Happy Halloween! Today wraps up Teri Polen’s Bad Moon Rising 2023. A month full of author interviews and descriptions of their books. Head over to discover many authors of horror, suspense, and thriller books.
If you head out for trick-or-treating tonight, have fun! I’ll be staying at home and watching a horror movie while trying not to eat all the candy that’s meant for trick-or-treaters.
An update on my writing projects…
I finished the first draft of my new poetry collection. Neat to go through my archives of files and discover poems that I’d forgotten. Both completed and uncompleted poems from many years ago. Some were just a few notes of what a poem could be about.
An old photo shows what you looked like in that moment. These poems are snapshots of my thoughts in those moments. Ideas arrived like fireflies, and I snatched some and put each in a jar (with holes in the lid, so the firefly could breathe), then the firefly went into hibernation.
With some of those captured fireflies, I released them from the jars and asked them to fly in a pattern. Perhaps like an orchestra conductor. My mind’s long-exposure camera absorbed the trails of light that formed words, lines, poems. Then each firefly zoomed away.
With other captured fireflies, I released them without the conducting directions. Those ideas can simply go.
Also, I wrote several new poems. “Bearded Dragon in a Pet Store” was one. I’ll be posting other poems, old and new, here.
I put the poetry collection to the side to get a little distance from it. I’m now working on a short-story collection, with the same spelunking into old files. When that draft is done, I’ll return to the poetry collection, then edit it and self-publish it. I’m not sure about the timing for that. Maybe December or January? I’ll let you know.
Do ghosts hang out at cemeteries,
or in the houses where
the deceased people used to live?
A cemetery may offer
many other ghosts for socializing,
like if you lived in a hotel—
but not every person (ghost)
is extroverted and wants to “live” that way.
Some ghosts might want to “live”
in a house with just the ghosts
of the people who died there.
What if cemetery ghosts don’t want
only sad people to visit cemeteries
to pay their respects?
These ghosts might enjoy
people going to cemeteries
to relax, like in parks:
sit and soak in nature
or chat with a friend
or read a book.
Some people might
see that as disrespectful,
but what if cemetery ghosts
are tired of moods of death
and would enjoy more liveliness?
***
Photo by Vicki Schofield at Unsplash.
A year ago, my wife and I traveled to New England to visit our twin daughters for their colleges’ family weekends. One daughter goes to school in Connecticut, the other in Massachusetts.
Around those two weekends, my wife and I did a little sightseeing in the area. One stop was the Book Barn in Niantic, Connecticut.
I was delighted, charmed, swooned. This is the most varied, fun, packed-with-goodness bookstore that I’ve visited.
The Book Barn has three locations within a mile. We visited The Main Barn. This place is a little campus. Besides the building pictured above, there are several sheds (maybe outbuildings would be a better word?) containing shelves of books. There are gardens, a playground, goats (in a pen), and cats (roaming).
And there are little Flinstones-type cars for the kids to zoom around…
I love that places like this exist. Independent stores with personality. They’re a refreshing opposite to buying stuff online–which, sure, has the convenience of shopping in your pajamas then the purchased stuff is delivered to your house.
Physical stores can offer a richer experience. Shopping at stores can provide memories of where you bought items. Not every store, of course. Since some stores have a generic atmosphere.
True, the Book Barn is a rarity that combines books in an amusement-park vibe. But stores don’t have to reach that level. They can provide a welcoming personality to delight us. For example, I’ve enjoyed going to Kramers and Politics and Prose, bookstores in Washington, DC that are closer to me (I live in Maryland).
So, a thank you to the folks who run independent stores !
The leaves dropping
could be said to be
eaves dropping on us,
walking as we are on this forest trail,
and the leaves leaning down from
their high branches to get a better listen–
but in doing so, their stems snap
and thus they
fall
fall
fall
a slow motion blizzard of them
twisting
this way
and that,
covering the ground around us, all
angling their ears toward us and
trying to look nonchalant about it.
But you and I know very well
what they’re up to.
A couple years ago, I blogged about the audio version of my short story “Away from the Orchard.” Well, since it’s been a while and autumn is here again, I wanted to include it in another post.
Autumn is the time for visiting your friendly neighborhood farm to enjoy a bumpy hay ride, choose just the right pumpkin, try not to get woefully lost in a corn maze, and pick apples.
That last activity occurs in the beginning of “Away from the Orchard.” A boy is picking apples with his family and he drops an apple with the excuse that it’s too small.
The apple decides it would rather not stay on the ground in the orchard, so it moves along. A short, sweet story about that decision and the journey afterward.
If you’d rather listen to the audio on YouTube, click here. The video includes my illustrations and narration.
I hope you enjoy…
The bearded dragon
stands on
a fake hollow log,
its head raised
to a fake sun.
The lizard looks so proud that
if it could roar
or spew fire,
it would.
In my imagination,
I pick up something
(an aquarium castle, maybe)
and break the glass
of the dragon’s enclosure.
Fearful, the dragon hides
under the fake log,
as the dogs
(who are getting haircuts)
bark
and the parakeets
chirp,
“Hey man, free us next!”
The dragon realizes
the opportunity and
skitters past the parakeets,
past the guinea pigs and mice.
If the little lizard’s motion
triggers the glass doors to open,
it’ll reach freedom:
the real sun,
real logs and stones.
The police would arrive
and handcuff me
and drive me to
the department,
where I’d be locked
in a cage
and I’d dream of
memories of freedom.
