Matthew Roland's Blog, page 5

SPECTACLE OR ATROCITY?: A Review of "The Hobbit trilogy" – PART 1

First off, let’s get something out of the way: the Hobbit film trilogy is flawed, imperfect, and has several unfortunate shortcomings, which ultimately cause it to stumble overall. These flaws stem from the decision to make two films into three, the amount of time Peter Jackson was allotted to make them by the studio execs, and studio intervention with the creative process. However, at the same time, it’s also filled with truly cathartic and genuinely stirring moments of spectacle and grandeur, features some of the best acting in the business, and is the emissary of a (once again) brilliant musical score by the one and only Howard Shore. So...with all that said, are these films truly a spectacle or an atrocity? When Does An Adaptation Cross the Line? Let's make one thing abundantly clear: The Lord of the Rings films are not the book. The Hobbit films also are not the book. They're adaptations. No matter how many times people may try to justify them in that sense, at the end of the day, they just aren’t. Now, as many of us are well aware, The Hobbit has been accused on many fronts of doing injustice to the source material. These “injustices” are usually classified as the following: the addition of Azog the Defiler, the creation of an entirely new character, and the extra “padding” to the story main (such as the Dol Guldur subplot & the Laketown politics). However, apparently, regarding these specific allegations, LoTR gets a free pass. Who doesn’t remember Lurtz from The Fellowship of the Ring? What about the decision to completely change the character of Faramir to the exact opposite of what Tolkien originally intended (and Aragorn for that matter)? Or how about when the Elves showed up out of nowhere to fight at Helm’s Deep? Now, don’t get me wrong. I will readily agree that the vast majority of these decisions were either necessary or enhanced the screen-story for the better. The problem that inevitably ensues is when people attempt to “compare” said films to the original work, which tends to fail more often than not. Because of the vast differences between book and film, I am of the opinion that the vast majority of adaptations should be enjoyed on their own merits––not that of their predecessor. Book and film are two entirely different genres/mediums altogether, and if one were to actually translate every little detail from the book to the film––just to stay loyal to the source material––a whole host of problems would ensue. One good example of this was the decision to cut the character of Tom Bombadil from the Rings trilogy. Taken by themselves, the movies are already massive features, and on-screen, such an addition would make the story seem “unwieldy,” so to speak. In books, one is allowed to take little rabbit-trails here and there, to build upon the theme and story the author is telling. While some may say that Bombadil was an unnecessary addition to the story, I would argue otherwise––for he serves to describe further and augment the power of the Ring, not to mention the world of Middle-earth. However, in film the audience is more easily distracted––the longer the film is, the more likely the filmmakers are to lose the attention of the audience. Movies are, more or less, “built,” in a sense, and are designed to keep the audience interested. The Lord of the Rings is, of course, a massive book, so during the development stage, the filmmakers decided to focus on two-story threads and cut anything that didn't tie in somehow with those two threads. These threads were: Frodo's quest (being the main plot) & Aragorn's journey (the sub-plot). In the end, these decisions allowed the films to stay incredibly focused, when given the (some would say) overlong running times. That said, let me make something abundantly clear: this is not to say that all adaptations are and should be given free rein. Heavens no! I will concur that there comes a point when an adaptation crosses a line in regards to the liberties it takes with the source material. The sole reason I take such a stance is because film and novel can diverge so greatly (in terms of format, levels of action, expository scenes, dialogue, and in some cases, structure). I believe that what matters the most is whether or not said adaptation stayed true to the inherent theme(s) of that story. In the case of Hobbit, these were the “loss of innocence” and the “power of greed.” The Hobbit films (in part to the efforts of one Martin Freeman) largely succeeded in this respect, though this is not to say that these themes were perfectly played out––just that a noticeable effort is made to realize and relay them to the audience. And for that, they should be commended. The Unsung Complications If you take the time to research what exactly went on during the making of Hobbit, you’ll quickly find that the production was plagued from the beginning with many obstacles and difficulties. For one, Jackson had a lot of outside pressure to complete them on schedule: so much so that at certain points, he was literally shooting without a script. After the trilogy’s completion, he even admitted to “winging it.” And two, he didn’t even want to have any part of directing! Jackson made it clear multiple times before production on Hobbit even commenced, that he didn’t want to direct because he wished to avoid competing with the major success of Rings. He only jumped on board, when the appointed director, Guillermo Del Toro, decided to step down. At that point the films were in danger of being delayed, or worse, running afoul with someone who didn’t respect the source material. All in all, I think it’s safe to say that he had a miserable time of it. Moving on, then. From the get-go, the creative minds were faced with two disobliging hurdles: 1) They had to appease fans of the original work––which just so happened to be one of the most popular children’s stories ever written––and 2) remain tonally consistent with arguably, the most popular movie trilogy ever produced. This is a lot more difficult than it sounds. Additionally, changes had to be made. There was simply no way around that. The Hobbit is, in reality, an assortment of small episodes meant to be told to children on a nightly basis. For the most part, each episode doesn’t do much to advance the plot (Trolls, I’m looking at you)––save to build up Bilbo’s character. They are, more succinctly, their own little adventure where Bilbo reaches the next level in his character arc. The plotline has a very meandering feel to it and in of itself, doesn’t contain the necessary “drive” needed to propel the story forward on the screen. If the filmmakers had opted to adapt the story directly, the pacing (which happened to be a common criticism) would have really off, and the character development (with the exception of Bilbo himself) would have felt severely off-kilter. All of these components would have led to a film that would have felt, well, rushed, for lack of a better word. On one count, while Hobbit is considered “short,” (in regards to page & word count), there is much more going on than in, say, similarly-sized novels such as The Maze Runner or The Hunger Games, among others. What would take twenty to thirty pages of close, methodical detail in Rings, Tolkien merely spends two to three pages on in Hobbit. Significant and overt particulars are passed over with barely a noticeable allusion. The passing mention of the Necromancer in connection with Gandalf’s abrupt departure works because of the nature of the book presented, and Bard’s timely introduction to kill the dragon works just as well. However, this is where the mediums of film and book diverge. These are in short, “less cinematic moments.” Bard’s inclusion on the screen would simply feel anti-climactic––because we haven’t yet seen him and do not care for his character as we would for Bilbo. Such moments could not be simply passed over, or else, confusion would follow among the general audience and said character’s intrusion would be subsequently criticized for merely serving the story of the primary character. At the end of the day, a 90-minute movie would not do the source material the adequate justice it is due, and admittedly, even a three-hour would not suffice. The question one then inevitably asks is this: was it a good storytelling decision to expand a relatively small novel to over 8 hours and 52 minutes of screen time?

