Stephen Mark Rainey's Blog, page 100

Black Wings

Some high-flying horror here — my contributor copy of the paperback edition of S.T. Joshi's Black Wings of Cthulhu 4 , which features "Contact," a slightly horrific SF tale I co-wrote with John Pelan some time back. And yes, that's a happy little cast-iron bat, which I got (along with some high-grade chocolate) from Ms. Brugger on Valentine's Day. He'll be going up on my living room wall somewhere; I just need to find a suitable spot for him. I think I'll name him Brumby.

Be My Frozen Valentine

Kimberly and I had our celebratory Valentine's dinner on Friday night, which was fortunate, since, at the moment, the weather has taken a rather icy turn. This was my weekend to go to Martinsville to help Mum, so Friday, on our way up, we had a fine, fine dinner at The Celtic Fringe in Reidsville, one of our favorite bistros in the area. Why, of course there was a cache to grab on the way; in fact, there we ran into our local caching legend, Mr. Tom "Night-hawk" Kidd himself. For Valentine's Day, Ms. B. presented me with one of her custom, handmade cards, which she enjoys creating (see above), along with a very cool cast iron bat — the critter, not the club — to hang on my wall. (Apparently, her dad picked it out and told her, "This is Mark." Nice one, Delmar.) After dinner, we headed on to Mom's, and after taking care of some business affairs, Kimberly and I settled in to enjoy a bit more wine and a few episodes of The Walking Dead .
"It's a trap!"
And since then, it's been a busy weekend. Yesterday, I spent the morning dealing with Mum's affairs, and then Kimberly and I headed out for Stonefield Cellars Winery in Stokesdale, where we met up with some friends to sample a few particularly enjoyable wines. Why, yes... funny you should ask... yes, I did stop for a cache, at Belews Lake. Then there were more friends, more refreshment, and, finally, the journey home, where I narrowly escaped being mauled (see accompanying photo).

This morning, I woke early to a telltale buzz from my phone, and in a sleepy haze I thought, "Well, that might be a new cache notification." For the next half eon, I lay there in the twilight zone, unwilling to reach beyond that two feet of void for the phone. Some passage of time later, I finally did this thing, and — sure enough — it's a new cache, practically right up the street. I struggled into my shoes, started down the stairs, and realized my attire was inadequate for stepping out of my front door. With some effort, I remedied the situation, and off I went, stopping along the way to grab some coffee at the nearest convenience store.

I arrived at the specified parking coordinates and noticed the temperature on my car dash read 15 freakin' degrees. Now I'm thinking this is one of those times when I might not be quite right in my head. Then, just as I start making my way to the trail head, a vehicle pulls up, and — looky — it's Mr. Feathered Friends. With some grumbles about the temperature, we headed for ground zero, about a quarter mile down this very nice, very frozen trail. Once there, a particular spot caught my eye, and I gave it a cursory examination, only to find nothing. I checked a couple of other places, but the GPS kept bringing me back to my original search site. I looked again and — ah, but yes! — the cache is there after all, very well-concealed. Opened the container and, with near-frozen fingers, fumbled my way into the log. Blank! So, Feathered Friends and I dirtied it up, snagging a nice co-first-to-find at 8:15 AM. A nice, if frigid way to start the day.
T'ain't a fit night out for man nor beast!
And tonight, here comes the snow. It wasn't supposed to begin till after midnight, but about 7:15, I paused War of the Gargantuas , glanced outside, and saw white. Now, I gotta tell you, Greensboro has a lousy track record for keeping the power on in even mildly adverse weather. Since the forecast calls for some freezing rain tomorrow, I figured I might ought to run up to the store and grab some fire logs. So I drove to Harris Teeter, which was, quite naturally, very crowded; I grabbed some fire logs and a few other items, and came out to find the snow coming down in earnest, along with a rather significant amount of accumulation. I could tell right away this was going to be a slippery one, and — oh, lord — it came so close to being a repeat of that fateful storm almost exactly two years ago (see "The Great White Beast," February 12, 2014) that I damn near kissed the snowy ground when I got back into my driveway. And when I say I barely made it, I exaggerate not even a smidgen. There were cars sliding all over the hill down the road from my house, and at least one went into the adjacent ditch. The driver did manage to get out of there, but once I arrived safely home (fifty feet from my driveway, I still had doubts), I walked down the street and watched as one car after another narrowly escaped disaster. For all I know, there may be a disaster — or one brewing — down there right now.

