Stephen Mark Rainey's Blog, page 73

Nemesis Conquered

"I don't care how damn cold it is. Don't come across
until I can take the picture!"
It's always nice to have an extra day off after a long trip. Inevitably, I end up with a bunch of business to catch up on (much of it my mom's), including some serious catch-up writing, but it's always gratifying when I can work in a spot of geocaching. Though it was a bit chilly, today turned out to be the perfect day to get out after some hides, especially since a few new ones published over the weekend while Ms. B. and I were gone to Ohio (see yesterday's blog, "A Head Full of... Winklepleck?!" ). Not to mention that, for months now, I've been hoping we might have at least a few days where the sky wasn't taking a dump so they would open the Reedy Fork Creek river crossing at Northeast Park . I have a cache — Destroy All Monsters #2: Angilas ( GC25CYB ) — that was reported as needing maintenance months and months ago, and because there's no bridge across Reedy Fork Creek (one must either hop across on rocks or wade) and the trails have been closed, I've been unable to get to it. Plus, my nemesis — a cache called "Out on the Brown Loop Trail" ( GC7V4YH ) has lurked out there since last July, having defied my one attempt to find it soon after it published.

Regular geocaching partner fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie) also had a day free, so we decided to team up and hit Moricle Park in Gibsonville, where four new caches had come out over the weekend. And we thought maybe... just maybe... the river crossing might be open for the first time in ages at Northeast Park. Our expectation was that the Moricle Park caches would require some hiking but end up quick and easy, while the caches at Northeast Park —  including my own, since time does alter things in the woods — would likely tie us up for quite a while. However, as so often happens in geocaching, the reverse was true.

A couple of the caches at Moricle Park took us far longer to find than we anticipated. But we did prevail, and we finally headed out to Northeast Park. Sure enough, the river crossing was open, but the water was deep, cold, and fast-moving. The river mostly covered the rocks that can at least occasionally be used for hopping across. Well, no matter. The crossing wasn't closed and here we were, so there was nothing for it but to wade. And wade we did. Was it cold? Shoot yeah. Was it fun? Shoot yeah? Was it worth it? Shoot yeah!

Much to our surprise, we found "Out on the Brown Loop Trail" sitting out in the open near GZ. Well, that was easy. Judging from the teeth marks on the container, some critter had moved the container from its hiding place. We re-hid the cache where our coordinates led us, in what appeared to be a suitable location. Then we headed down to "Angilas," which Natalie had not found, and which I suspected I might not find, since I had hidden it in a target-rich area, and by all accounts, the area had only become target richer after so much severe weather in recent months.

Well, what do you know? Happily, when I hid the cache back in March 2010, I took some really good coordinates because they led me right to the little beast. It was sitting out a bit exposed, but at least not far from where it was meant to be. The contents, which I'd been led to believe were a mess, really were not, but I refurbished the container and put it back so the next finders will not necessarily have such an easy time finding it.

Ms. FDTS and I ended our outing with a nice lunch at Uptown Charlie's , where they make the best chicken wings I've had in the Triad (it's the Suicide Sauce). And then we headed back to the barn.

Man, I'd so rather not go to work tomorrow.

A Head Full of... Winklepleck?!

