I Warned Him...

This morning, three old farts—Bloody Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob, a.k.a. Bloody Rob, a.k.a. Rob), Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), and Old Rodan (a.k.a. yours truly)—ventured down to the High Point Greenway Trail to hunt ten geocaches placed fairly recently by friend fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie, with whom I enjoyed a nice day on the geocaching trail yesterday, in Rocky Mount, VA). We found all ten. Diefenbaker needed to do maintenance on stage 1 on his two-part multi-cache, "Because We Can" (GC3B662) which lurks near the greenway. While Scott set about fixing the first stage, Old Rob decided to see if he could make his way to the final stage. As you may see in the photo above, he got only partway. Then the pipe et his head. I warned him about taking that approach, but he was not to be dissuaded. Alas, poor Robert, I knew him, Horatio.

We ended our outing with a fine lunch at Basil Leaf in High Point. Until last week, it had been quite a long time since I'd seen much of High Point. On MLK Day, friend Natalie and I hunted three new one down that way. Then, last night, Ms. B. and I paid a visit to The Claddagh Restaurant & Pub for some fine fish & chips. And today, I headed back again with the old fart contingent (operating today as Team Three Stooges). Nice to see a few new caches in the Furniture City. There hadn't been any for years, and some of us hardcore geocachers were beginning to feel the despair and desolation.

A Nightmare Revisited

I was rummaging through some bookshelves at my mom's this weekend, and happened upon her copy of the British edition of The Nightmare Frontier—a lovely hardback volume of my fourth novel, published by Sarob Press in 2006. I hadn't seen a physical copy of it in quite a long time, as my own personal copy is tucked away somewhere in the vault back home.

I've related the inspiration for the novel in this blog before, but seeing that image on the cover brought to mind, very vividly, the waking dream that inspired it—truly, one of the most terror-filled moments of my adult life. It was late evening, and I was drowsing on the couch in the living room, dark but for a few streamers of light filtering in through the Venetian blinds. I was aware that I was lying on the couch, yet peculiar images were beginning to waft up from my subconscious. As I lay there, I noticed a pool of warm, golden light forming at the corner of my vision. I shifted just enough to peer around the arm of the couch, and then I saw the source of the light.

Creeping across the living room floor, perhaps six feet away, there was a gigantic centipede, five feet long, its body glowing gold and red, as if a flame burned within it. Its head resembled a human skull, and as I watched, the thing slowly turned toward me, and I became aware of a horrifying, malevolent intelligence, observing and appraising me. It made no further move, yet my fear rapidly intensified until I jerked violently awake. The most disturbing thing at that moment was that I knew I was fully awake, yet I could see a circle of golden light on the floor, slowly fading, vanishing only after several seconds had passed.

It took some time before my nerves settled enough for me to drag myself off the couch and retire to my bedroom. By the time I finally drifted off to sleep again, I had a rudimentary plot in my head for the novel that was to become The Nightmare Frontier. So, yes, in the novel, you will encounter the thing that crept out of my darkest imaginings to pay me a visit that night. You will meet the individuals responsible for calling up such a thing from the remotest depths of hell. You will find yourself trapped in a town cut off from the rest of the world by some inexplicable force, rendering you helpless before the advance of these murderous monsters, known as Lumeras.

The e-book edition of The Nightmare Frontier can be had for a mere $2.99 at Amazon.com. The audiobook, narrated by Basil Sands, is $17.99.

The Nightmare Frontier from Amazon.com

I See a Blood Moon Rising

That's not my own photo—my phone camera doesn't exactly take beautiful photos of blood moons (or much of anything at night with any clarity)—but that image is precisely what I saw last night, directly overhead, in a crystal-clear sky. About 11:30 p.m., I popped out into the icy, windy night; looked at the encroaching shadow of the earth on the moon for a bit; then hauled myself back indoors to watch a couple of episodes of Space: 1999 ("Mission of the Darians" and "Dragon's Domain," the latter being the best episode of the entire series). Several more times until well after midnight, I ventured into the frigid night air to gaze in awe at the spectacle upstairs.

It was nice to have Martin Luther King Day off today, although it seems to be at the expense of extra days at Christmas and New Years at the end of this year. Feh. In any event, despite it being a blustery, frigid day, Ms. fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie) and I went down to High Point to pick up three new-ish geocaches. All were relatively easy and quite fun. I also needed to do maintenance on my puzzle cache, Coordinate Crossing (GC2TC82), in Gibson Park. This involved climbing some ways up a tree to change out a waterlogged logsheet, an experience made unusually intense by the biting wind. Got it done, though. Yesterday, on a maintenance visit to Martinsville, I climbed the tree at The Tilting Terror (GC7VZND) to replace that wayward container. So it's been a fine couple of days for going up trees in very cold weather.

