Jon Gnagy — Learn to Draw!

If you're of the age that's too old to rock & roll but too young to die, perhaps you'll remember Jon Gnagy, the television art guy that came before Bob Ross. I had not forgotten he existed — not by a long shot — but I don't think I've consciously recalled his name or his art for many, many years. Then, today, my friend Lew "Moose" Hartman, a fair old artist himself, mentioned Gnagy on Facebook, which brought a tide of memories rushing to me. I couldn't have been more than five or six years old when I discovered Gnagy's show, Learn to Draw, on broadcast television. As early as kindergarten, I was cranking out drawings of monsters, dinosaurs, spaceships, airplanes, and such, and I naturally found Gnagy's technique and manner quite engaging. I specifically remember a couple of scenes he drew, one of which I found online — the old oak tree, shown above. Another was a rather lonely-looking house in a valley with the moon shining down on it. Gnagy's compositions and use of shadow and highlights fascinated me, as all my drawings were naught but simple line work. In later years, I became quite serious about producing art, even earning a BFA degree from the University of Georgia, and to this day I must give credit to Jon Gnagy for being my earliest influence in that direction.

My creative focus long ago turned to writing, and I've not produced visual art of any kind in more years than I like to think about, yet Gnagy's influence, however indirectly, may have extended to my writing as well. Early on, my interest in art and storytelling went hand in hand, and the scenes Gnagy created on television were textured and atmospheric — like snapshots of specific moments in the middle of unfolding events. His drawings sparked my imagination, my desire to know what was actually happening in the scenes he rendered. Some of my earliest stories, if one could call them that, were built around memorable images, and the one of that lonely house in a moonlit valley still stands out for me. I don't remember specifically what sprang from my young imagination then, but I'm quite certain it was dark and grim, the subject matter probably born of my fondness for The Outer Limits and such.

Looking at the videos of Gnagy's show now, it's remarkable how vivid and undistorted my recollections are of those programs from the early 1960s — testimony to the depth of their influence. I must seriously thank Mr. Moose Hartman for stirring up those old memories. And who knows, maybe one day I'll pick up some art materials again and really horrify my audience.

Gnagy's granddaughter, Liz Seymour, quite a few years ago, wrote a short, informative article about him that you can find here: You Were an Artist

Create.

Another Dark Regions Special: THE GAKI

Okay, please do pardon this bit of follow-up promo, but I mean, damn! This is deeply serious, scary stuff! Dark Regions is offering the trade paperback edition of my fiction collection, The Gaki & Other Hungry Spirits, for just $12.95 (regular price $18.95). It's another beautifully produced Dark Regions release, featuring 17 of my most chilling short stories, along with some pretty disturbing cover art by M. Wayne Miller. (And if you're partial to signed, limited edition hardcovers, this one is only $23.45.)

You can read a free sample tale — the title story, "The Gaki" — at my website. You can read it online or download it as a PDF or for your Kindle. Go here to check it out: "The Gaki" by Stephen Mark Rainey.

"The sheer variety of settings and Rainey's remarkable command of appropriate styles of and voices deserves amazed respect. The flat-out monster story, the ooze-slime-blob invasion, and others rise with new and eerie life from Dr. Rainey's lab table." — Robert M. Price; editor of Crypt of Cthulhu magazine, Chaosium's Cthulhu Cycle line of anthologies, and more

Get The Gaki from Dark Regions here: The Gaki & Other Hungry Spirits by Stephen Mark Rainey

33% Off — OTHER GODS from Dark Regions

For a limited time, Dark Regions is offering the signed, limited hardcover edition of my short-fiction collection, Other Gods, at a discounted rate of $28 (33% off the $40 cover price). Of my various collections of fiction, this one is probably my favorite, featuring most of my tales of Lovecraftian horror.

"The 16 tales in Stephen Mark Rainey's Other Gods depict an alluring yet macabre world, rendered by one of the horror genre's most vivid imaginations. With settings ranging from the remote backwoods of Virginia to the urban wilderness of Chicago, the veneer of Rainey's world appears familiar, even comforting; yet, beneath its surface ancient, malignant powers lurk, ready to spring forth and destroy any who discover them whether intentionally or inadvertently. Laced with humor and recounted by a captivating voice, the tales in Other Gods wait for you with open arms but beware, for they are also laden with darkness. And in that darkness, danger waits."

"Writer Stephen Mark Rainey has done it again with this brilliantly scary short story collection... The stories and tone of the book put me in mind of Stephen King’s early short story collections."—HorrorWatch
 
"Rainey populates his stories with characters that you may recognize, and not just because some of them appear, or are mentioned, in more than one story. No, they are recognizable because they are our friends, neighbours and loved ones. They are us. Whether it is facing the cosmic dread of the Other Gods, from whom this collection takes its name, or the sideshow atmosphere of Circus Bizarre, it is normal, identifiable, people who are put through the wringer, and it is to Rainey’s credit that he makes us care so much for them in such a short amount of time."—HorrorWorld

Use coupon code HAPPYNEWYEAR2014 at http://www.darkregions.com/books/other-gods-by-stephen-mark-rainey

The Oddities at Shallow Ford

Rock cairn photobombing ol' Rodan — or is it
the other way around?

