempts to reverse the process so that his blood will turn her into a vampire. He's not keen on the idea and resolves the problem in his own unique way.

So, how better to show the town that the Collins family is on top again than by throwing a ball (which, yes, does become fodder for more sexual innuendo) that includes Alice Cooper? Early on, I feared that Alice Cooper's inclusion would be superfluous, and in truth, it is; but, surprisingly, the ball scene is pretty good, and I rather enjoyed Chloe Moretz providing the vocal intro to The Ballad of Dwight Fry. Also in the ball scene, we get a few brief glimpses of original Dark Shadows stars Kathryn Leigh Scott, Lara Parker, David Selby, and the late Jonathan Frid, who may pass unnoticed by muggles but will certainly stand out to fans.

Through all this, Angelique's temper is heating up, to the point that she blows up the Collins family's fish cannery in Collinsport and attempts to imprison Barnabas in a coffin yet again. This time, however, young David comes to the rescue (after Uncle Barnabas been down under for a full 20 minutes; here, our gag with Barnabas believing he's been entombed for decades is worthy of Gilligan's Island). The interaction between Barnabas and David almost becomes poignant; in fact, when Barnabas discovers Roger attempting to steal the family jewels for himself, he offers him a choice of owning up to his responsibilities as a father or leaving Collinwood forever. In a particularly ugly turn, Roger chooses to abandon his son. Here, Burton really misses the boat; had Roger come to his senses and actually shown some feeling for David, the scene might have been pivotal in evoking sympathy for the family's plight, thus deepening our connection to the drama as a whole. Alas, no. Just another wasted character.

At last, the final showdown. Angelique comes round and, using a recording of Barnabas admitting to killing several folks for their blood, whips the townsfolk into a frenzy and goads them to storm Collinwood. Barnabas reveals himself to all as a vampire and attacks Angelique. Special effects extravaganza commences, and Collinwood catches fire. David's ghostly mother shows up to fuss at Angelique. And — whoa there, partner — Carolyn reveals herself to be a werewolf. Mercy! Finally, Angelique literally loses her heart to Barnabas.

After things have calmed a bit, Victoria wanders over to Widows' Hill to throw herself off. This time, determined not to suffer a repeat of the tragedy with Josette, Barnabas flies off the cliff after her and changes her into a vampire before their bodies smack against the rocks below. Happy happy. Love is thicker than blood is thicker than water.

There's a final scene that I detested, which I'll not bother revealing. It seems another contrivance, potentially opening the way, I suppose, for more crap to happen in a subsequent Dark Shadows film.

The lavish sets; the Collinwood design, which satisfyingly hearkens to the architecture of Seaview Terrace from the original TV series; and the atmospheric cinematography do provide a great deal of aesthetic appeal. Danny Elfman's score borrows some of the motifs and the distinctive instrumentation of Robert Cobert's masterful compositions from the original series to good effect (I enjoyed the score enough to order the soundtrack). These, at least, are stylistic touches that are characteristic of Tim Burton's attention to detail. Sadly, style is not enough to imbue this movie with a lot of heart. Or cohesiveness.

It really needs more of both. Seriously.

Out of six Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetinis, I give Dark Shadows two. Maybe an extra olive for style and Bella Heathcote.