The Curious Case of "Intriguing Inceptions" (for those who may be wondering...)

Finally. After many well-documented hurdles betwixt KDP and myself, I finally, finally have the paperback version of the above title ready to be released. The first proof copy was ordered last Sunday and today, the final round of edits were completed. As of now, it's in review and should be published and available to the general public within several days. But if you’re thinking that all of a sudden, Matthew is releasing his first novel (Hurrah! Bravo! Encore! *shouts of applause*) then prepare to be disappointed. This (sadly) is not my first novel. But it is something. I guess I should explain. For those who know me well, I have a long and storied history of beginning books, only to taper off soon after due to the perfectionist inside of me crying out in dissatisfaction at the story. I’m at long last beginning to get past that stage––mostly because I’m beginning to find my groove in telling non-cliché stories. The Mighty Shall Rise is the culmination of my many restarts/reboots, and will hopefully be the beginning of a new era for me writing-wise. As I stated in an earlier newsletter, I had initially planned on releasing the first part of Mighty in the middle of June. Safe to say, that didn’t end up happening because of my decision to combine the (at that time) four parts into two separate installments. As of now, the release date for that aforementioned first part––now titled Swords Unhallowed––has been pushed back to sometime in December. In light of that, I spent some time reflecting...and within several seconds of deep contemplation over the matter, I came upon the idea of releasing an anthology compromised of my (in my mind) most intriguing beginnings. And so, Intriguing Inceptions: Essays in Fantasy & Science Fiction was born. All in all, it did not take long for me to assemble everything in one place, organize, and edit it all. A preliminary version was released on July 27, 2019 for Kindle, while I waited for the paperback version to be processed. It's safe to say that within the next several days, I shall pull the former back, revise, and then republish it. Allow me to state something important: The sole reason I’m doing this is to 1) begin making my presence known in the writing world and 2) tide everybody over until The Mighty Shall Rise is completed. My goal is to become a traditionally published author and as such, I tend to despise or “look down” on self-publishing. However, having heard how easy it was to publish with Amazon, I thought I might play around and publish an anthology of my better beginnings just for fun. And that, in a roundabout fashion, is all I have to say concerning this…news.