A beautiful but cold morning. A handful of new geocaches awaited me over in a remote corner of Alamance County, a couple of which had not yet been logged, so I headed over fairly early, figuring I might have a shot at first-to-find. My first stop was the Shallow Ford Natural Area along the Haw River, which has several miles of beautiful hiking trails and a passel of caches, a couple of which are mine from a few years back — "Owl Rock" (GC2HM9H) and "Shallow Ford Towers" (GC2HMAJ). Along one section of trail, I encountered the ever-mysterious cairns that have been built from the stones that cover the wooded hillsides. I'm fairly certain they are the work of Martians, who have clearly taken over this section of countryside, for as I hiked this morning, I could hear them in the distance, constructing their giant fighting machines. The entire time I was out there — just over an hour — the hammering scarcely let up, and when it did, it was only for a few brief minutes. It had to be Martians; nothing else sounds like that. Many of the rocks were arranged in manners that defied physics, leading me to believe they might be designed for communications of some kind. Beware — the aliens could be on the move at any time. In the video below, you can hear the hammering. It's outright eerie, it is! (Click on images to enlarge.)

The enigmatic rock cairns along the trail. Note that one of them is wearing a rather macabre hat.

On the video, you can hear the distant sounds of the Martians at work upon the fighting machines
they're building.... sleepless, indefatigable.

I did get first-to-find on the new cache. And on a slightly more mundane note...

After quitting Shallow Ford, I headed over to nearby Lake Cammack, to the dam at its southern end, where I managed another first-to-find. The cache owner had suggested that hunters might help remove some of the trash along the trail there, for the local fishermen are apparently too brain dead to carry out what they take in with them. Indeed, the area is absolutely beautiful but for the prodigious piles of trash that choke the woods. In fifteen minutes' time, I filled up a large trash bag, leaving at least a section along the river trail almost pristine. If every geocacher that goes in there were to do the same, the trail would be as scenic as nature intended, at least until the local pinheads fill it back up with crap.

Perhaps, if we're lucky, the Martians will simply eliminate them. They're coming, you know.

A nice view of the dam at the southern end of Lake Cammack

The result of just a few minutes' effort along the trail

Lovecraft eZine Talks With Old Rodan

An enjoyable conversation hosted by Lovecraft eZine editor Mike Davis, with Rick Lai, Peter Rawlik, Matthew Carpenter, and Joe Pulver. What a great bunch of folks to set the old man straight on just about every topic under the sun. Thanks to the lot of ye.

Bee Afraid

A view of the Dan River, near flood stage, from along the Riverwalk Trail

I had seen on television last night that the Dan River around Danville had reached and surpassed flood level, which wasn't all that surprising after the heavy rains of the past few days. I was planning to pass through Danville this morning to hunt a handful of new geocaches, so I was hoping the Riverwalk Trail wouldn't be completely underwater. It wasn't, but the river had indeed risen higher than I think I've ever seen it, and as I walked along the bank, my immediate impression was that I had stumbled into the setting of H. P. Lovecraft's The Case of Charles Dexter Ward:

"The following spring, like that of the year before, had heavy rains... and a vague report went round of things that were floating down the river and flashing into sight for a minute as they went over the falls. Of course the Pawtuxet is a long river which winds through many settled regions abounding in graveyards, and of course the spring rains had been very heavy; but the fisherfolk about the bridge did not like the wild way that one of the things stared as it shot down to the still waters below, or the way that another half cried out although its condition had greatly departed from that of objects which normally cried out."

Yeah, there were all kinds of things rushing downriver this morning — a basketball, an angled wooden construct that might have been the roof of a child's treehouse, all kinds of mundane rubbish, and numerous unknown objects that vaguely resembled bodies or pieces thereof. The water was moving at great speed, so anything that went by remained in sight for only a few moments. In order to reach the new cache, after hiking some distance by the river, I had to bushwhack along Barker's Branch, a small tributary of the river that runs along the boundary of Dan Daniel Park. The branch, ordinarily a small, narrow stream, was swollen to many times its normal size.

My GPS led me a fairly short distance along a brier-choked cut for power lines before sending me down a hill into the woods along the stream. Though US Highway 29 runs close by here, the late morning air seemed unnaturally quiet, with little sound of traffic; only the rushing of the Dan River in the distance disturbed the near-silence. When I reached the cache's coordinates, I saw what appeared to be the perfect hiding place. As I went to investigate, virtually all sound ceased but for a strange, muted buzzing. Not to be deterred, I reached into the opening at the base of the tree, cleared away a pile of dead lives, and removed a flat rock... only to realize that something terrible was lurking beneath it. I had time only to sign the cache log and snap a photo before making haste away from that demonic ground zero.