Me, I'm just hoping the power stays on. I already went through several days of icy temperatures in my own house a couple of weeks back, and I'd like to not go through it again, thank you very much.

Do be safe.

Ken's Law, Sunsets, and I Really am an Idiot

An intriguing Chapel Hill skyYes, I sometimes do hold a grudge against a mean old geocache. Yesterday, Ms. B. and I made one of our enjoyable pilgrimages to Chapel Hill, whereupon I met and finally overcame one tough little bastard that has vexed me on at least two prior occasions. The cache is "Ken's Law" (GC106B9), located along one of Chapel Hill's ubiquitous woodland trails, placed by the nefarious "Maingray," who — to his credit — has also placed an impressive number of caches bearing Lovecraftian themes. "Ken's Law" refers to a certain geocaching hypothesis put forth by Ken "The Alethiometrist" McDonald, and goes as follows: "The difficulty in finding a cache is directly proportional to its size." Our redoubtable Maingray decided to test this hypothesis by hiding three decoy containers — two micros and a small — within ten feet of the the actual cache, which is large enough to hold a fair quantity of swag, in a target-rich environment just off the Red Trail near Charles Herman Wilson Park. Maingray's contention is that in this case, perhaps contrary to the usual expectation, your average geocacher will find the two micros and small container before finding the largest one.

Well, on both of my previous hunts, I did indeed turn up the micros and the small box, but never the actual cache, which contains the log sheet that must be signed in order to claim the find. Yesterday, Ms. B. helped me hunt for a good while, and finally — just when I was afraid we might have to give it up yet again — a light bulb came on in my head. I undertook the necessary task to prove that my light bulb was of sufficient candlepower, and — hell yes! — there it is! The cache! Log signed! Grudge match won! Clearly, in this case, Maingray's contention proved spot-on. I suppose this is well, since, if it hadn't, the balance of the world might have been upset and there would at this moment be shoggoths, elder things, and fungi from Yuggoth crawling and clambering all over the face of the earth.
Keep pounding
From there, Kimberly and I made our way to another of my target caches, located on the nature trail at Chapel Hill's Public Library on Estes Road. This one was "Bookworm Cache Redux" (GC4HMXX), which is itself a little library — an ammo box that finders can use as a book exchange. I had intended to leave a copy of The Monarchs in the container, and I had even made sure to put one in my car before we left Greensboro. However, at the last minute, we ended up taking Kimberly's car, and where did I leave that book? Yep. What a dimwit. Still, a nice cache, this one, and perhaps on a future visit, I'll just stop by and drop off a book.

All things considered, beating Ken's Law was good for a little celebration with some wine at the Weathervane restaurant and dinner at Thai Palace (whose Crying Tiger may be the best I've ever had). In addition, we were treated to a spectacular sunset (see above), and I did get to grab another cache before heading back home. Today, Sunday, has been a big writing day for me, as I have a couple of tight deadlines looming. And no, I've not taken a break to watch the Super Bowl, never mind the Panthers.

At least one of us is keeping pounding, I can tell you.

Now Featured at Dark Regions

I am, for the moment, the featured author at Dark Regions Press, publisher of my short fiction collections Other Gods (2008) and The Gaki (2012) as well as the anthologies Christmas Horror , World War Cthulhu , and Discoveries: Best of Horror and Dark Fantasy , which feature my stories "Red Rage," "The Game Changers," and "Megan," respectively. All are available in trade paperback editions, some as hardbacks and e-books. Look at those covers right there. Just look at them! I'm telling you, hie thee over yonder to Dark Regions right now, take a look, and treat yourself to a perfectly frightful smorgasbord. I know you need one. Don't we all?