Singing Praises: A Review of Daeus Lamb's "God of Manna"

[the following was taken from Matthew's original review on Goodreads] The Five Star rating should say enough. Rarely do I burst out in praise for another book (unless that book was written by one J.R.R. Tolkien). However, I feel I can make an exception here. To put it simply: the story is beautiful. As I soaked it up, every word, every sentence sung off the page. And even more rarely, all seemed to contribute something to the story. Furthermore, inside this engaging and evocative prose (and occasional poetry), there resides a depth that is not normally found in much of the literature produced in this present age. The witty wording and turns of phrase render this 'depth' in such a way that only a small few can resist its alluring charm and provocative implications. Indeed, for those considering whether or not to pick up this small volume, let it be known: there is treasure here. Rarely have I so much enjoyed reading a book as I did with God of Manna. The only fault I can find with it is that it was too short. Epic Fantasy community, writing/reading community, and world, watch out: Daeus Lamb is someone to who figures to be a key player in the literary world for many years down the road.

"It has begun..."

It is finished. The first draft of The Mighty Shall Rise is finished, coming in at 90,003 words and 354 MS pages. At long last. I spent some time Thursday reworking the story due to several plot lines unexpectedly spiraling out of control, cut one character, and combined several others for the sake of more linear storytelling. In all, I really only cut 3,000 words, which may not seem like much; however, at the same time, I essentially “rebooted” the story––therefore cutting much more than would at first seem obvious. For those who aren’t aware, I’m not exactly a fan of huge, giant stories with a bazillion plot threads––unless it serves a purpose. I tend to be someone who likes his stories tight, rigorous, and well-thought-out. For me, every character must serve some purpose within the story (and no, not to simply set up an introduction in a plausible fourteenth sequel). Every line of dialogue must be considered; every storyline must contribute something meaningful to the story, and every secret revealed must be done with tact (which happens to be why I’m such a big fan of the Jason Bourne movies, and Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes). I’m somewhat obsessed if you haven’t noticed. As I have stated before, I will be taking an immediate break from Mighty. I need some time to distance myself from the characters/story/world so that I can return later with a fresh perspective and renewed drive. After several months, I shall return with a full head of steam to write a second draft.

Ambitious but Unnecessary

While Jordan's The Eye of the World––the first book in the massively-long Wheel of Time series––deserves some praise for its inventiveness at times (primarily relating to the races and vast, sprawling history), it falls far short of real "catharsis," and its vain attempts to build up the many characters therein to the point that we can connect with them on an emotional scale, are futile at best. Truth be told, Eye is just another, in a long line of pompous epics attempting to imitate the supreme wonder of Tolkien––albeit one that does at times manage to capture some of the "vividness" in the battle scenes, that is so often sought after, but never really found. A rehash of the Chosen One narrative that is quite simply, uninteresting and boring, The Eye of the World is a bland, overlong, and recycled mash of the many overly-used plotlines that have for too long been told time and time again. So caught up is it in its massive ambition, that the characters who hold the weight of the story on their shoulders, have no heart at all, and are just wheel spokes provided to turn the Wheel of Time.