Nice lady haunting one of many graveyards we discovered in Ohio's Amish country A couple of years ago, Ms. Brugger & I headed up to Ohio's Amish country—specifically, the little town of Berlin (accent on the first syllable), in Holmes County—to hang out with her folks, Delmar & Fern, who enjoy visiting there on a regular basis (see "Hanging With Bigfoot, and Other Amish Tales" ). Once again, over these past few days, we did this thing, having taken a bit of time off work for the occasion. We headed out Thursday morning for the roughly 350-mile trip, and—much to your surprise and mine—I found myself hunting a number of geocaches along the way. The most interesting was probably a historical location in Virginia, just shy of the West Virginia border, known as Shot Tower Historical State Park It's a 75-foot stone tower that was part of an ammunition works in the early 1800s. The cache there ( GC7DZXF ) was placed by some folks known as "The Shenandoahs," whose caches I have found from Virginia to South Carolina. Their hides frequently lead you to intriguing locations, and this one was no exception.
Old Shot Tower viewed from the trail around the location I-77 viewed from the trail overlook near the Shot TowerRather than ride in silence or listening to tunes, we availed ourselves to the audio book of Paul Tremblay's Bram Stoker Award–winning Head Full of Ghosts, which lasted us the entire northbound trip and fair portion of the southbound. I've had it on my Kindle for far too long, thanks to a book queue I may never actually get through, but I must say I'm glad Ms. B. felt inclined to treat us to the audio book, as it made for superb-quality riding/driving time. The narrator, Joy Osmanski, nicely brought the characters to life. I've not read any of Paul's other novels as yet, but I think his Cabin at the End of the World will be priority in the upcoming queue.
This little piggy went to (the Amish) market...
for the last time.
Upon our arrival in Berlin, we settled in at Zinck's Inn , where we had stayed on our previous visit. Del & Fern were apparently starving and anxiously awaiting our arrival, for they immediately hustled us off to the nearby Boyd & Wurthmann's restaurant, where we had dined several times last time around. This was the only meal we had there on this trip, and it was a good one, with Swiss steak, Amish noodles, and green beans for all of us but Del, who tore into a chopped sirloin steak. We spent the rest of the evening in traditional Brugger fashion: sipping wine and watching TV with Del & Fern in their hotel room while riding out a terrific thunderstorm complete with tornado warning (apparently, a tornado did touch down and cause severe damage not very far away). We prevailed and then went to bed.

Last time around, it wasn't particularly cold in Berlin. On this trip, the warmth wasn't very, and the cold very much was. On Friday and Saturday, we had flurries of snow off and on, though none of it stuck or caused any travel issues. And it made for some fun geocaching. Friday morning, I accompanied the gang on some high-powered, Brugger-style flea marketing and antiquing. Then Ms. B. and I headed out to nearby Sugarcreek for a visit to Silver Moon Winery , which we had enjoyed, albeit briefly, on our previous trip. I did snag a couple of caches on this noble endeavor, I am happy to report. It was out here, while traveling the aptly named Spooky Hollow Road, that we found ourselves passing through the mysterious, legend-haunted community called "Winklepleck." By the grace of God, we survived both the winkles and the plecks.
Aptly named. Winklepleck!!! Sheep appeared very happy to see us.For dinner, we opted for the  Berlin Farmstead , a very short distance from our home away from home (actually, it's safe to say that, in Berlin, just about everything of commercial nature is but a short distance from our home away from home). Now, I will say I loved the food here—"broasted" chicken, grilled vegetables, and creamed corn—but on this night, it was particularly crowded, and as for their system of seating patrons...there was none. The foyer was filled with ravenous people, and although the pair of young Amish women ostensibly overseeing things inquired as to the number in each party and dutifully wrote said number on their official number-taking tablet, they proceeded to seat only whoever happened to be standing closest to their station at any given moment. After a while, we took it upon ourselves to go stand close, and thus we managed to sit down. Some folks, I'm not so sure about. Now, this place has clearly been around for quite some time. I don't know whether this brand of not-even-slightly controlled chaos is SOP, but I'd sure as hell hope not. Based on the quality of the food, I'd really like to dine there on a future trip, but I'd not be willing to go there hoping I might actually be seated based on my proximity to a couple of pairs of thoroughly discombobulated eyes.