I do hope that future geocachers will take great care when hunting this cache and bear in mind that, sometimes, unearthly torrents of rain such as we've been having may bring with them the truly unearthly.

Be wary!

This Sunday: Live Chat at Lovecraft e-Zine

This Sunday — January 12 — I'll be joining Lovecraft eZine editor Mike Davis for a live video chat at 6:00 PM EST. (Note that if you're in a different time zone, it will be at a different time!) We'll be carrying on about my dabblings in Lovecraftian horror, Dark Shadows, the world of geocaching... you name it.

Go here to get instructions to join the chat: Join the Lovecraft eZine Webchat

Hope to see you then— unless you come to heckle. If you come to heckle, you may find yourself being fed to a very fat house cat. Yes, seriously.

Polar Plunges and I See Stars

Night-Hawk, Cantergirl, RPStew, Cassiliz, and Damned Rodan rocking the Uhwharries

Fifteen degrees at the ass crack of dawn, and five of us are heading to Uhwharries National Park, south of Asheboro, to conquer the North Carolina Star — 50 geocaches laid out in the woods in a star pattern (these are known as "geo art"), each arm requiring just about a mile hike, so that at the end of it all you come in with just about ten miles under your belt. And this is some rugged terrain, with major elevation changes, and trails almost non-existent. Tom "Night-Hawk" Kidd, Bob "RPStew" Stewart, Carol "Cassiliz" Deschenes, Jeanne "Cantergirl" Allamby, and I met and conquered the beast — all but one of the little beasts, which we figured might be missing (only to find out later it isn't) — requiring just about seven hours in the field. A few mishaps along the way; Cassiliz took several tumbles, fortunately all minor, and ye old Rodan stepped onto a log to cross a creek, only to have said log break and drop Rodan into frigid, knee-deep water. My knees did get a bit banged up, but happily, this happened only a mile or so from the end of the hike, so I didn't have to suffer all that long.

There are stars such as this in several states, including California, Georgia (just a short distance from Gainesville, where my grandparents used to live and which I still enjoy visiting), Nevada, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Texas, and others. Eventually, geo artists hope to have stars in all fifty states.

Since it turns out that NC Star number 15 actually isn't missing, I reckon I'll have to go back and redeem myself by finding the sucker. Hopefully, this time without falling into a creek.

New Year's Home Away From Home

The Rockhill Vineyard Cabin, in Ararat, NC — our New Year's home away from home

Monday, December 30, 2013: After some excellent food and wine at Old North State Winery in Mt. Airy and stopping to claim a couple of geocaches — including a virtual at the grave site of Chang and Eng Bunker, the famous Siamese twins — Kimberly and I arrived at the Rockhill Vineyard Cabin near Ararat, NC. It was right at sunset, and after a long drive through open pasture land, we crossed a little bridge over a scenic stream and entered a shadowy, wooded passage. Within the trees, we saw glowing lamps lining the driveway, leading us up a steep, winding hillside to the cabin. A star-like array of solar lights surrounded the house and highlighted the walkway, and from the front porch, we could hear the mellow strains of soft, smooth jazz playing. When we walked inside to escape the biting wind, we found found ourselves in the warmest, coziest living room I think I have ever seen, Christmas tree blazing cheerfully, the rest of the room adorned with tasteful wine-themed decorations. An unopened bottle of the proprietor's own vintage awaited us in the kitchen. The bedroom was an upstairs loft that overlooked the living room fireplace.

I damn near fell over. I had expected a pretty nice place, not a perfect little slice of heaven.

We made ourselves quite at home and sampled the wine, which was a very pleasant dry red. A bit later in the evening, though it was quite cold, Ms. B. and I settled ourselves in the rocking chairs on the front porch to enjoy the wine and the absolute serenity of the location. After this, we returned indoors and watched Paranormal Activity 4, which we had brought with us, just to get in the proper spirit for spending a couple of nights in a remote, wooded setting. I've enjoyed the Paranormal Activity series, and though this one was unquestionably the least of them, it still set an enjoyably creepy tone for the evening. Before bedtime, the Jacuzzi got rid of any lingering chill.

You might have guessed by now that The Rockhill Vineyard Cabin immediately earned Damned Rodan's highest stamp of approval.

The living room of the Rockhill Vineyard cabin

Tuesday, December 31, 2013: We weren't exactly up with the sun — in fact, some might call Brugger a lazy bones (not that I ever would) — but we did spend a leisurely morning drinking coffee (or at least one of us adult-types did) and enjoying the sweet rolls our proprietor had left for us. Then we took off for Pilot Mountain, just a short distance to the south, to get in a spot of hiking and geocaching. Ms. B. had been to the park before, but though I've passed by it countless times, I've never gone up to the mountain itself. Pilot Mountain is a quartzite monadnock, rising 2,421 feet above sea level, and about 1,400 feet above the surrounding hills. The park features many miles of hiking trails, horseback riding, rock climbing, and a wealth of amazing views. And when the winter wind comes blasting in along its western face, it's all kinds of cold.