Visit here: Stephen Mark Rainey at Dark Regions Press

Haw, Haw, the Laughing Dead

Jesus RobMercy, it's been way too long since I went out on a lengthy, invigorating trail hike to hunt a bunch of geocaches — something that not so long ago was at least a weekly, sometimes daily event. One of the drawbacks of being an avid geocacher is caching out the nearby environs and having to travel farther and farther afield to find any appreciable concentrations of caches. Add to that our recent bout with severe winter weather and the fact I'm now having to manage virtually all of my mom's affairs in addition to my own, and the opportunities to get out there have been pretty slim. But thanks to a new extension of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail along the Haw River in Alamance County, a balmy day, and a bunch of new caches courtesy of the nefarious "Yoda" Rob Lee, regular caching crony "Bloody" Rob Isenhour and I were able to put in Can you undeerstand?a good five to six miles in the woods and claim seven caches, with first-to-finds on three of them. Most stimulating for us, along the trail we came upon numerous crumbling, abandoned structures; discarded implements of death and destruction; and a few wrecked, rusting vehicles. We also witnessed a number of strange figures around (and in one case on) the river, some shambling silently through the shadows, others wailing and screeching in what might have been an alien tongue. By keeping a low profile, though, we passed more or less undetected through the woods, and thus lived to tell our tale.

The journey was not without some physical challenges of its own. While for the most part the trail is not terrain intensive, and none of the caches required any significant acrobatics to retrieve, several times we ventured into the surrounding environs to check out some of the more intriguing sights, and there is one stream crossing where no bridge, deep water, and a trail of submerged rocks make for an interesting experience. Neither Rob nor I fell in, but we each did our own version of a victory dance at the end, and neither were what I would call graceful.

I did discover what looks to be the perfect spot to place an evil, monstrous, dangerous, devious, heart-stopping, maybe kinda cool cache. This will require a return trip. Whether I can survive this endeavor remains to be seen. You'll no doubt hear about it one way or the other.
No survivors One of the myriad structures near the trail we detoured to explore. We went with caution, for we figured
there might be Walkers nearby. One of several implements of death and destruction we came upon. Hark! What's that sound? Oh, lord, yes. There be Walkers here. Run! Run like hell!

The Doodie Gloves

Another random tale from days of yore....

I was in third grade, at Druid Hills Elementary — I'm reckoning fall of 1967. One of my young friends, whom I suppose I ought not name, as he is still alive and kicking, came into class one day wearing a look of marvel on his face, as if the heavens had opened up and revealed all of God's deepest secrets. After a while, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a dime, which he showed me.

"I swallowed this dime last night," he said.

"Why?"

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"But you're holding it."

"Yep." He beamed at me. "I got it back this morning."

"How?"

"When my mom checked my doodie, it was in there."

"IT WAS IN YOUR DOODIE?"

"Yep. But it was okay, my mom just put on her doodie gloves and got the dime back for me."

"Doodie gloves?"

"You know, for checking your doodie in the morning."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Doesn't your mom check your doodie every morning?"

"No."

"She doesn't have a pair of doodie gloves?"

"No."

He looked a little crestfallen. "I thought everyone's mom had doodie gloves."

"I don't think so."

"How does your mom know if you have a healthy diet?"

"Because she feeds me."

"Oh."

He offered me the dime, but I didn't take it.

When It Rains...

Any idea what you're looking at in the photo? No? It's a handy-dandy little improvised space heater, the idea of which I got from Brugger, who is something of a dilettante in matters of do-it-yourself and crafty things, last year when the power went out. You take a heat-conducting basin of sorts, a grill or other surface that allows air to pass through; a small candle, which rests on the grill; and a clay pot. Then you set them all up to create the contraption shown above. Right now, I'm sitting with this apparatus next to my chair in my office, and the heat radiating up through the hole in the base of the pot, while hardly considerable, is definitely noticeable.

As it is, here I sit, snow and iced in, my car broken, and my heat pump suddenly gone out. For the moment, at least, I still have electricity, but this is Greensboro, so I have no idea how long this fair fortune will continue. Don't know what happened to the heat pump, but it doesn't appear to be the circuit breaker or the fuses. Had a similar issue just a few months back, so I shall be taking it up with Central Carolina Heat and Air, whenever they can get someone out here. I know it won't be today, so I'm looking forward to at least one very cold night.

As yet there's maybe three inches of snow on the ground, with sleet falling, and possibly freezing rain yet to come. Perhaps with the above contraption nearby and a couple of cats to bundle up with, I'll avoid turning into an icicle.