Truth, Not Tolerance

Let’s commence this topic of “Truth v Tolerance” with a little background on what I like to call the “Offend Culture” (otherwise known as Cupcake Nation). Urban Dictionary defines Cupcake Nation as “College students needing ‘safe spaces,’ ‘comfort animals,’ and shelter from what is happening in the real world. They refuse to acknowledge any viewpoint that differs from their own.” (emphasis added) Ouch. Harsh. Welcome to present day America, folks. The Problem In an age where we are increasingly being impressed with the mindset that we need to be “tolerant,” the verity of what truth is and has always been, has deteriorated to the point that it is almost virtually nonexistent in most circles of life. Now, the epitome of what happens when truth is defunct has emerged and taken its place in full force. Throughout college campuses around the world to life at the office, ridiculousness in the form of “cupcakes,”––batches of “coddled, soft, and downright incorrigible,” persons have sprung up around us. They have infested and altered our daily life, the news we watch, and the societal norms that have been gradually shifting from bad to worse with the slow passage of time. Like a dispersed disease which spreads as fast as a flea can fly, this “lunacy” has seeped far and taken deep root within the minds of the naive, entrenching itself so far to be beyond any reasonable hope of restoration. From college students throwing temper tantrums when Ben Shapiro is asked to speak at their campus, to those who sue their pastor because he preached a sermon on love, albeit one that convicted and made them feel––wait for it––uncomfortable, this spawning infestation has begun to reshape life as we know it. “We’re all winners!” “Everybody gets a trophy!” “Don’t poke my bubble.” I mean, who hasn’t heard this ridiculous rhetoric before? We have grown up in a society that has been placing an increasing and ever-growing spotlight on such terms as “tolerance” and “social justice.” Day after day, this rhetoric is stuffed down our throats––whether that be via the news, our professors at school, or the cupcakes which make up our younger generation (which by the way, will end up being the people who will be in charge in the coming years––always something exciting to look forward to). However, as I hope to make adequately clear here, many of the people who go on tirades concerning tolerance of other viewpoints, are in reality, the people who are doing everything within their power to shut down opposing opinions––not at all ‘tolerating’ them. And whenever we get to talking about tolerance, Liberalism immediately comes to mind. Seriously, if I had a nickel for every time a liberal said something hypocritical, I’d be a millionaire. Seriously. The overarching goal of many radical leftists is to shut down opposing opinions and suppress any form of “critical thinking.” If one thinks about it, the way that they have gone about accomplishing this is quite ingenious. They have pushed to get as many children into the public schools as possible and thence into college, where the students are then indoctrinated out of the presence of the parents. These denouncers of truth then oppress those that have managed to resist or evade their foul ideology with the argument that we need to be “loving, open, and accepting,” and if you’re not, then you’re instantly branded as a “hater,” by the PC police. In establishing a similar point for his book, One Nation, renowned neurosurgeon, Dr. Ben Carson, brought to mind the incident wherein, “a few years ago, Lawrence Summers, then president of Harvard, mentioned that men and women might be wired differently. His comments drew a fierce attack from the PCP [Political Correctness Police] that may well have influenced his decision to resign his position.” The Leftists and Progressive Liberals (otherwise referred to as they) consistently present themselves as the loving and accepting people of the world. Conservatives, Christians and all the like, are “haters,” because our convictions happen to run in averse refutation to their ideology. In an excerpt from Kim Holmes’s book, The Closing of the Liberal Mind: How Groupthink and Intolerance Define the Left, the former Assistant Secretary of State for International Organization Affairs, asserts that: “For centuries, we have associated the word “liberal” with open-mindedness. Liberals were people who were supposed to be tolerant and fair and who wanted to give all sides a hearing. They cared about everyone, not just their own kind…[However,] all too often, people who call themselves progressive liberals are at the forefront of movements to shut down debates on college campuses and to restrict freedom of speech. They are eager to cut corners, bend the Constitution, make up laws through questionable court rulings, and generally abuse the rules and the Constitution in order to get their way.” “They establish “zero tolerance” regimes in schools where young boys are suspended for nibbling breakfast pastries into the shape of a gun. They are supposedly great haters of bigotry but sometimes speak of Christians in the most bigoted manner imaginable, as if Christians were no better than fascists.” There is a profound dearth in the realm of “argumentation.” In its place has been substituted leftist rhetoric and nothing else is socially acceptable any longer. We can no longer debate in many circles; that is to be “offensive,” in the very definition of the term itself; for by debating, you are in short, challenging and placing yourself at variance with the other side, which as I have stated earlier, makes you a “hater.” These diabolical rationalities have crept into the Church itself, and taken a firm hold there. Lines have been blurred between Biblical Christianity and the politicized, unscrupulous Christianity that has become so pervasive in our modern-day culture. In essence, what people call the “Church” is no longer the Church. Pastor and Bible Teacher, Dr. John MacArthur states the issue at hand very clearly: “Those who dare to take an unpopular stand, declare truth in a definitive way––or worst of all, express disagreement with someone else’s teaching––will inevitably be marked as troublesome. Compromise has become a virtue while devotion to truth has become offensive. “But many of the issues being compromised within the evangelical movement today are not