Today, had a post-geocaching lunch with Ms. fishdownthestair today at Thai Chiang Mai in High Point, which is actually quite close to the office, though I never venture over there at lunchtime because that area is a madhouse, and I'm not that bloody insane. Even today it was busy, though at least tolerable. Very good, very spicy pork larb for me.

And for the rest of the day, I'll be making forward progress on my Ameri-Scares projects, both writing-wise and promotion-wise.

Bless ye.

More Midland Misadventures

"Welcome aboard Delta flight 2027, with service from Greensboro to Atlanta. We are excited you have chosen to travel with us today."

The flight attendant spoke in such a low monotone over the PA system that I was pretty certain she wasn't excited at all. In fact, I don't even think she liked us. But at 7:00 a.m. this past Tuesday, Kimberly and I took off on another trip to Midland, MI, to visit her parents, Del & Fern. Since we hadn't been able to see them at Christmastime, they arranged for us to come up for a slightly late Christmas in January. The first leg of our flight took us to Atlanta, where we landed at 8:30 a.m. The Starbucks coffee on the plane, proclaimed GREAT by Delta, really wasn't, but it did keep me going until I could get a slightly better cup on the next leg. Our flight into Flint, MI, arrived about 11:00 a.m., and there we met Del and Fern.

Midland is about an hour's drive north of Flint (and the town's water supply is just great). When we have a morning flight, it is Fern's custom to have on hand for us a lunch of sausage/cabbage/vegetable soup and her special, patented sandwich spread. And so she did. It is also custom to make a trip to Meijer—basically the anti-Walmart—for vital supplies and assorted goodies (read wine).

And hey, look here! There's a bunch of geocaches in the area that have been put out since we were last in Midland. Del & Fern were kind enough to allow me the use of their vehicle to go caching in the neighborhood. Most of these newer hides are traditional and not too difficult, although one of them provided an unusual challenge: it was a magnetic container stuck to a metal crossbeam on an old billboard, about 15 feet above the ground. The recommended "tool of the trade" to retrieve it would no doubt be a ladder. However, in the absence of said tool, I improvised something a little different, which allowed me to acquire, sign, and replace the cache exactly as I found it. However, on this outing I apparently discovered a mighty mudhole with the family vehicle, and I was unaware of the severity of its decorative qualities until Del pointed it out upon my return.

Oh, the shame of it! I did make appropriate amends, and Del & Fern had no qualms about allowing me to use the vehicle on subsequent caching outings. There were some decent ones.

Yeah, I found the cache, but that sucker was
hard-frozen in place

On Wednesday, Del, Fern, & Kimberly had a mind to visit Houghton Lake, a small community on a good-sized lake a little over an hour north of Midland. Their specific target was an arts-and-crafts outfit called Arnie's. My specific target was a bunch of caches. In Midland, there was a wee falling of snow, but as we drove north, the snowfall became a bit more enthusiastic. Houghton Lake, we found, was blanketed by a relatively deep fall of snow. But this is Michigan, and getting around in such conditions is no big deal—unlike here in Greensboro, where a couple of inches of snow results in a wholesale clearing out of all the bread and milk in town, as well as an accident on every other street corner. I managed to find a handful of nice caches, two in a snow-covered cemetery, which made for all kinds of fun. As in, "This sucker is frozen in place!" That kind of fun.

For lunch, following the recommendation of a kind soul at Arnie's, we chose a little diner called MJ's Eatery, which turned out to be more or less fantastic. Chicken & dumpling soup, fried fresh cod, and onion rings bigger than your head. Fine food and a good time all around.

A little graveyard caching in the snow at Houghton Lake, MI

And a virtual cache at a neat array of sculptures at a rest area near Clare, MI

One really ought not eat things bigger than one's head, but sometimes you just gotta.

That evening, Ms. B. and I ventured over to Whine, a nice bistro quite close to the Bruggers' place. There we spent a pleasant couple of hours with her old friend and classmate Darren, whom I've met on a few previous occasions. Wine, food, and good company all made for an enjoyable evening out. And hey—I found a few more geocaches. Shocked, you are.