Wind, Wine, Bones, and Snow

Hey, those two are drinking wine again! That's what you just said, isn't it? Well, we did, for a bit. Ms. B. and I spent a couple of days in Martinsville taking care of so much business that had to be taken care of, but we did pause now and again for some stress relief. On Friday night, a nice dinner with Mum at The Third Bay, and on Saturday, a fine sushi lunch at Chopstix, a relatively new Asian place in the Ville. On the way back to Greensboro, we hit Autumn Creek Winery, near Mayodan, NC, which made for a pleasant afternoon, despite a constant chill breeze as we sat outside; and then I went after a fun geocache — "Tower of Power" (GC69D9J), in Oak Ridge — where I discovered a particularly wily cache guardian. Enjoyable little respites during what has been — and will be, as I have previously alluded — a long and trying time for my family.

Woke this morning to a bit of white stuff falling. Hasn't amounted to much, but in Greensboro, it only takes someone spitting on the road to knock out the power. We'll see how things hold out.
Dem bones, dem bones... A little white stuff. So far, haven't lost power, but knowing Greensboro, it's almost inevitable.

Blue Devil Beauty

What a nice package to receive from Crossroad Press — my contributor copies of the new paperback edition of Blue Devil Island. As expected, Crossroad did a bang-up job on the book overall, complete with M. Wayne Miller's dynamite cover art from the original Marietta Books release. Both inside and outside look awesome, and I hope the content does the package justice. Before sending the final draft to Crossroad, I did a pretty thorough re-edit on it, so the text is much cleaner, leaner, and meaner than the original. Blue Devil Island is a blend of World War II historical drama and vivid Lovecraftian terror, with a focus on authenticity beyond anything else I've written. I'll mention to you here that if, in the novel, it indicates there was rain in a specific location at 2:30 PM on November 2, 1943, it's because actual combat reports indicated rain at 2:30 PM on November 2, 1943. Make no mistake, the focus here is the story, but to me, the myriad actual historical details add to an atmosphere of realism that I hope — and think — will engage you from start to finish. It won't cost you much to find out for yourself. On Amazon.com , the Kindle edition is only $3.99 and the paperback is $15.99. Or you can order the paperback or other eBook edition directly from Crossroad Press — the former at a special discount of $11.04. You can't even get mellow on some wine for those prices.

Come on now... we're gonna make it mellow!

"I haven't had this much fun reading a book in a long time. I was right there on the edge of my chair during the flight missions, ducking and juking along with the pilots, and I was biting my nails as the more sinister elements of the island itself came into play. Adventure. Great humor. Undercurrents of unsettling suspense and wallops of terror. Blue Devil Island... had everything I wanted from it. And more."

—Scott Falkner,
The Daily Cave Reviews...

Going Back to My... Roots

Actually, the blog title is the name — more or less — of a fun little geocache (GC695ET) I found this afternoon in Eden, NC. Quite enjoyable little hide, which I went after on my way back to Greensboro from Martinsville for the umpteenth time in the past few weeks. The caching is now more therapeutic than ever, and I've had several nice ones to claim this week. Their timing couldn't be better.

As I insinuated in my previous blog entry, it's been a surpassing strange and stressful couple of months, with more of the same yet to come. I'm having to go back and forth to Martinsville constantly to deal with legal, medical, and other personal issues, the already difficult situation compounded by a nervous breakdown on the part of an individual whom my mother has assisted in uncountable ways over the past 15 years but has, in the past few months, been forced to rely upon for assistance as her health has become more and more tenuous. It's a sad situation all around, one that behooves me to forgive but not forget. This little chapter of life is proving to be not one of but the most difficult I've ever had to face, with minor and major life changes coming on like express trains in rapid succession.

I tend to not go into too much detail during the storms because, really, such blogs are more for me than the casual reader; in their way, they're cathartic, and I find that as time passes they provide perspectives I might otherwise forget or fail to recognize. If you're one of my followers, I beg your indulgence. And for those friends of mine who have offered their support in various ways, I appreciate it more than you know.

Nobody ever said life was for the faint of heart.
Dammit!