Afterward, I set about claiming several nearby geocaches. My favorite was one called "Haunted House" (GC24XG4), which — believe it or not — took us to a haunted house. Yes, you bet your ass it was haunted; or, if it wasn't before, it probably is now, as we surely gave the local spirits something to think about. We also ended up at an ancient dam on a prong of the Little Yadkin River that offered us a glimpse of numerous antiquated structures that at one time no doubt boasted great wealth.

For New Year's Eve dinner, we had made reservations at the Harvest Grill, at Shelton Vineyards, in Dobson, NC, about 20 minutes west of the cabin. We arrived a bit early so we could sample their wine before dinner, and we were pretty well taken with it, though for such an expansive operation as Shelton, we can't say we were any more enthused with those we tried than we have been with the fare at many of the nearby smaller wineries. Dinner was one of those budget strainers for which you sometimes just have to bite the bullet, but in the end, we decided it was worth it. The service was impeccable, the food very good to excellent. The portions appeared rather small, yet, at the end of it all, I have rarely walked out of a place feeling so satisfied. I ordered a petit filet mignon and lobster tail (their New Year's Eve special), and Ms. B. had a charred romaine salad with chicken, onion confit, roasted tomato jam, crumbled bleu cheese, and apple wood smoked bacon. We tried their Cabernet Franc, Tannat, Petit Verdot, and their vintage Claret, the latter of which was easily the best. The Petit Verdot was also decent; I might have taken it for a fair Pinot Noir. (Yes, go right ahead and smack me now. Go ahead, but I'm talking wine here!) I'm pretty sure Harvest Grill has earned a decent Yelp review from old Rodan.

About midnight, we put on the television to watch one or another New Year's festivities for a bit, and about this time, we heard a nearby "Boof! Boof!" Ah, the telltale sound of a dog outside the house. I opened the door to take a look, and — hello! — before I could even react, a large black and white mixed breed fellow tromped right on inside and made himself at home. I knew it was the owner's dog, as we had seen him at the main house the day before, so we weren't particularly concerned. But it appeared we had made a lifelong friend here, as Dog really, really wanted to stay and party with us. He hung out for a bit, ate a cinnamon roll, and finally ambled out on his merry way. An entertaining visitor, to say the least.

Wednesday, January 1, 2014: And a big ol' Happy New Year to you, whoever might be giving ye old blog a gander. I tell you, this morning, we took our time packing up to head back to Greensboro because... yeah... we pretty much didn't want to. For any of you local folks who read my ramblings: if you've any interest in getting away for an evening or a few, in rustic but extremely comfortable surroundings at, above all things, very reasonable prices, the Rockhill Vineyard Cabin is likely for you. I don't know when I've ever felt as unburdened and outright content in the moment as these past couple of days. The setting is gorgeous, the accommodations are anything but spartan, and the owners — Gray and Pam Draughn — are hospitable and personable. Mr. Draughn built the house himself, and it is obviously a labor of love.

This past year has had its extreme ups and downs, and quite frankly, I wouldn't even try to predict what 2014 might hold in store. To me personally, some indicators are anything but positive; however, for all that, I can at least say that this past year ended on as high a note as a year can end, and I'm grateful for that. In my ancient, ancient age, I am never one to take good fortune, small or large, for granted, and this holiday season has been one I will honor in memory as one of those moments of fortune that truly meant the world to me.

Bless you.

Kindle Countdown Deal: The Gods of Moab

JUST FOR NEW YEAR'S...

Today is the last day to pick up my novella, The Gods of Moab, for your Kindle at the special discounted price of 99¢ (regular price $2.99).

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

"The Gods of Moab is a chilling novella of Lovecraftian horror by Stephen Mark Rainey, acclaimed author of Balak, Blue Devil Island, Other Gods, The Nightmare Frontier, Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark (with Elizabeth Massie), and former editor of the award-winning Deathrealm Magazine."

The Gods of Moab is just the ticket to put a little fear in your new year. Check it out from Amazon.com here: The Gods of Moab by Stephen Mark Rainey

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

A Christmas Sunset on the Red Trail

Christmas morning, 1968: it must have been around 5:00 AM; I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. In those days, at the height of the U.S. space program, the Major Matt Mason astronaut toys by Mattel were the big thing, especially for this nine-year-old science-fiction and space exploration uber-geek. I was anticipating receiving a Major Matt Mason space station, among other space-related goodies, and adrenaline had been coursing like magma through my weenie little body since early on Christmas Eve. We were at my grandparents' place in Gainesville, GA, and, as always, my folks slept on the pullout sofa bed in the living room — where all the toys lay waiting for us under the Christmas tree. My brother and I had strict orders not to set foot out of our bedroom until 7:00 AM, but come 5:30 or so, it became clear to me that something was wrong with the clock on the nightstand next to our bed. I had been lying there fidgeting for most of forever, and only a measly half hour had passed? WTF? Thinking only of being helpful, I ran the clock up about ten minutes, thinking this would be a much more realistic time of morning. I lay back down, confident I had done the right thing. For the next hour and something I lay there, my body still blazing with adrenaline, my mind constructing all kinds of great scenarios for Major Matt Mason and his buddies Sgt. Storm, Jeff Long, and Doug Davis. When I finally looked back at the clock, it showed that only fifteen minutes had passed. Clearly, this clock was defective! So I ran it up another ten minutes for good measure.