Darren (a.k.a. D.J.), Ms. B., Old Rodan, whining away the time at Whine

Thursday, Kimberly and I had to run errands, including picking up all the necessary ingredients for the Christmas dinner I'd be preparing on Friday—lemon shrimp linguine, a dish to which I had done something akin to justice a few weeks ago. We fit in a spot of geocaching. For lunch, Fern fixed up what was very possibly the best bowl of chili I've ever consumed. And for our evening outing, Kimberly and I paid a visit to Bar Oxygen, a semi-posh little lounge in downtown Midland, which we had discovered on our previous visit. We downed a couple of fantastic little sliders as appetizers, and I discovered a hot, spicy drink—a jalapeno-cucumber-gin rickey—that was something akin to a liquid salad that burns. Delicious, I must say. Then we wandered a couple of doors down to Gratzi, another appealingly posh establishment. Now, here, Kimberly had a wonderful Polpete pizza, but my Fettuccine Pomodoro, with wild mushrooms, tomato, and basil—three of my favorite ingredients in the world—was not only nothing to write home about, the mushrooms and basil tasted like nothing, and the tomatoes were rather bitter. I did, however, discover a most wonderful cocktail with rye, amaretto, and hickory smoke, which was piped into the flask as the drink was mixed.

To Gratzi's absolute credit, because I was not satisfied with the fettuccine dish, they not only comped it, they offered us a meat and cheese plate to take home that was some kind of delicious. The manager and staff were beyond courteous, and I would not hesitate to return to sample other, hopefully more appealing dishes on their menu. I very much hope we can go back on a future trip to Midland. Hopefully, the not-too-distant future.

Geocaching, yes.

Young lady and Old Rodan at Bar Oxygen in downtown Midland. That's one SPICY drink in front of me.

One might think from reading this little chronicle that Ms. B. and I ate and drank perhaps a little too well over the course of our stay. You would be right, I fear. However, we were not yet finished....

Friday morning was our almost-month-delayed Christmas celebration. Kim, Del, Fern, and I exchanged some very nice gifts. Then I set about preparing our midday feast—the lemon shrimp linguine dish to which I previously alluded. Now this stuff did turn out all kinds of good. Would that the dinner at Gratzi been so all kinds of good. It's a simple recipe I discovered online, doctored up the way I customarily doctor up things.

One of Midland's multitudes of very black,
very fat squirrels

And then, to work off a couple of those delicious shrimp, I spent the rest of the afternoon out and about geocaching. Most of it was spent exploring the relatively expansive Barstow Woods a couple of miles or so from the Brugger homestead. I found half-dozen nice caches on this expedition. Now, there were several over the course of the trip that I hunted long and hard but never did find. At least a couple appeared to be missing; the others... who knows. They could be gone, or it may be that the old geocacher just wasn't able to turn up some well-concealed hides.

Last evening, Kimberly and I stayed home but were joined by her longtime friend whom we shall call Gordier, since her name is... Gordier. There's more to it than that, but I'm not sure Kimberly remembers what it is. A spirited and most enjoyable visit it was.

And today... it was up at 3:30 a.m. to get down to Flint for our 6:00 a.m. departure. I am now home.

Throughout the trip, I did manage to find considerable periods of time to make forward progress on my next novel in the Ameri-scares series, Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior (excerpt here). While the novel is set in the Upper Peninsula—and we unfortunately could not visit the UP this go-round—just being in Michigan, in a mellow, enjoyable setting, made for a very positive writing experience, much as it did when I was working on West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman on our last visit, back in September. That novel is due for release in just a couple of weeks (see my blog entry from January 10).

I may be due for just a bit of sleep. Sleep well.

"Christmas" dinner: lemon shrimp linguine a la Damned Rodan

The rigors of arriving back home...

West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman e-Book Now Available for Pre-Order!

Pre-Order Now—the e-book (Kindle) edition of West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, my first novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series for young readers, published by Crossroad Press. The e-book will be delivered on February 1, 2019, and the paperback edition is scheduled to follow shortly.

In the town of Broad Run, West Virginia...
Vance Archer and Marybeth Wilkins, a pair of adventurous seventh graders, have discovered an exciting activity called geocaching—a kind of scavenger hunt using GPS technology—which leads them after hidden treasures in the woods around their community. However, on one of their outings, they encounter a frightening, half-seen creature with glowing red eyes watching them from the shadows. Soon, Vance begins to receive mysterious messages on his phone from a caller named Indrid Cold. He learns that this name is associated with the legendary Mothman, a strange, unearthly being that is said to appear when some terrible event is about to occur. Believing that they—as well as their friends and loved ones—may soon face mortal danger, Vance and Marybeth try to solve the increasingly strange clues before disaster strikes.

* * *

In September 2018, I spent a few days in Point Pleasant, WV, where the legend of the Mothman originated (see "Lair of the Mothman," September 30, 2018). Those days provided me with a wonderful sense of the actual location's mysterious and alluring character, which I believe will deepen the reader's immersive experience in this book.

The novel's brilliant cover, composed by Crossroad Press graphic artist David Dodd, incorporates a photograph I took of an old munitions storage bunker near Point Pleasant, where the Mothman was reputedly seen; an enhanced rendering of a drawing of the Mothman I created (see "Completed! Lair of the Mothman, October 18, 2018); and one of the series' signature kids' silhouettes. These elements come together to make a striking and atmospheric piece of art that I think captures the air of mystery at the heart of this novel.