questionable. Scripture speaks very clearly against homosexuality, for example. The Christian position on adultery is not at all vague. The question of whether a believer ought to marry an unbeliever is spelled out with perfect clarity. Scripture quite plainly forbids any Christian to take another Christin to court. Selfishness and pride are explicitly identified as sins. These are not gray areas. There is no room for compromise here. “Nevertheless, I constantly hear every one of those issues treated as a gray area––on Christian radio, on Christian television, and in Christian literature. People want all matters to be negotiable. And too many Christian leaders willingly oblige. They hesitate to speak with authority on matters where Scripture is plain. The lines of distinction between truth and error, wisdom and foolishness, church and world are being systematically obliterated by such means.” What more is there to be said? The Purpose In order to know how to combat such rhetoric, we need first to understand why our Enemy is playing his hand in this fashion. Dr. Ben Carson states it so much better than I ever could in One Nation (which I highly recommend): “Many well-meaning Americans have bought into the PC speech code, thinking that by being extra careful not to offend anyone, we will achieve unity. What they fail to realize is that this is a false unity that prevents us from talking about important issues and is a Far Left strategy to paralyze us while they change our nation. People have been led to become so sensitive that fault can be found in almost anything anyone says because somewhere, somehow, someone will be offended by it.” “…Open discussions of political and social issues are key to healthy unity. Society works very much like a marriage in the sense that open communication facilitates harmony. In almost all marriages that end in divorce, there is a serious breakdown in communication…” He goes on to further say that: “While most people buying into the PC code are well-meaning and just want to get along with everyone, the ones who bark and snarl the most are those on the Far Left who cultivate political correctness in order to forward their own agendas. In his famous book, Rules for Radicals, Saul Alinsky, an activist and organizer of the Far Left, makes it clear that leftists trying to effect change are to have no conversations with their opponents, because open discussion could lend credence to their opponents’ arguments and humanize them in the sight of the public. He argued that activists must demonize their opponents and get the larger society to recognize the activists as the ones who will deliver society from the demons.” The Solution: Truth, not Tolerance With that in mind, we can (at last) move on to a solution to all of this. In an age where we are told that tolerance will fix everything, we need to be staunch and stand for the truth. For, it is truth––not tolerance––that is the key to all of the world’s many problems. If one takes the time to examine what tolerance truly is, in time, you will come to find that is in fact, unloving. Let’s dig into this a bit deeper from a Biblical perspective. In tolerating sin (which is what we are being told to do), we are essentially condemning people to death. As Paul affirms in Romans 6:23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Breaking even one commandment makes you utterly deserving of death, “For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at one point, he has become guilty of all” (James 2:10). Too many times do I hear from those around me that we should "be loving.” In short, what we’re being told is that because “Jesus wants us to love,” we are to excuse people’s sin and accept their sinful choices as who they are, on account of this “loving" mentality. The fundamental problem with this way of thinking is not what is said in the phrase “Jesus wants us to love,” but rather, it’s in what isn't said. Yes! Jesus called us to love those around us (John 13:34, 15:12; 1 Thessalonians 4:9; 1 John 3:23, 4:7, 4:21); this command is permeated throughout Scripture. However, within all this talk of “love,” there is also issued a stern warning relating specifically to wrath. “He who believes in the Son has eternal life,” says John 3:36, “but he who does not obey the Son will not see life, but the wrath of God abides on him.” Romans 1:18 (among a host of others) further affirms that “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness.” This is “eternal wrath,” elucidates John MacArthur, "which the Bible calls hell, the lake of fire, perdition, where the worm dies not and the fire is not quenched, and where the torment is everlasting and results in weeping and gnashing of teeth.” By demonstrating tolerance of other peoples’ sinful actions and shoving issues under the rug for the sake of ‘peace,’ we aren’t ‘loving’ at all: instead, we’re unloving. As Christians, we are called to hate the act, while showing compassion and mercy to those who commit the act (Jude 1:22-23). We are to show love to people by denouncing their sin and calling them to repentance, not embracing their sin in an effort not to hurt or offend them. Doing so is one of the highest forms of love there is. What better thing can we do than to lead them to Christ?? If we, out of the wellspring of these selfsame reasonings, refuse to call people out for their sin, then as stated earlier, we are essentially condemning them to an eternity in Hell. For, God is a righteous judge and none that sin shall go unpunished, save those that are covered by the saving blood of Jesus Christ. For those who might be having some difficulty following, a more literal example would be that of a mother and a child. Letting your child run about in the street because he/she may throw a fit if you deny them, may be tolerant, but it certainly isn’t loving. In actuality, that only goes to show that you could care less whether or not they are harmed. Truly loving your child would be ably demonstrated by you stepping up to bring an end to said child’s foolish actions and leading them from danger. To preserve our unity as a nation and to be true lights that “illuminate the lives of others,” we must strive to defend and uphold truth as much as possible. Tolerance is a Trojan horse sent to undermine the Truth, and if we don’t take a stand against this persuasion, it might very well lead to the fall of our country.