Several more times this happened. I'd lie back down, wait and wait and wait and wait, and only a few minutes would have gone by. Impossible. If I didn't get this clock set right, I figured, I was really going to be in trouble.

Finally. Finally, 7:00 AM arrived. I woke my little brother, and the two of us went tearing into the living room. There it was — the Major Matt Mason space station! Yahoooooooo! It was beautiful, stunning, glorious. Not only that, the whole room was absolutely jammed with fantastic toys and games. Santa Claus had outdone himself! Mum and Dad, of course, stood no chance remaining in bed with all this ruckus and racket, but after a bit, Mum asked me, "Are you sure it's seven o'clock?" Well, of course I was sure. I had fixed the defective clock.

Next thing you know, I'm being sent back to bed, this time till 8:00 AM, since, according to all the other clocks in the house, it was only 6:15, and my folks, in a rare display of poor judgment, believed them.

This was perhaps my most memorable Christmas. If I remember right, Mum and Dad did let us come back into the living when 7:00 AM actually rolled around because they always were, at heart, very sporting and willing to make amends for their errors.

This year, I didn't get any Major Matt Mason stuff, but if your Christmas was half as wonderful as mine was, I expect it would be ten times as wonderful as any other day of your year. The presents were great and all, but it was just a good day all around, spent in the company of Ms. Kimberly, my mum, and our friend Mary Clifton; alas, my brother couldn't be there. We slept in, exchanged gifts during the morning, had a big meal at midday, and then Brugger and I headed up to Rocky Mount, VA, to get in some hiking and geocaching at Waid Park, an extensive area of woodland a short distance out of town, with a decent network of trails and lots of elevation changes. By the time we got there, it was fairly late in the day, and we appeared to be the only human beings for miles around, which we both found quite pleasant. One of the caches was called "Red Trails in the Sunset" (GCH22K) which couldn't have been more apt, since we were, indeed, on the Red Trail, and the sun was setting just as I found the cache. Both peaceful and invigorating, this outing; it could scarcely have made me happier — well, except for not finding one of the caches out there, which I gather may just be plain missing.

From there, we drove around the campus at Ferrum College, where I went to school for a couple of years back in the dawn of man. Ferrum is the model for "Beckham College," which has been referenced in any number of my short stories and novels. I gave it that name, not so much as a play on Lovecraft's Arkham, as some have suggested, but after Ferrum College's founder, Samuel Beckham. Then things got a bit surreal. Kimberly and I didn't really care to have leftover ham for supper, so we ended up finding a Chinese buffet that was open. The food wasn't very good, and the clientele looked not unlike the Walking Dead, but damn, it was kind of a hoot. We quite enjoyed ourselves. To end the evening, we watched Insidious: Chapter 2, which turned out to be a lot of fun. I suppose "unconventional" would be an apt description of the day. And I'm all over that.

Peace be unto ye.

Click images to enlarge.

L: Mary Clifton & Mum; R: A not-so-welcome Christmas Eve visitor

Hell, yeah!

Beating the Devil and Haw, Haw, Haw

Old Rodan at the Devil's Tramping Ground

Any weekend is a good weekend for geocaching, and on this one, the caching was good indeed. Lots of high-quality hides — from Siler City to Sanford to Pittsboro, from underground to far higher than folks rightfully ought to put their feet. Saturday, Bridget "Suntigres" Langley and I got together and headed south toward the Devil's Tramping Ground, not far from Siler City. Several years ago, I had gone there in what proved a vain attempt to make the cache there my 2,000th find, and again the following year to hunt a most excellent night cache ("Hell on Earth," GC1GZNP). My target, "Devil's Caching Ground" (GC1GKYR), missing when I had previously hunted it, had been replaced, and yesterday's hunt proved successful, making it find #6,499. Thanks to some ornery briers, I managed to shed some blood at Tramping Ground, so there's no telling what evil may result. Beware. After that, we targeted several other well-conceived hides, such as "True Love Always" (GC3CEMX), a very engaging multi, and "Sanford's RbC" (GC2BM3B), which allowed me to enjoy some deep, deep shade on a ridiculously warm December day.