Pre-order West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman

Each Ameri-Scares novel is based on or inspired by an historical event, folktale, legend, or myth unique to that particular state.

Excerpt #1 from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior

Check out this little excerpt from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior, my second novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-scares series, now in progress and due from Crossroad Press in 2019. Look forward to some marvelously fun frights....

#

Jeff sped down the rough road, standing on the bike's pedals as he barreled over roots and rocks. Some of the earthen mounds made ideal ramps for launching his bike—and himself—into the air. Each time, he made a perfect landing on the rear wheel and sped onward. The farther he rode, the denser the trees grew. Soon, the road narrowed, becoming little more than a rugged path through the woods.

Ahead, he saw a large, dark mound in the middle of the path. It looked like the perfect jump ramp. He stood on the pedals and pumped them hard to pick up speed. The mound, he realized, appeared almost perfectly oval and rose at least three feet high. It was gray-black in color, with a texture like tree bark.

But it could not be a fallen tree, not shaped like that....

As he hit the mound, he pulled up on the handlebars to lift the front wheel. The bike flew into the air. But then, as if the mound had thrust itself upward, something hit his rear tire and threw him off balance. The bike lurched, and his feet left the pedals. The next thing he knew, the ground was hurtling toward him.

Thud!

He hit the dirt hard, and his breath exploded from his lungs. He saw his bike above him, falling toward him as if in slow motion. It crashed down right on top of him. The end of one handlebar slammed into his stomach. For the first time in his life, he knew what it meant to see stars.

He lay there for what seemed like an hour, struggling to breathe. Once the stars dimmed and his vision returned, he saw his bike lying a few feet away. It looked okay, he thought—until he saw the chain hanging loose from its sprockets.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. If the chain was broken, he had a long way to push his bike.

Taking care not to move too quickly, he sat up. With a sigh of disgust, he brushed the dirt from his arms and legs. When he glanced back the way he had come, every blood cell in his body turned to ice.

“That’s impossible.”

The mound that had caused him to wreck was gone.

Gone.

In its place, he saw a deep depression, roughly oval shaped, at least eight feet long and four feet wide.

“Impossible,” he whispered again.

#

---

Second excerpt from Michigan: The Dragon of
Lake Superior

Third excerpt from Michigan: The Dragon of
Lake Superior

Waylaid, Shanghaied, and Hauled Away....

Fog beginning to roll in over the Grand Strand, December 31, 2018, about 10:30 p.m.

So Ms. B. and I had figured we would spend a fairly quiet New Year's Eve with friends Terry & Beth at their place in Winston-Salem. Drink some wine, maybe lounge in the hot tub on a chilly winter night. Sounded like a fine plan. Up until Friday night, that was the plan. Then, friends Terry & Beth put Ms. B. and me on notice: "We are going to the beach."

All righty, then.

Dang if we didn't go the beach. Sunday noon-ish, we hit the road, bound for the Caribbean Resort and Villas in Myrtle Beach. Brugger and I had been to Myrtle Beach couple of times already this year, and the last thing we expected to do was spend New Year's there. The horror of it! Waylaid, Shanghaied, and hauled away from home against our wills. There was only a wee bit of geocaching involved. In fact, there was none on the trip down—a first for me, at least since I started caching in 2008. It was hard, but I survived. (Don't know if I could ever do that again.)

Shark, viewed from 18th floor balcony

Fortuitously for us, our friends Gerry & Bridget, with whom we visited the beach previously this year, were down at their place again, so we met for a delicious, if quite noisy dinner at Taco Mundo, near their beach residence at Barefoot Landing. The sangria we had was decent at best, but Taco Mundo's Baja fish tacos—tempura fried mahi mahi, red cabbage, cilantro & ancho chile yogurt sauce—are the best I've had anywhere. For afters, we made a brief stop at Gerry & Bridget's place, where Ms. B. and I had made a sojourn back in May ("Strange Magic," May 28, 2018). Then the lot of us trucked back to the Caribbean for some wine and horrifying fellowship until the wee hours. Fortuitous indeed.

Yesterday morning, we spent a while watching a shark from our balcony. Eventually, having found no children to feast upon, it headed northward. I hope it managed to satisfy its hunger... somewhere. Then, we Four Mooseketeers once again met Gerry & Bridget, this time for breakfast at Carolina Pancake House, just around the block from The Caribbean. Scambled eggs, smoked sausage, grits, toast, coffee. Perfection. Gerry & Bridget then departed for North Carolina, and the rest of us headed over to Broadway at the Beach to get in some much-needed shopping. Here, I finally managed to snag a handful of caches and thus preserve my sanity—not so easy when you've been waylaid, Shanghaied, and hauled away from home against your will. The shopping outing lasted until fairly late in the day, at which time we needed wine. We found this at the Coastal Wine Boutique in Barefoot Landing, a fine little establishment we had discovered back in May. Good, good wine indeed. And since we were by now hungry, we snagged a couple of pizzas from Ultimate California Pizza, just next door; brought them back over to the wine bar; and enjoyed a pizza-and-wine feast we figured might hold us until we could kill some larger game.