We spent the rest of the evening in traditional Brugger fashion: sipping wine and watching TV with Del & Fern in their hotel room, this time sans terrific thunderstorm and tornado warning.
A massive hornet's nest, thankfully uninhabited,
on old grave marker
Saturday morning saw us venturing forth to nearby Walnut Creek to purchase delicious foodstuffs at the big Amish market there. Afterward, the Bruggers were determined to press on with the requisite antiquing/shopping, but I jumped ship and headed out to the more remote, scenic corners of Holmes County. I managed to find a host of small, damn-near ancient graveyards, not to mention their attendant geocaches. At one little boneyard, I managed to leave my hiking stick behind, though I did not realize it until the next cache, which is where I really could have used it. Here, at a woodland hide called "Panther's Hollow Overhang" ( GC40T8M ), as I was making my way down a particularly steep, slippery embankment, my feet managed to get away from me. Next thing you know, I'm whooshing down the incline toward a rocky ravine. I grabbed a handy tree, only to have it laugh at me and rip off a portion of anatomy on my right hand sufficient to cause prodigious bleeding and a wee bit of stinging. Seriously, it was merely a flesh wound but a most annoying occurrence, given that a hiking stick in the hands of someone less absent-minded might have made a meaningful difference regarding favorable v. painful outcomes.
A cheesy outhouse at Guggisberg Cheese Works A nice little graveyard, where I managed to leave my hiking stick behind Different graveyard, more gravesFor Saturday dinner, we opted for pizza at East of Chicago , which was pretty good. We spent the rest of the evening in traditional Brugger fashion: sipping wine and watching TV with Del & Fern in their hotel room, again sans terrific thunderstorm and tornado warning, although I did suffer a minor migraine, which wasn't exactly the most pleasing turn of events. I reckon I can count my blessing it wasn't one of those killer headaches that occasionally knock me for a loop.

And this morning, after an apparently non-existent long weekend, since we just bloody got to the place, it was time to say our goodbyes. I tell you, I don't recall a spell of days that ever passed so quickly. We were there, and then we weren't. At this point, we have all arrived home safely—I even with my hiking stick, since we went out to retrieve it prior to hitting the highway. After finishing up A Head Full of Ghosts on our return trip, we put on the audio book of my Ameri-Scares series novel, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman , which I had yet to listen to. I must say, I'm very pleased with the narration by Tim Lundeen. If he is available to narrate more of my books coming out on audio, I should like to request his services. Check out the audio book from Audible here .

Yep, it was a fast, fun weekend, marred only by how damn fast it really was. Well, that and the migraine. But hey, we survived the madness known as Winklepleck!
A hat for every occasion Well, Brugger always has had a thing for older men.

39 Ghosts

Moviemaker Myron Smith, of Martinsville, VA—co-director/producer of Young Blood (the novelization of which was penned by yours truly), Invasion of the Killer Cicadas , and a host of "Sweded" films, including The Wizard of Oz, Willy Wonka & Chocolate Factory, Alice in Wonderland, Night of the Living Dead, and others—has turned his efforts to a new, full-length movie called  39 Ghosts . This one is a parody of the original William Castle classic, 13 Ghosts , with nods to the 2001 remake as well. In this one, I play Dr. Abroz, the movie's counterpart of William Castle's Dr. Zorba. The filming was done yesterday in Martinsville, and you can bet I got all kinds of creepy. The script is full of chills, thrills, and a few good belly laughs. Filming will continue for the next few months, and the movie will likely see release later this year or early next.

Visit Myron's Facebook page here . There may still be parts available for those in the area who would like to participate. Contact Myron via Facebook, and stay tuned for updates here at the Blog Where Horror Dwells.

West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman Now an Audio Book!

JUST OUT... West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman , the audio book from audible.com .

Narrated by Tim Lundeen, West Virginia; Lair of the Mothman is the story of Vance Archer and Marybeth Wilkins, a pair of thirteen-year-olds who have discovered geocaching, a high-tech treasure hunt that uses GPS technology. On one of their adventures, they encounter a mysterious, frightening figure with glowing red eyes. Soon, Vance begins to receive mysterious messages on his phone from a caller named Indrid Cold. He learns 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.

Read an excerpt here .

West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman is my first novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series for young readers, ages 8–14. My second, Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior , is currently in progress and will be finished very soon. Each  Ameri-Scares  novel is based on or inspired by an historical event, folktale, legend, or myth unique to that particular state. If you have youngsters who enjoy scary stories—or if you enjoy scary stories—this one is tailor made for you.