No sleeping in this morning. Up before dawn to meet Rob "Robgso" Isenhour to head over to the Haw River, near Pittsboro, where we joined a group of about 18 folks for a hike along the rather rugged, exceedingly scenic river trail. Rob and I had gone caching there several months ago, along with Shoffner (a.k.a. Cupdaisy) but had been unable to find four out of ten bison tube hides along the trail. This time, with all those eyes and tactile appendages, we were able to find those and make a clean run of the series. The Haw River in this area is wide and very rocky, the west side oftentimes very steep and strewn with giant boulders. The climbing is strenuous, but the views are often spectacular.

One of the caches we visited involved walking across a narrow dam for fifty or sixty feet to reach an old pump house. Audra "Homestyle" Webb and her son, Zachary, were frothing at the mouth to undertake this particular terrain challenge, so off they went, accompanied by Lonnie "MBD" Drain for moral support. It took a bit of time, but they finally managed to find the cache, and they made the crossing both ways without ending up as fish food. Good for them, bad for the fish. Sorry, fish.

The hunt for what turned out to be my favorite cache of the day — "TowerLand" (GC235TA) — took us to an old fire tower just outside Pittsboro. Posting here that the cache is somewhere on the tower spoils nothing, as the cache page itself gives you a fair idea of the sort of challenge you face. The tower has clearly stood there for many, many years, and it's seen better days. Just getting to the level where we might begin our ascent in earnest required some serious effort, and a few of our number inadvertently provided some entertaining acrobatics both coming and going. After finding the cache, some of the crew continued all the way to the top; I opted to forgo this particular pleasure, mainly because, every now and then, MBD would give the tower a good shake, and I was never quite certain the whole construct wasn't going to come crashing down. At any rate, it was on our party's descent that the real entertainment began. A couple of the climbers, whom I will call Karen "e-bird67" Grigg and young Homekid, absolutely could not find their way off the tower. Coaching, coaxing, cajoling, pleading, and threatening proved ultimately useless. These poor souls may yet be up there, soon to become mere skeletons swaying in the breeze to warn others from undertaking such frightfully energetic adventures.

Do beware, and have a happy and safe holiday season.

Click images to enlarge.

"Mom! Uncle Rob is getting high!"

Can Audra be trapped in this prison drain forever? Let's hope not!

L: Audra and Lonnie make their way across the dam to find the cache. R: Rocking the tower!

Smile!

Here We Come, A-Geocaching

Front: Sunpoppy42, Spring1, Strikergirl, Keith; Back: Homekid, Bill, Homestyle, HDJP, Klaussinator,
Damned Rodan, MJ, Esddan Sr., Esddan Ms., JJ

The other day, I got a call from Audra (a.k.a. Homestyle), one of my good friends in the geocaching community, who informed me that another of our mutual friends, Norman (a.k.a. Spring1), had suffered a medical crisis and had been hospitalized for a time. Now he was back home, it was her idea that a bunch of us local cachers should get together and pay him and his wife, Lynn, a little visit so that we might regale them with Christmas carols. Splendid, indeed. So tonight after work, I booked on up to Danville, met the group at a little shopping center, near Spring1's house, and headed out to do this nefarious deed. Yes, Norman and Lynn's daughter, Robin, was a willing accomplice, having made sure her parents were at home for our arrival — she told them that UPS would be arriving between six and seven p.m. with an important delivery. Well, between six and seven, the delivery was made, but it wasn't from UPS. An even thirteen of us exploded into song, assaulting the senses of our poor victims and everyone else within about a four-block radius. Several were good old standbys, but Audra had composed a fun little geocaching carol, done as "The Twelve Days of Christmas" — twelve hide-a-keys, eleven piles of fake poo, ten rolls of duct tape, nine sets of batteries, eight lock-&-locks, seven phone-a-friends, six bags of swag, five ammo cans, four plastic birds, three trackables, two gel pens, and a film can in a holly tree. We did this, and Spring1 did not forcibly eject us from their property. That right there is class. Finally, several of us noisemakers headed off to Ham's for a slightly late dinner.

Norman and Lynn were among the very first geocachers I ever met — at one of my own caches, in Martinsville, in early 2008. They have been among the kindest, warmest, most thoughtful folks I've ever met, and I very much hope our little musical venture made for an uplifting evening for them. Here's hoping Norman will see some serious improvement in his physical condition.

Be well, my friends.

Dark Intruder

Lovecraft eZine posted this today: a video link to Dark Intruder, an unsold TV pilot from 1966 with Lovecraftian overtones. It stars Leslie Nielsen as a rather suave 19th-century Carl Kolchak. You'll also see lots of familiar names from the era — it's produced by Jack Laird (Night Gallery), written by Barre Lyndon, with music by Lalo Schifin (Mission Impossible) — and also stars Mark Richman, Werner Klemperer, Judi Meredith, and Bill Quinn. I gave it a look tonight and found it quite entertaining; the Lovecraft influence is definitely there, and not done badly. Rick Lai gives a decent overview, as well as a link to the video itself here. Check it out if you've got an hour.