The Four Moosketeers

Broadway at the Beach

Scary ladies!

Good wine, great company

Back at the Caribbean, we suited up and headed for the indoor pool/lazy river/hot tub, which at first proved agreeably mellow. After a while, though, hordes of screaming, running, snotting miniature human creatures, which our shark friend had apparently missed out on, overran the place. We did enjoy the time we had there, though, so we were content to return to our suite and dive into the massive charcuterie arrangement Ms. Beth had so kindly and expertly put together for us. I will tell you, one could not have paid top dollar for anything better.

Fog shrouds the ladies on the balcony

By this time—nine-ish—we had been all around Myrtle Beach, but not on the beach. Fog was beginning to roll in, but the temperature was still nice—around 55 degrees or so. Terry & Beth opted to stay in the suite, but Ms. B. and I went for a fairly lengthy walk by the ocean. She found a trove of beautiful seashells, which, in my experience at Myrtle Beach, is pretty rare. By the time we turned back toward the resort, the fog was getting thicker (and Leon was getting larger). And when we arrived back at the 18th floor and went out on the balcony, the fog had become so thick you couldn't even see the breakers, a couple of hundred feet away.

Over the next couple of hours, the low clouds continued to gather, classic rock music began to blast from the neighboring quarters, and the previously sporadic fireworks started going up in earnest. From our balcony, we had a fabulous view of a lengthy, fairly extravagant fireworks presentation, which appeared to be the work of someone other than amateurs, but which we learned had not been contracted by the resort. We briefly checked out New Year's Rocking Eve on the telly, but since it really doesn't incorporate any rock, we deemed it superfluous. As the midnight hour drew nearer, the fireworks blasted away amid the heavy mist, and cheers rang out from all around the resort. The music director a couple of floors below began taking hollered requests for tunes from Terry, who was all about boogeying on the balcony.

At the stroke of midnight, a fantastic fireworks finale kicked off AD 2019.

The Caribbean Resort & Villas, seen from the beach as the fog rolls in, December 31, 2018, 10:15 p.m.

Fireworks in the fog, viewed from our 18th-floor balcony

Get on down and party.

Things wound down quickly after this, which suited us old people just fine. We'd had a full day on the go, with lots of exercise, satisfying food and drink, and exceptional entertainment. And what a surprise for Ms. B. and me. Of all the things I might have expected to be doing on New Year's Eve, hanging out at the beach with good friends really wasn't among them. I should be waylaid, Shanghaied, and hauled away places more often.

I did manage to snag one cache on the return trip today, so I guess I'll be able to sleep easy tonight. Unfortunately, the rest of this week is going to be anything but relaxing, so the timing for this unexpected outing couldn't have been better. Thanks to our friends who really enriched our lives this weekend. And to all of you out there, have a helluva great 2019. Something tells me we all really need it.

Some of the shells Kimberly found on the beach

By 9:00 a.m. this morning, the fog had broken and the temperature hit 70 degrees

It's THAT Time Again...

JUST FOR NEW YEAR'S...

STARTING TODAY — 1/1/19—and running for the next seven days, you can 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. To survive, 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. Thanks!

2018 Fairy Stone Finale

There's been a relatively new geocache at Fairy Stone Park just about long enough for it no longer be relatively new (October 15). Since I'm at Mum's in Martinsville so frequently, when there's a new cache at Fairy Stone, I'm usually right on it. But circumstances and severe weather—including major snowfall—have prevented me heading to it in timely fashion. At last, the workings of the world came together such that I might get up there this morning. It was my regular weekend to be at Mum's anyway, but I had to get to the bank in Martinsville early yesterday after she was scammed out of sizable amount of money—for the umpteenth time. I took care of as much as I could take care of under the circumstances. The highlight of the evening was an excellent sushi/sashimi dinner at Yamato.

After tackling all of the usual Martinsville business this morning, at long last, I ventured forth to Fairy Stone Park; parked in a beautifully wooded, low-lying picnic area at the base of the campground road; and proceeded to hoof it a half mile or so up the steep Fairy Stone Park landscape. Thanks to perfect coordinates and an explicit hint, I turned up the cache, called Fairy Stone State Park Manager, Mr. John Grooms (GC7Z392), almost immediately. A nicely done hide. At any rate, that'll be my last jaunt to Fairy Stone of 2018. I just hope there will be plenty more opportunities coming up in 2019.