Check out West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman Paperback, e-Book,
and Audio Book here.
Reviews are alway appreciated. Thank you!

Excerpt 3: West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman

Here's another little excerpt from West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman , my first novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series. In this scene, Vance and Marybeth, two thirteen-year-olds, and Vance's older brother, Zack, have just come out of a culvert after searching for a geocache....

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Vance had never felt such relief as when he saw the windshield of Zack’s Buick gleaming faintly in the darkness. The more distance they had put between themselves and the culvert, the more his nerves had calmed. Still, he felt anything but relaxed in the chilly night air. When Zack popped the trunk and they stowed their gear inside, Vance thought—sadly—that he had never been so glad for a geocaching adventure to end.

Zack slid into the driver’s seat. Marybeth took the front passenger seat, and Vance fell into the back seat behind her. Zack glanced at him. “You, I don’t know about, but your girlfriend rocks.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Marybeth said.

“Whatever. We got first-to-find honors, a night cache, and an underground cache all in one. That’s not a bad night’s work.” Zack started the engine and shifted into reverse. As he began to turn the car around, he hit the brake. “Hey,” he said, and pointed into the trees off to the right. “I didn’t realize there were other reflectors out here.”

Vance and Marybeth both looked where he was pointing.

“Oh, no,” Marybeth whispered.

From high in the branches of the trees, two brilliant red eyes were peering down at them.

They were not bicycle reflectors, Vance thought.

“You two act like you’ve seen a ghost,” Zack said.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said to his brother. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Zack shrugged and completed his turn. Then they were speeding east on Potter’s Creek Road, which led to the turnoff to Broad Run. Vance slid toward the driver’s side and peered out. There they were—two blazing red eyes—just beyond the nearest line of trees. Keeping pace with the car.

Zack’s head kept turning so he could look out at the brilliant red orbs. “Gotta be a bird of some kind. Big owl, maybe. A very, very big owl.”

“Or a sandhill crane,” Marybeth said. “That’s what some people thought it was. But it’s not. It’s not sandhill crane. Or an owl. Or a bird of any kind. Is it, Vance?”

“No. It’s not a bird,” Vance said.

“Suppose you two geniuses tell me what you think it is,” Zack said.

“Mothman,” Vance said. “I think it’s the Mothman.”

In the rearview mirror, his brother’s eyes narrowed as they bored into his. Then Zack started to laugh.

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Check out West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman
at Amazon.com here.
Reviews are VERY welcome. Please enjoy!

Something About The Thing

Along with Jacques Tourneur's Curse/Night of the Demon (1957), John Carpenter's The Thing (1982) is my all-time favorite horror movie. When The Thing came out in '82, it didn't exactly hit the right nerves with most viewers. I remember horror fans and the general public alike heaping disapproval on it for its grotesque visuals, its not-altogether-sympathetic characters, and its lack of tidy resolution. At the time, I understood these criticisms, but I loved the movie all the same. And of course, over the years, The Thing has taken its place as a classic work of cinematic horror. Rightfully so.

The Thing stood on its own brilliantly. It certainly didn't beg for prequel, sequel, or companion piece of any sort. But when 2011's The Thing , directed by Matthijs van Heijningen Jr., hit the theaters, there was no way in heaven or hell I was going to miss it. Prior to its release, I watched no trailers and avoided any and all press releases. I intentionally went into the theater knowing as little as possible about what was in store. (This is actually a practice I have adopted for most movies these days; quite the opposite of my younger days, when I would seek out anything and everything in advance of movies that looked exciting to me.)