Of Sriracha

Pizza has always been special to me. So has popcorn. But there has always been certain problems pertaining to them both. For one, there’s this whole, long process you have to go through in order to make the popcorn “presentable” for the actual inhaling: buttering it, salting it, etc. Moreover, once you actually sit down to eat it, you usually end up discovering that you have a top layer that is “over-salted,” while beneath, lies the same, blander stuff you didn’t want in the first place. Now, you have to get your hands all sticky, just to refine your dish and then get up and wash your hands (I mean, who has time for that anyways). All the while, you simply wanted to pop a bag, plop down on the couch and then begin stuffing your face with an unhealthy assortment of fatty kernels (or potato chips). But in all of these digressive proliferations of mine, do not lose hope! Illumination, or rather, a “moment of prolific enlightenment” occurred to me when the mother of my good self, brought before me a hitherto unheralded and strange substance: namely that of “Sriracha.” Then these two things I did so combine. And from that remarkable and I must say, dramatic moment, bred true happiness; for Sriracha is the hidden and abstruse puzzle piece to all that we search for in our food life. And my enlightenment bred verity in the full profundity of its candor as I realized the true and startling nature of my discovery. My first discovery was that Sriracha went together well with most everything I put it to. My second (and concluding) discovery was that Sriracha went together well with everything––although I do not mean to infer that “everything” went well with it. With all of those fears, apprehensions, and rumors at last put to rest, I put this truth to use. No longer would I be burdened by heaping piles of pizza crusts as they threatened to over-top the edges of my plate in an overwhelming multitude of abundance. No longer would I have to forge my way through heaping piles of tasteless, bland, (quite nearly) steaming-hot rice. No longer would I have to imbrue my hands with substances of a particularly sticky nature, as is fully elucidated in the attempting of mine to pour sticky syrup all over my pancakes. But then that’s a whole other story.

EXCLUSE FICTION: Prologue to "The Shadow that Lives in the Twilight"