Then I had to debate with myself whether to return to Greensboro via Reidsville, have some fish & chips (the world's best) and perhaps a drink at The Celtic Fringe, and thus settle for boring soup at dinnertime—or—head on home, have a bowl of boring soup for lunch, and then order something a bit more entertaining come suppertime. It was a very short debate. The fish & chips won out easily, and the drink—a refreshing concoction of secret ingredients (including gin, vodka, bitters, mango, sugar, and basil) called "The Fringe"—managed to lift my spirits considerably.

This evening, I have writing, writing, and more writing on the menu. I must—must—make much more forward progress in Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior, my forthcoming novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series. Circumstances have held me up far more than with my previous entry (West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman). Still, I'm also feeling inclined to put on one of those wonderful Hitchcock films that Santa Claus left under the tree for me at Christmas. Perhaps Rear Window or North by Northwest. That'll work up some spirit.

Over and out.

An unseasonably warm, pleasant if rather damp morning at Fairy Stone Park

High, fast-moving water after all the recent precipitation

Don't go over that edge!

The Thing, The Thing, and Other Things

No matter how hectic, Christmas has generally been a time that I can put the world aside for at least a short time and relax a bit. Not so much this year. Things have been tough enough due to my mom's health issues, and my stress level spiked the other day when I learned she had been scammed again. Not at all a happy way to greet Christmas. As it stands, the next few days are going to be more than a headache. And as happens all too often, my brain latches onto the upcoming challenges and frets over them, no matter how I try to refocus it. Sometimes, I'm pretty sure an emergency shut-off switch would be just the ticket. A temporary shut-off, mind you, not a full-blown, let's-pull-the-plug power-down.

That said, the past couple of days had their shining moments, starting with a new geocache (GC81M5B) coming out just up the road a piece. I got to it in time to snag the FTF (first-to-find) by moments. I had the cache in my hand when friend Bloody Rob (a.k.a. Rob) and his little buddy Bentley arrived on the scene. Being Christmas Eve and all, I felt inclined to share the FTF honors with him. We were just about to part company when another vehicle pulled up. This turned out to be friend Rhodorooter (a.k.a. Dave) and his son-in-law Cruxclimber (a.k.a. Steve). We had an impromptu little geocaching event on the spot—and, apparently, not moments after I left, friend Smashemups (a.k.a. Fred) also showed up. Pity I missed the larger gathering, but I was happy to settle for the FTF.

Shortly afterward, Ms. Brugger arrived at my place. We packed up all our necessities, including scads of Christmas goodies, and headed out to the Grove Winery for a tasting and a glass—a Christmas Eve tradition we have observed for several years now. Then we hit the road for Martinsville and my mom's place. Once there, we threw a gift-wrapping party and partook of a very light supper (chicken salad sandwiches and chips) since we had a little social event to attend a short time later.

That event was a visit with authors Stephen and Samaire Provost, whom I've known via social media for quite some time and who recently—quite coincidentally—moved not only to Martinsville but to my old neighborhood. They live, as the crow flies, about 500 feet from our place. Of course, in Martinsville, you don't get anywhere as the crow flies, so we set out on foot and hoofed it a half mile or so up the street. This little gathering turned out to be the highlight of the holiday for me. Ms. B. and I got there at 7:45 p.m. and didn't end up leaving till after 1:00 a.m. For this, we can blame stimulating conversation, first-rate spirits, and some incredible vittles Samaire put together (I ate more than my fill, but I feel a little bad there was still quite a bit left after we all finished). When we left their place, it had gotten considerably colder than when we had arrived. In fact, a sheen of frost now blanketed the neighborhood. Our little jog back to Mom's through the still, silent night, with Christmas lights still burning all around us, proved to be at least as enjoyable as anything else we did yesterday.

For years now, on Christmas Eve, Kimberly and I have planted ourselves in Mom's sunroom to watch A Christmas Story, but our unexpectedly lengthy night out forced an alteration of this tradition. At least the annual marathon was still in full swing, so we watched the last 45 minutes or so of the midnight showing, and the first few minutes of the 2:00 a.m. showing. Sometime thereafter, we made our ways to bed.