I came out of this The Thing as happy as a clam. I enjoyed the hell out of it—and I still do. While not necessarily alone in my appreciation for the film, I seem to be in a minority, especially among fans of Carpenter's original. And that's fine, I reckon, although I've never quite understood the hate for it. True, it's louder (too much so, at least on the Blu-ray; whatever happened to decent sound engineering?) and gaudier. The characters, with a few exceptions, are not exceptional. The story offers material that is not so much new and original as intimately familiar. Yet, on almost every level, the movie works. As a standalone film, it takes its inspiration, as did Carpenter's original, from John W. Campbell's "Who Goes There." You get all the information you need to follow the plot and characters without having to watch a frame of the 1982 incarnation. As a prequel, it does a great job of setting up the events that came before the classic, usually with painstaking detail. Having just watched both movies, 2011 first, 1982 second, the flow between them is virtually seamless.

I was quite taken with the inclusion of Mary Elizabeth Winstead as paleontologist Kate Lloyd. She's a perfectly believable character, strong and resourceful without going over-the-top tough. The supporting cast—including Ulrich Thomsen as the driven, dictatorial Dr. Halvorsen; Joel Edgerton as American helicopter pilot Sam Carter, who befriends Kate; Kristofer Hivju (best known as Tormund Giantsbane in HBO's Game of Thrones ) as polar ice researcher Jonas; Kim Bubbs as Juliette, a French researcher; and Lars, who turns out to be one of the men in the helicopter chasing the dog at the beginning of Carpenter's film—all offer personalities distinctive enough to stand out amid the ensemble.

Much of the criticism I'm aware of centers on the CGI effects, often called outright "bad." As one who tends to not be a CGI aficionado, I absolutely disagree on this. While no effects in the film come near the technical brilliance achieved by SPFX masters Rob Bottin and Stan Winston in Carpenter's film, the CGI effects, far from being "bad," are generally beautifully executed. The creature designs reflect the shifting, insect-like character from Carpenter's movie while adding new physical permutations, such as the centipede-like "hand monster." At times, the critters move at lightning speed, which to me only increases the sense of panic. Those designs that need to be consistent with Carpenter's original, such as the "split-face" beast (whose origin I find absolutely horrifying) are visually consistent. But one of the film's most striking images comes when the horror inside the ice is first revealed—a shadowy suggestion of a spindly, insect-like form with clearly defined claws.

If I have any particular criticism of the film, it may be about the day/night cycle presented here. It's winter in Antarctica, though the days and nights appear to follow a normal 24 hour cycle as they would in distinctly non-polar latitudes.

As the plot unfolds, a sense of inevitable doom builds much as it did in Carpenter's film. There is something perhaps too familiar in the characters' attempt to create a test to determine who has been infected by the Thing, although the approach is different and novel enough to come across as anything but derivative. And there is a lot of flame-throwing. But as the Norwegian station personnel diminish in number, and we come closer to seeing the events that open Carpenter's film, that sense of inevitability becomes almost unbearable. The last moments of this film's plot are cut in among the closing credits—which I find an extremely effective technique here—and we know precisely where things must go from there: the opening scene of John Carpenter's 1982 The Thing .

Composer Marco Beltrami provides a tense, eerie soundtrack that at times reflects Ennio Morricone's 1982 score—which itself draws heavily on John Carpenter's own musical compositions. And in those climactic moments that lead up to the beginning of Carpenter's film, the familiar, distinctive notes of Morricone's opening theme tell us that we have come to that point where the film reels must change.

So, yes, I appreciate, admire, and enjoy Matthijs van Heijningen Jr.'s vision of The Thing . As far as I'm concerned it's The Real Thing. It's what came before Carpenter's masterpiece. It's canon.

Blue Devil Island for Your Kindle, 99¢

FOR A LIMITED TIME...

Publisher Crossroad Press is offering the Kindle edition of my WWII novel, Blue Devil Island , for only 99¢. You can spend a buck, get yourself an exciting book to keep you busy for a coupla days, and still have enough to snag yourself a cold one or two.

THE STORYAUTUMN, 1943: The beginning of the American offensive against the Japanese in the South Pacific. Just west of the Solomon Islands lies a remote, desert island called Conquest, where the U.S. Navy stations a new fighting squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Drew McLachlan, an ace pilot and veteran of the Battle of Coral Sea.