PROLOGUE ACCOUNT #1: A SHADOW REARED suddenly on the road in front of us, like some unearthly monster that you only read about in a science fiction novel. Then, as if without reason, though indeed there be good cause, I screamed, shattering the silent night air, and like a horrible wail out of some dark apocalypse movie, it rang out: shrill and penetrating. And at that very instant, the reason for my sudden outburst of fright was known. The car spun out into the middle of the road, and Big Rupert let out a short but ear-splitting yelp of surprise. He twisted hard on the wheel to avoid slamming headlong into a passing truck, but the car then skidded across the icy pavement, before flipping in mid-air. Everything that followed seemed to take place in slow-motion. I assumed a fetal position, bending my head down between my skyward knees; I didn’t do so because I thought it was the right thing to do––everything had become instinctive. Simultaneously with the car flipping in the air, I heard the audible sound of rubber screeching across the asphalt road. Then the car landed on its side, and I slammed against the door, just narrowly hitting my head on the glass which shattered just milliseconds later upon impacting with the road. I let out another scream, this time at the sharp pain issuing from my side and then the car flipped yet again, over and over, turning an already-horrific nightmare into a spasmodic cycle of inky blackness that was surrounding me, encircling me, enshrouding me. Embracing me. ACCOUNT #2: I remember everything so clearly: like the entire scene had been imprinted into my memory with the blackest ink and then positively slammed into place with a sledgehammer. Anyways, as I was saying, I was driving my newly-acquired pickup, and I was driving just below the proper speed limit to a local retreat. Have I mentioned what a sweet ride this was yet? I mean, this was sweet I tell you, and to top that all off, I had practically robbed the dealer blind. For some strange reason, my old man didn’t seem to share the same feelings, however. Oh well, you know how fathers can be right? I mean who hasn’t gotten that look––the one they give you when you do something real smart-like and instead of congratulating you on your awe-inspiring success, their jaws drop, and they give you that weird bug-eyed stare? Anyways, back to the story. It was probably about nine o’clockish and my seventeen year old stomach was issuing a growl that reeked of a whine-like nature, when the sudden bright glare of flashing headlights caused me to shade my eyes and apply some mild pressure to the brakes, mild I tell you: I ain’t about to let any punk, young or old, cross one on me. I don’t rightly know what had happened or what was happening at that point, or better put, I didn’t realize what the matter was exactly. You see, as soon as those bright headlights showed themselves, I saw an enormous dark shape looming up suddenly on the far side of the road. As my eyes shot up in surprise, a thin shriek pierced the cold night air, echoing against my ears through the open window of my pickup, and then the car zigzagged and spun towards me. Instinctively, I jerked hard on the old wheel, jolting off to the right and just managing to avoid crashing into the veering vehicle. Slamming on the brakes, I whirled my head around just in time to see the small car flip into the air and land with a sideways crash onto the road, before rolling violently on its side. It hadn’t even slid into the ditch that ran alongside the road, and I had already flipped out my phone and was quickly dialing the numbers that all read, certified drivers know: 911. As the operator was transferring me to who knows what, I looked back at the overturned car, as all the while I wondered what would happen next and if there were any survivors… ACCOUNT #3: I didn’t know what to expect when I got to the scene of the accident. All I had heard was some teenage kid had called in and had garbled (I only understood about half of what he said over the radio) something over the phone about a car that had “leapt about a hundred-gazillion feet” into the air. And as I was the nearest patrolman within that vicinity, it was only natural that I got the hook to take a look. All around me had been darkness, that is until I saw the furtive gleam of headlights belonging to a…wait, what on sweet earth was that? In the shadows of the night, I had at first thought it to be a small pickup, and indeed it almost looked like one…but it was most certainly the strangest looking vehicle––if it could even be called that––I had ever seen; and believe me, I have been witness to some strange things in my long and seasoned career. As I neared the site, I made out the form of a young kid leaning against the truck. As soon as he caught sight of me, he began jumping up and down and frantically shot out a pale arm in the direction of the conduit situated across the road. Slowing to a stop, I parked and silencing the engine, briskly stepped out. The night air was frigidly cold, and inside my police jacket, I shivered slightly. Then, adjusting my cap and holster, I strode authoritatively towards the adolescent. It was then that I realized that the kid was wearing a tank top, shorts, and sandals. For a moment, I found myself staring, before shaking my head in a mixture of incredulity and amazement. “Stupid kid,” I muttered under my breath. Some kids were just so dense…and so…what was the word? Obtuse? No, doltish. That was it. And to top that all of, he was wearing––did my eyes deceive me? No, it couldn’t be, yet it was true––a pair of black shades. “Dim-wit,” I muttered, a little louder this time. I was several feet away from the kid now, and he was peering at me with apparent inquisitiveness. “What happened?” I asked. “You wreck your vehicle?” I assumed that it had been involved in some capacity with the crash. After all, it did look like a dump. The kid, however, looked at me as if I was out of my mind, spared a quick glance at his truck, then looked back my way with that all-too-familiar expression I was used to receiving from kids his age: a blank stare. “No…” he stuttered. “A car just crashed into the ditch over there––” He pointed a shaky finger across the road. Following his gesticulations, I caught a glimpse of an overturned car by the glint of the exterior made by the pale moon