A spell of that accursed anxiety woke me before dawn, and I never made it back to sound sleep territory. Kimberly got up before the sun as well to start the main course of our Christmas dinner—a big-ass London broil cooked in the crock pot—and then went back to bed. So, once we did manage to haul our asses out of bed, we were a bit slow to get moving. Still, things all came together. My brother, Phred, arrived about 11:30 a.m., and we proceeded to tear into the gifts that Santa had so kindly piled under the tree. For me, there were movies galore—John Carpenter's The Thing; the 2011 sequel, also titled The Thing; Shin Godzilla; and a nice Alfred Hitchock set featuring several of his best titles: Rear Window, Vertigo, North by Northwest, Psycho, and The Birds. My brother got me the 50th anniversary CD/DVD of The Moody Blues' In Search of the Lost Chord, which is my favorite (or perhaps second favorite) of all their albums. I also got some clothes and a slew of edible treats. Materially, I think we all made out like bandits this year.

There are wine bottle stoppers, and then
there are wine bottle stoppers.

Brugger and I then set about preparing the day's feast, which we enjoyed no end. At the end of this proverbial banquet, the house showed every possible sign that festivities had occurred here, so, for us young whippersnappers, there followed a protracted period of cleanup, since Mom is unable to pitch in as she used to.

At last, we all said our goodbyes, and Brugger and I returned to Casa de Rodan in Greensboro. Also following what has become a Christmas tradition, we doctored up a Red Baron frozen pizza with a shit-ton of extra ingredients and cooked it for a most enjoyable supper. Just for shits and giggles, we watched a very lame yet reasonably entertaining horror flick called Don't Hang Up on Amazon Prime.

And that was about as far as my dwindling energy stores would take me this evening. I did manage to knock out this verbiage from under a pile of cats, but I'm pretty sure that, for today, this is about all she wrote. Thankfully, I've got tomorrow off, and I expect it to be a productive, much-needed writing day. If a bit of geocaching happens as well, then that'll be a desirable bonus.

Y'all send positive vibes my way as there's still a spell of stress and strife lying in wait for me in the coming days.

Hope you've had the merriest of Christmases, if Christmas you celebrate. Till later....

At the Provost place, a.k.a. Dragon Crown Books. Dunno what I was carrying on about here. Somethin'.

Fear in Fearrington

After a week of precipitation that pushed this part of NC into all-time record territory, we finally had a day of sunshine. So, the usual suspects of Team No Dead Weight—Old Bloody Rob (a.k.a. Rob) and Ms. fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie)—packed ourselves off to the almost-wilderness of Orange and Chatham Counties, NC, just south of Chapel Hill. There were geocaches aplenty on the menu, and we intended to grab our fill of them.

We didn't exactly get off to a rip-roaring start. The first one we stopped for, at the Morgan Creek Trail, turned out to be missing, so we had to log a dreaded DNF (Did Not Find). Womp-waah.

On a happier note, the next one we went after, which had several DNFs logged on it, turned out to still be there. We were just about to give up on it when Ms. Fish gave that joyous cry, "Found it!" Yay for Ms. Fish!

A jolly old fellow in the woods

We then deployed to a little southern village called Southern Village, just off U.S. 501. Here, we found several nice caches and a very old, certainly haunted graveyard, around which the village has been built. After clearing this area of unfound caches, we hunted down vittles at Town Hall Grill, which proved satisfying in the extreme. A very spicy bloody mary and a turkey burger served Greek-style in a pita made for a helluva fine lunch.

For afters, we rode five miles or so down the road to Fearrington Village, where a fairly extensive trail system offered a number of nice caches. Here among the woods, we found a trove of artistic treasures, many of which appealed to my creepy nature. I don't know who the artist(s) are, but I heartily approve of the adornments to this pleasant, expansive wooded acreage. We finished out the day with no more DNFs and some very fun hides under our belts.

One thing I discovered—which I had totally forgotten about (because I might be a little old)—was that Fearrington Village is known for its belted cows. They're tubby bovines with stubby little legs. Very cute. And the signage around the place was more than a little familiar. Back in the late 80s/early 90s, when I worked for (long-defunct) Precision Typographers here in Greensboro, the ad agency that designed the Fearrington logo and associated typographic materials was one of our clients. I had typeset that stuff way back when, and here it all was again, right in front of me. What an unexpected rush of memories.

The holiday season has already been busy, and the next few days will be even busier. But hopefully relaxing as well. For the sake of my sanity, I must—must, I tell you—work in some more geocaching before it's time to go back to the office on Thursday. I must, I must, or I shall bust.

Happy horrordays.

There were thingummies watching us everywhere we went.

The sprawling, bustling Fearrington Village Post Office

Two-thirds of Team No Dead Weight killing time amid the graves

Leave the sheep alone, Rob.

Bagged a ten-pointer.

My Memories of Donald Moffat—R.I.P.

Donald Moffat, who played Commander Garry in John Carpenter's The Thing (1982), among many other noteworthy roles, has passed away at age 87. It strikes me as particularly sad since I had met him in person—quite unexpectedly—at a restaurant in Atlanta some years ago.