The Horror in the Vines

Well, no, the photo over yonder doesn't really show horrors or vines or any such things. That's just my little fiber-optic Christmas tree, brightening up one dark corner of Casa de Rodan. The horrors and vines and such may be found in my latest short story, "When Jarly Calls," which I finished writing and sent out to the editor this weekend. It's about things that go amiss at a rather bizarre winery — for which I might say I conducted extensive research. If editor is happy with tale, you may get to read that sucker before you know it. It'll chill ye worse than an icy winter wind, it will.

Spent most of the weekend at Mum's in Martinsville, and the better part of that pounding out the story. I also helped her get her Christmas tree set up, the final result being a bit more impressive than little fiber optic tree shown here. Then it was writing the afterword for James Robert Smith's collection of short fiction, A Confederacy of Horrors, slated for release from Hippocampus Press in 2014. (Some of you may recall that Mr. Smith used to write reviews and assist with the fiction editing for Deathrealm back in the day, and a few years back, we co-edited the anthology Evermore for Arkham house.) It's a fine collection of horror, full of ghosts, blood, vengeance, and obsession, with numerous stories that linger long after they're put to bed. I'll post a note here when the book is in release.

On Saturday, I had intended to go geocaching in Roanoke with Todd "tbbiker" Briggs, but nasty weather prevented it. This morning, though, I hit Anglers' Park in Danville to grab a new cache on my way back to Greensboro, and who should I run into but Mr. Briggs his own self. Not quite the big hiking trip we had anticipated, but it was fun enough, and a cache is a cache. In fact, heading up to Martinsville on Friday night, I went up through Caswell County to replace a cache for Mr. Stumpwater Dunn, near Yanceyville, and while out in those rural wilds, I thought I might be witnessing the eye of Azathoth in the sky — a brilliant orb, far smaller than the moon but every bit as bright — burning through a thick layer of clouds. Turns out, it was the planet Venus, which I've seen countless times, but never so brilliantly as this. Quite the little spectacle on the drive along those lonely back roads, it was. And a delicious sushi dinner waited for me at Tokyo Grill in Danville.

Some stress about the day job put a little damper on some of my enthusiasm over the weekend, but by and large, it was a productive and generally enjoyable time.

The Collinsport Horror

Author Rick Lai has written a pretty extensive article about connections between the original Dark Shadows TV series and H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos, which covers in detail the crossover in some of my contributions to each property. It's an informative and entertaining piece, now posted at Lovecraft eZine. Give it a look here.

Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright

There is much to appreciate about Stonefield Cellars, one of the many wineries in this area, and the wine is just one of them. Noah, the owners' Bengal cat, always stands ready to greet you when you arrive, and even on a particularly chilly day, he has certain wily ways of keeping warm. Brugger and I hadn't been to Stonefield in a while, so yesterday we decided to pay it a visit for a tasting and a spot of wine in the scenic garden area. Happily, they had a fire burning in the fire pit, and we met another pleasant couple who enjoyed wine and cats about as much as we do. It proved an excellent way to spend a near-frigid afternoon — so different from the previous day when I worked up a sweat just by setting foot outdoors.

Stonefield Cellars features a decent selection of white, red, and sweet wines, all made from the grapes they grow at the vineyard. Brugger and I aren't much for whites or sweets, but their dry reds are distinctive, particularly their reserve wines — Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, and a pair of blends called Beneficence and Barrel X. Also noteworthy are their Sangiovese and a blend of all their grapes called Mountain Mama Madness. With rare exception, I am not overly fond of Merlot, but Stonefield's aptly named Gato, which features Noah on the label, goes down very smoothly. Today, Stonefield is having their holiday open house, with live music, warm mulled wine, and some special discounts; it's unfortunate there's freezing rain out there, making the weather not so conducive for getting out and about. I do hope they have a decent turnout. If you're a local oenophile and haven't been over to Stonefield Cellars, hie thee there at once. You won't regret it.

Eighty Degrees in December...

...and the snakes are out and about. I came upon a happy little black snake while after a cache at the Beech Bluff Trail today. Not sure whether he was a rat snake or a black racer, but he proved to be quite neighborly.

Today was our annual office holiday lunch gathering, which we was held at the Proximity Hotel, one of Greensboro's more upscale establishments. The food was okay — I wouldn't pay top dollar for it — and the event was pretty enjoyable. Per tradition, we got to leave early, and so I went geocaching. I'd had it in my head that I might head over to Durham to catch the original 1954 Japanese version of Godzilla at the Carolina Theater, but in the end, I opted to do the hiking. Sometimes, I am weirder than I realized. Forbidden Planet was also on the bill. Doubly weird.

Anyhoo, on a day like today, I'm quite glad I hit the woods. At least I got to visit with a reptile.