overhead. I whirled around on my heel in the direction of the gully. “The people in the vehicle, are they okay?” I asked over my shoulder. I heard what sounded like a cough and a grunt, and then, “Um…I…don’t. I mean, I looked and…” The voice trailed off. “Good or bad condition?” I barked sharply. “I need answers now, not muffled grunts and half-spoken words! And why on sweet earth are you wearing sunglasses, at a time when we are surrounded by darkness?” “They’re uh…they work one way. I can see out, but others can’t see in.” “The victim’s condition?” “I…uh don’t think they’re okay at all, you see…” I cut him off as I intoned into my dispatcher, “Jake, I’m at the scene of the last call-in. There’s been a bad crash here and need the meds and an ambulance pronto. Can you send them out now?” For a small moment, there was silence. Then Jake’s voice cut in: “They’re on their way.” “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be here waiting.” I stole a glance at the sleeveless (not to mention brainless) kid. He had stopped several feet back and was looking at me with an almost horrified expression. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “If this type of work scares you, then you can stay back, but don’t leave: we’re going to have to ask you some quick questions in regards to this.” “It’s not that…” he said falteringly. “It’s just that…about the car, I mean, and um…the people that were in there…they’re uh…” I gave him a withering look and hurried across the rest of the road there was to be crossed. “What is it then?” I said, without turning around. I didn’t have much, if any time to deal with bum, twitchy kids; I had victims to deal with, and I had wasted enough time already. “It’s just that…there’s nobody in there.” I halted at a sudden and spun my head back in his direction. “What did you say?” “It’s just that: there’s nobody in the car. And the craziest thing was that I heard a scream before it crashed, so I know there was someone in there. “Nonsense,” I said. Bum teenagers and their abnormal quirks: always trying to pull a fast one on you. “I’m not kidding!” he said. I didn’t spare him a second look. Having reached the roadside, I knelt on the gravel and stretched out my hand to pull open the door facing me, while snatching my small flashlight out of my back pocket with my other. Luckily, the car was tilted at its side, making it an easy reach. My fingers enclosing about the handle, I gave a swift and forceful yank. The door pulled back easy enough, and I pointed my flashlight down into the car’s interior. What I saw, however, was not a comfortable sight. The car was devoid of any living thing. Besides a small splattering of blood on what remained of the windshield, there was no sign of life. But someone had been inside when it crashed. I leapt to my feet and whirled about to face the kid. “The car is empty! Where are its occupants?!” The kid looked really keyed up now. “I don’t know,” he whispered faintly. “They’re gone.” He looked at me in sudden dismay. “I think…I think that something took them.” He said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment I just stared at him…and nearly came close to believing him. “What?” “I think right before it crashed, I––and they––saw something on the road. Something big.” “Why didn’t you speak of this earlier?!” My patience with the kid was beginning to run out. “I…uh, I just remembered it right now––everything happened so quickly and so fast.” “Well, where is it now?” I said in exasperation, waving my hands all about. “From my vantage point, I saw the kid gulp. “I don’t know.” That unsettled me. All of a sudden, I felt vulnerable; as if a thousand eyes were out there in the wild that infringed upon the roadside…just watching me, observing me. Get yourself under control, Dan, I told myself. Then, in the darkness that surrounded us, a twig snapped. I didn’t need to hear anything else before my gun was out of its holster. I didn’t care if it was lunacy; suddenly, some fear gripped me, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. I looked at the kid. The kid looked at me. We both began to back away from the roadside. In the darkness of the wood and brush beyond, a limb crashed. Still moving backwards, I undid the safety, cocked my gun, and held it out in front of me, pointing it towards whoever, or whatever was making that noise. “Move forward into the light and put your hands up in the name of the law!” I shouted. All was still and silent; a darkness seemed to have enveloped everything about us. Even the headlights of the kid’s dump of a truck seemed shrouded and dim. It was then that I observed all of the usual night sounds I was accustomed to hearing were gone. It was a cold night, and yet no wind or draft tugged at the bowed branches of the hemlock trees swooping overhead. No birds chirped, or whistled, or sang. The frogs, which had just a little while ago, filled the night with their chirping, were mute. Some feeling of fear or dread came over me, and I realized that my hands were shaking. Instantly, I felt ridiculous and yet unashamed. Over fifty years old and those stories about the bogey-man still get to you, huh Dan? a voice seemed to whisper in my head. You’re weak. You’re afraid. No, I’m not! I said back. Forcing my fear down my throat, I lowered my gun and slowly turned my back to the desolate roadside. “Kid, I’m gonna need––” A wail sounded out of nowhere. Issuing from the darkness abounding, it fell upon us and made the hairs on my neck stand up straight. Fell and woeful, it filled my heart with dread anew. The kid stared rigidly, pale eyes unblinking, at what lay behind me in horrified shock. A short, thin scream escaped from between his white lips. Slowly, I turned around in silent terror to face whatever it was that had the kid so keyed up. For a moment, nothing stirred. Then, out of the shadows that encircled us, out of the inky blackness that encroached upon us, threatening to consume us, something emerged. Something dark. Something fell. Something…odious. The old knowing of some long-forgotten, but dreadful terror entered into my heart, and I felt the unspeakable horror speak and knew it then for what it was.

The Official MATTHEW ROLAND

Welcome to the first, official, validated post from Matthew Roland! For those who know me well, there will be many, MANY more words in future posts.