It was around 1990, and my (now ex-)wife Peg and my brother Phred were visiting Atlanta on one of our regular trips to Georgia. The three of us were having dinner at a sushi bar on the north side of Atlanta when a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman wandered in and sat down at the bar next to my brother, who was seated on the other side of my wife. I recognized the man immediately, and though I knew exactly who he was, my brain let out an exceptionally powerful fart, and his name simply would not come to me. I very subtly nudged Peg and said, "Look, that's an actor from The Thing. He's been in a bunch of stuff. He played President Johnson in The Right Stuff. I can't think of his name!" Peg looked at the man and shook her head. "I think you're right," she said. "But I don't know his name either."

My brother, who could sort of hear what we were talking about, shook his head and softly said, "No, it's not. You're full of it."

"But it is!" I insisted. "You know, he's in a bazillion movies—a character actor."

"No. Not him."

"Is too."

Finally, a little exasperated, Phred turned to the gentleman and said, "Excuse me, but my brother is convinced you're a familiar actor, but can't think of your name."

The man smiled and said, "Donald Moffat."

At the same volume and level of excitement as Charlie Brown responding to Lucy's diagnosis of Pantophobia, I hollered out, "THAT'S IT!"

My brother's face kind of fell, but all proved well. We sat and chatted with Donald Moffat for quite a while, finding him quite amiable and full of entertaining stories. He informed us he was in Atlanta filming a movie with "that blond kid—Ricky Schroder." (I later determined the movie must have been A Son's Promise, which I have never seen, though I suppose I should check it out someday.) We did discuss The Thing in some detail, as it was even then probably my favorite horror flick. I asked him if people often recognized him when he was out in public.

"All the time," he said, "but they think I'm their insurance man."

At that time—Deathrealm was in its heyday, so I was frequently going to conventions all over the country—I had met plenty of big-name authors, a number of movie stars, and a few other persons of note (when I lived in Chicago, I once literally ran into Tommy LaSorda—he was coming out a revolving door while I was going in. BOOM. At least he laughed about it), but more often than not it was at a con or someplace where you might expect to encounter such folks. I think this was the first time I'd met a "star" just having dinner, and, as you might expect, for the rest of that evening, I was floating on Cloud Nine.

I do still have a memento of that evening—a chopsticks wrapper that Mr. Moffat very kindly autographed, since, at the time, it was the only piece of paper I had on hand.

I have enjoyed Donald Moffat's performances in many films over the years, but to me, he will always stand out as Commander Garry in The Thing. R.I.P.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night!

In front of my house about 9:00 p.m. last night. The wall of snow and ice to the right is over two feet high.

To no one's surprise, after 15+ inches of snow, with sleet on top of it, the power went pow! about 10:30 p.m. last night. I had anticipated this very thing, so I had lanterns, flashlights, candles, extra food & drink, blankets, cats, etc. to get through an indoor cold spell. Sure enough, the house turned frigid overnight, but at least the bed stayed warm (bundles of cats help a lot). Yesterday morning, I had made a huge pot of coffee in case the power went out earlier in the day, but then I neglected to make more later. And irony of ironies, I had just thought to do so when electricity vacated the premises last night.

Happily, not long after I got up this morning, electricity returned to Casa de Rodan, and so far has hung around. Hopefully for the long haul. First order of business: brew bucket loads of coffee. The office is closed for the rest of the day, also happily, since getting out on the road is a virtual impossibility, and even if it were possible, highly unsafe. So, barring another power outage, it'll be a good day to make a prodigious amount of progress in Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior, my next entry in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series.

You people in the affected area stay safe and warm. Things are going to re-freeze tonight.

The Rodan mobile, parked for the duration.

T'ain't Fit for Man Nor Beast....

I may end up snowbound for some time. The big winter storm that came in last night dropped a good 10 inches overnight, and it's still piling up. Right now, it's mostly sleet, but it keeps changing out there. Eventually, this is supposed to turn to freezing rain, which is when the power is most likely to go out. So far, so good here, although there are reports of outages here and there.

There's no way in hell my little car's going to be getting out of my driveway until there's been plowing and considerable melting, which shan't likely be happening in the next 24 hours. I trust the office powers-that-be will have the decency and good sense to just close the office tomorrow. Nohing our company produces is worth risking life, limb, and property for a day at work. I believe it was three years ago that my car got banged up real good by another vehicle that went out of control—and I narrowly avoided getting banged up myself—due to having to drive in conditions where no person with a lick have sense should have been out there. I love my day job, but only up to a point....

It's getting darker and deeper out there even now. The big old flakes are back. I'm stocked up with supplies, but I so hope to keep power through all these. Else it's gonna be a cold, cold time.

About 11:00 a.m. this morning

About ten inches came down overnight, and it's not supposed to stop till tomorrow.

Shiver me beeches!