With his group of air warriors, who call themselves the Blue Devils, McLachlan soars into frequent combat with the Japanese, inflicting serious casualties upon the enemy. However, on the squadron's island home, signs appear that it may not be entirely alone, for in nearby volcanic caves, McLachlan finds evidence of habitation by unknown natives — natives that resemble no known living race, and that may yet exist in the mysterious subterranean catacombs. As the tension on the island mounts, McLachlan is forced to fight on two fronts: against their known enemy, the Japanese, and an unknown, predatory force that leaves mutilated victims as the only evidence of its presence.

As the Solomons campaign enters into its final skirmishes, the Japanese at last turn their attention to Conquest Island. In the final conflict, the Blue Devils find themselves the target of an overwhelming assault by the desperate Imperial Japanese forces—and McLachlan must face the reality that the key to his men’s survival lies deep in the dark and deadly caves of Conquest Island itself.

"Rainey skillfully mixes military fiction with alien encounters to present a fast-paced tale of wartime heroics and unearthly terrors. Blue Devil Island is a good selection for large science-fiction or horror collections." —Library Journal

Get Blue Devil Island for your Kindle from Amazon.com here.

Excerpt #2 from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior

Here's an excerpt from my in-progress Ameri-Scares novel— Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior . Jeff and Anna, two thirteen-year-olds, meet for the first time at a mysterious waterfall in the forest....

Jeff looked out at the vast, crater-like gorge. To his surprise, he noticed a movement off to his left. There! A figure moving among the boulders. He realized it was a girl—at least, he thought so, judging by the long, flowing black hair. Her back was to him as she crept toward the path that led to the top of the gorge.

“Hey! You!” he called out.

For a second, she paused but did not turn around. Then she started moving again.

“Wait up, all right? I want to talk to you!”

This time she stopped. Slowly, she turned and gazed at him.

Wow, he thought. She must be a Native American. She had copper-colored skin, high cheekbones, and wide, very dark eyes. She wore blue jeans and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt. From here, she looked pretty tall. He made his way along the rocky floor of the gorge toward her. She watched him with suspicious eyes. He raised a hand and smiled, hoping she would understand his intentions were friendly.

“Hi,” he said as he came up to her. She was taller than he—by a couple of inches—and she looked strong and muscular. Probably strong enough to pop him a good one if the mood took her. “I’m Jeff. I was just exploring back there.”

She raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

He pointed to the roaring cascade. “Exploring. Cave. Behind waterfall.”

“I heard you the first time,” she said. Suspicion still gleamed in her dark eyes. “You’re not a Yooper, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m from Midland. I’m on vacation here with my parents. So I guess you are a Yooper.”

“Oh, yah.”

“Have you been to this waterfall before?”

“Yah, a good many times.”

”I didn't even know it existed till now.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I rode out on my bike this morning, headed down Miner's Castle Road, and I just sort of ended up here.”

“Odd place to just ‘end up.’”

“Speaking of odd—there’s something very weird about that cave. When you go only a little ways inside, it gets quiet—like you’re suddenly far, far away.” Trying to explain seemed awkward. He motioned to her. “It’s easier if I show you. Come with me, how about?”

She hesitated, once again eyeing him with suspicion.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m a serial killer or anything.”

She finally offered him a faint smile. “I know you aren’t. How do you know I’m not?”

Her question took him by surprise. For a second, he could find no words.

She must have found his expression amusing because she laughed. “Now I know you’re not dangerous,” she said. “A little goofy, maybe.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” he said, embarrassed. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Singing Bird of the Forest.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

“Huh?”

She gave him a mocking smile. “It’s Anna. Anna Hendricks.”

She seemed to enjoy poking fun at him. He sighed. “I’m Jeff.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“I mean, I’m Jeff Grigg.”

He must sound completely stupid. Why had he become so nervous?