Occoneechee Speedway, Yuggoth VI: The Twisted Grove, The Stoned Poet, and Others

A long stretch of the old speedway, now
overtaken by the forest

What a great day for finding old things... even including a Great Old One or two. It was a day for geocaching with a fun group of local folks: Debbie "Cupdaisy" Shoffner, Rob "Robgso" Isenhour, Robbin "Rtmlee" Lee, and Sarah "Sssharkie" Stevens. Our target was Hillsborough, just west of Durham, NC. It's a small, picturesque town with a surprising number of historic and unusual sites. In the past, I've passed through Hillsborough any number of times, and even found a few caches there, but it wasn't until today that I got to visit just about every corner of town, by way of our quest for caches.

The thing that drew us there in the first place was the old Occoneechee Speedway (later known as the Orange Speedway), a former NASCAR racetrack that operated from 1948 to 1968. It has since been completely overtaken over by pine, sycamore, and cedar forest, and the track itself, as well as the auxiliary roads, have been turned into hiking trails — over three miles of them, and we covered just about the lot of them. The original grandstands and several other structures still exist, almost ghostlike amid these beautiful woods. Several high-quality caches are hidden along the trail, and our group found the lot of them while enjoying the unusual scenery.

There's nothing odd happening here.
Move along.

Adjacent to the speedway — just across the Eno River — lies the sprawling Ayr Mount Plantation, which dates back to 1815. A beautiful nature trail winds around the estate, and on this trail, we found a nice cache-letterbox hybrid called Yuggoth VI: The Twisted Grove (GC22VYV), based, of course, on H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos. The grove itself was, indeed, beautifully twisted, and even though we successfully ventured into it, as far as I know, none of us have been beset by anything Awful. Of course, the night is not yet over. Also at the plantation was a fun puzzle cache called The Stoned Poet (GCXYQV), which required solving a daunting puzzle to acquire coordinates to the hidden container. One of our party, whose name I won't mention (Sssharkie), came up with a novel method of actually locating the actual hide, which I'd best not reveal on pain of death (intuition and guesswork). I am rather ridiculously pleased to have played a part in turning up the hide itself. (Laugh, you.)

We also visited a graveyard where slaves from the Civil War era were buried; an old one-room schoolhouse (Hughes Academy); the outhouse of an old girl's school (Burwell School, 1837-1857); a sculpture of an ass named Jack; and a big old cedar tree that required climbing. I didn't fall out, so what a good day!

A fine day on the caching trail, and I have to give Hillsborough credit for being the most charming town I have visited in a long, long time.

Back to work tomorrow. Grrrr.

Creeple people hauling ass down the old Occoneechee Speedway

Ayr Mount Plantation House, built 1815

Rob the Younger doesn't know Jack.

Black Friday, Good Friday

Old Rodan's happy Black Friday face

It takes a mindset I neither have nor comprehend to brave the zombie hordes at the shopping areas on Black Friday. I have about as much interest in sawing my own head off with a rusty bread knife as I do tolerating so many walking/ talking/ pushing/ shoving/ screaming heaps of compost masquerading as human beings to save some dollars on things I, or folks of my acquaintance, likely don't much need. Now bear in mind, I don't make a lot of money; I live fairly comfortably, but far from extravagantly, so, yes, I like to take advantage of bargains when I can get them. Groupons are my friends. But there's a limit to what I'll put up with from the herd out there, and Black Friday is on the far side of it. From things I've personally witnessed or had related to me (my ex-wife was a devoted Black Friday shopper) to the inevitable news stories of chaos among the masses, it is clear to me that the veneer of humanity we see when things are going swimmingly is thin beyond thin. Throw a complication or two in front of the herd, and the meltdown is inevitable and potentially horrendous. In fairness to those I loathe, I do not exclude myself from succumbing to a destructive group mentality under certain circumstances. Back in the 1980s, I spent a couple of Independence Days at Taste of Chicago downtown, and I once came perilously close to being pushed by a mass of humanity onto the tracks in front of an oncoming subway train; you'd best believe I clawed my way out of that situation just to get myself into a train car before I got killed, and damn anyone who was in my way at the time. I never inflicted that event upon myself again.

If you haven't seen Five Million Years to Earth, you really ought; it's a wonderful science-fiction depiction of Black Friday made years before the contemporary shopping day actually became a thing.

For my own mental health, and to prevent adding myself to the body count at these godless things, on Black Fridays, I always steer myself in exactly the opposite direction. Today, it was out to Fairystone Park, where a nice geocache in the woods awaited my attention. Happily, I was the only human being in evidence out in this general direction, and I made short work of the hide.

Though you might not infer any such thing from all of the above, I do love my peoples, those what aren't vermin anyway, and a happy few will be getting nice Christmas presents from me. Most will come by mail order.

Do be sweet.

Foundations from an ancient dwelling, viewed from the geocache site

The swimming area at Fairystone Park, where I have spent much pleasant leisure time in years past.
Today would have been a bad, bad swimming day. Brrrr.