“So, you want to go to the cave and see what I mean?”

“Actually, I do.”

“Okay, then.” He started walking back toward the waterfall. A little of his confidence returned when she fell in behind him. “What about you? How come you’re out here all by yourself?”

“It was something—” She cut herself off. After a moment, she said, “I spend a lot of time by myself. Today, I just decided to come here.”

Jeff stopped and looked back at her. Her gaze shifted away from his.

She was not telling the truth.
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Happy Bloody Valentine's Day

Brugger and I once again devised a satisfying Valentine's Day experience: after work, we hauled ourselves over to GIA: Drink. Eat. Listen , which has long been one of our favorite wine & dine destinations. We don't frequent it as much as some others because the price tag runs a bit on the high side, but they do have half-price wine nights, which we have been known to enjoy on occasion. While they do have some mighty fine wines—and the chef and sommelier collaborate to present some excellent pairings—my favorite drink on the premises is a martini called the Tiny Cat (that's T-I-N-Y, mind you, not T-I-D-Y, as Ms. B. prefers to call it). It's Tiny Cat Vodka, Death’s Door Gin, Lillet Blanc, House Pimento Bitters, and Olives. I shouldn't have this concoction very often because it's so good it would way too easy to overdo it. Way. Too. Easy.

For dinner, we indulged in a couple of excellent small plates—spicy sausage, pepperoni, and yellow pepper schiachiatte for Ms. B. and Chicken Liver-Foie Gras Paté with daikon radish, prosciutto, honey, and toast for the old man. Heavenly from top to bottom, it was.

For afters, we viewed the William Castle's original 13 Ghosts (1960), which I was due a viewing, since I will be playing Dr. Zorba in filmmaker Myron Smith's upcoming parody 39 Ghosts . We followed this with 1999's House on Haunted Hill , which didn't impress viewers in its day, but I've always rather enjoyed it. Geoffrey Rush is superb, as is Famke Janssen, and the supporting cast all seem to have a good time. The climax features an impressive otherworldly thingummy, and I like the ending. So I'm gonna stand out from the crowd and give this one overall high marks.

And that is how one celebrates a most romantic Valentine's Day. No shit.

A Weekend at the Crossroad

Author/Crossroad Press Founder & CEO David Niall Wilson
riles the crowd at the Page After Page Author Fest
Come lunchtime on Friday, I bolted out of Greensboro and set out for the most haunted and horrific Wilson House (a.k.a. Dave and Trish's residence) in Herford, NC. For this was the weekend of the Page After Page Author Fest in Elizabeth City, NC (see my blog entry from Wednesday, February 8 ), and we were all set to appear.

Actually, I first had to swing up to Martinsville, VA, to take care of business at my mom's. Then I hit the road for the most haunted and horrific Wilson House. I did stop for a number of geocaches along the way, and somewhere about Emporia, VA, I discovered what is surely one of the few Shoney's restaurants still in business. Back in the dawn of man, I worked as a fry cook at Shoney's in Martinsville. Their food was never exactly gourmet fare, but for old time's sake, I stopped for dinner, and I've gotta say, it was not bad at all. The HOP (half o' pound) hamburger steak was quite satisfying, as a matter of fact.
I really didn't know there were any of these left. The restaurants, I mean, not strange old white men. Don't see one of these every day...My route took me out US 58 to just this side of Suffolk, VA, where I got on some back roads that skirted the Dismal Swamp into NC. Now, mind you, these were some of the same back roads upon which I found myself a mighty bit confused back around 2006. Those unexpected detours directly inspired my novel, The Monarchs , which is set in that area. This time, with the aid of a (mostly) functional phone GPS, getting through that area proved a breeze. I did lose service for a spell out there, but by then, I was most of the way toward familiar territory.

As I was driving past Elizabeth City, only a few minutes shy of Hertford, I did see what at first struck me as an unusual phenomenon. Along the western horizon, as far as the eye could see, what appeared to be a thousand red lights were flashing in unison. I wasn't entirely sure what I might be seeing, but I suspected it might be a wind farm. And that is exactly what it turned out to be. I'd never seen one before at night, and I found the view spectacular.

Once I'd settled in at the most haunted and horrific place, my hosts and I stayed up till the wee hours sipping whiskey and trading most excellent tales of comedy and tragedy.
At the waterfront. A gull on every post.
Come Saturday morning, we headed out to Elizabeth City and the author fest. Page After Page is a small but well-stocked bookstore in a scenic area of town along the waterfront. About 20 authors attended the event, including children's authors, young-adult fiction authors, adult-fiction authors, poets, and creative writers of every ilk. To my surprise, rather than have the writers set up in strategic locations, we were sequestered at the back of the store so each of us could give a presentation about our showcased works. It was an unusual approach, and while I enjoyed listening to these recountings of personal inspiration, I felt we had been essentially separated from whatever customers did show up. And a few did. Clearly, there was less selling than personal and professional fellowship happening here. If I'd had any great expectation of making a killing, I might have been put out, but knowing that Elizabeth City is not necessarily the Mecca for that kind of thing, I had come more for the joy of hanging out with other writers, specifically Dave and Trish (not to mention more than a modicum of geocaching). It is well that these were my expectations.
Trish Wilson tells you what's going down in the business Author Reginald Buchanan recounts an exciting passage from his novel. Books from Crossroad Press
All in all, it turned out to be an enjoyable and informative day. At the fest's end, the Wilsons and I transported ourselves to Volcano Japanese Restaurant, where I had dined once before ("These Are a Few of My Favorite Things," June 24, 2012). It was good then, and it was good now. I ripped up three superdynawhopping sushi rolls—a spicy shrimp & scallop roll, a spicy volcano roll, and a spicy tuna & seaweed concoction called "A Christmas Tree." For dessert, I partook of some geocaches and a chai latte from Starbuck's . We had to pick up the Wilsons' daughter Katie at the nearby college campus following a field trip, but the kids were a bit late getting back. So we three adults sat in the Vladmobile for some time, shooting shit and shitting you not.

Back at Chez Wilson, for the evening's entertainment, we watched The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra , one of my all-time favorite comedies, made by champion of science Larry Blamire; followed by Polar , a violent thriller starring Mads Mikkelsen. In general, I quite enjoyed the latter, though it feels rather odd to say so, considering the gratuitous sax and violins, not to mention an over-the-top body count. It did have great atmosphere and a driving musical score. We also availed ourselves to some exceedingly pricey whiskey, which I enjoyed, but Dave and I agreed that we both enjoy a lot of whiskeys that cost a quarter of its price at least as much or more. Still, many thanks to Dave for sharing a healthy splash of it with me. There's no one I'd rather share expensive whiskey with.
A big honking bottle of Eagle Rare. Not the most expensive stuff, but among the best. Brother Tomás
This morning, we had to make a quick stop in Elizabeth City to pick up some copies of my novel, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman , from Dave's office. That done, we said our goodbyes and I hit the road—and began a long day of driving and geocaching. I claimed about 30 this weekend, more than half of which I snagged on the trip home today. It was a long but not-at-all uncomfortable drive back, as I stopped every few minutes to do a bit of hunting. The majority of the hides I found this weekend were park & grabs, but I still managed to turn up a good number of ingenious, appealing caches, such as "Where Eagles Soar" ( GC7N4K2 ), and "Harbor Log" ( GC6CQ24 ), a short distance down the street. It's always fun to have a few challenging hides in the mix. It's not always just about the numbers....

All in all, this proved a most enjoyable weekend with a couple of the best friends I have, both in the wild and woolly writing business and the wild and woolly business of life in general. Back home now, a bit weary and a little peeved that tomorrow is another day at the office. What I could use right now is a good couple of full days working on Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior , which is going swimmingly but deserves a good spell of uninterrupted writing time.

Till then.
Old Rodan on the prowl along the waterfront