New this month to Netflix is the series The Fall of the House of Usher ( trailer on YouTube). The series was created by Mike Flanagan, who also bought Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House (among other series/movies) to the streaming platform.
The new show is not a strict telling of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story by the same name. Rather, the TV show weaves the happenings from several of Poe’s stories into a larger plot in a modern setting. And many of the show’s character names were taken from Poe’s stories and poems.
Here’s Netflix’s description of the show: “To secure their fortune — and future — two ruthless siblings build a family dynasty that begins to crumble when their heirs mysteriously die, one by one.”
Roderick Usher is the CEO of Fortunato Pharmaceuticals, and his twin sister Madeline is COO of the company. Roderick has six adult children, and they are the unfortunate ones who die, one by one. Another plot line is that the Ushers are on trial for misleading the public by saying their company’s painkiller drug Ligodone is not addictive. (A fictional stand-in for Oxycodone.)
I thought the show was well done, an entertaining watch for spooky season (or when you’re in the mood for spooky). There are gruesome parts, so you may want to skip it if horror is not your cup of tea.
If you’d like to experience Poe’s original works, audio versions are available on YouTube. I’ve included a list of stories and poems, along with character names in the Netflix show. The Wikipedia page and Neflix article for the show were helpful for the references I didn’t know.
The audiobooks:
“The Fall of the House of Usher” (provided by Classic Audiobooks with Elliot). In the short story, Roderick and Madeline are twins, living in the decrepit Usher house. The twins have the same name in the TV show, and some scenes take place in their decrepit childhood home.
“The Cask of Amontillado” (provided by Rev897). Short story: Fortunato is a nobleman, against whom the narrator wishes to get revenge. TV show: Fortunato is the name of the company.
“Ligeia” (narrated by Lori at A Poetry Channel). Short story: The narrator is married to Ligeia, a beautiful and intelligent woman. However, she dies from illness, and the narrator is weighed by grief. He marries Rowena even though he doesn’t love her, but then she also becomes ill. TV show: Fortunato Pharmaceutical’s popular painkiller Ligodone is based on the name of the story.
“Metzengerstein: A Tale in Imitation of the German” (narrated by Steve Rimpici for Strobie Studios). Short story: Frederick Metzengerstein has a feud with the Berlifitzing family. TV show: Frederick is Roderick’s oldest son.
“Morella” (narrated by Wayne June). Short story: the narrator is married to Morella, who dies in childbirth and their daughter looks much like her. TV show: Morella is married to Frederick, and their daughter is Lenore.
“The Raven” (narrated by Shane Morris for RedFrost Motivation). In the poem, the narrator anguishes over his lost love Lenore. TV show: Roderick’s granddaughter is named Lenore. Also, a mysterious woman named Verna appears to many characters. Before doing research on this post, I didn’t realize her name is a scrambled form of “raven.”
“Tamerlane” (narrated by Hellfreezer). Poem: Tamerlane is a conqueror who regrets choosing the pursuit of power over the pursuit of his love for a peasant named Ada. TV show: Tamerlane is Roderick’s oldest daughter.
“William Wilson” (narrated by Dave Luukkonen for HorrorBabble). Short story: William Wilson is irritated to meet another boy with the same name at school; they even look alike and share the same birthday. TV show: William Wilson is married to Tamerlane.
“The Gold-Bug” (provided by Priceless Audiobooks). Short story: William Legrand finds a gold scarab on the coast of South Carolina, and his servant Jupiter finds a piece of parchment. Later, while Legrand sketches the bug on the parchment, the fireplace’s heat reveals previously invisible ink. Legrand is convinced the parchment’s message reveals hidden treasure, and he seeks it with Jupiter’s help. TV show: Tamerlane launches a business called Goldbug, a subscription service that delivers boxes of health and beauty products.
“The Premature Burial” (narrated by Whitney Walker for Ghastly Tales). Short story: A nasty husband buries alive his wife, Victorine Lafourcade, but thankfully she is rescued. TV show: Victorine LaFourcade is another of Roderick’s daughters.
“The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (provided by VonClegg Classics). The detective in this short story is C. Auguste Dupin, which is the name of the Assistant U.S. Attorney in the TV show. The short story’s murder victims are Camille L’Espanaye and her mother. Camille L’Espanaye is one of Roderick’s daughters in the show.
“The Spectacles” (provided by World’s Audiobooks). Short story: Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart swoons at the sight of what he thinks is a beautiful woman, but refuses to wear his spectacles to look at her–until their wedding night. TV show: Napoleon (nicknamed “Leo”) is another of Roderick’s sons.
“The Black Cat” (narrated by Jeff Clement for Chilling Tales for Dark Nights). Short story: A black cat bites the narrator, and he kills it in a gruesome way: cutting out one of its eyes then hanging it from a tree. The narrator then kills his wife and hides her body behind a wall. TV show: Leo Usher and his partner Julius own a black cat named Pluto.
“The Masque of the Red Death” (narrated by Geoff Castellucci). Short story: Prince Prospero invites his friends to stay in his abbey, and they lock out the public to try to stay safe from the plague, the Red Death. TV show: Roderick’s youngest son is Prospero, nicknamed “Perry.”
“Annabel Lee” (narrated by Gizem Senel Westlake). In the poem, the narrator talks of his dead love, Annabel Lee–which is the name of Roderick’s first wife in the show.
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (provided by Classic Audiobook Collection). In Poe’s only finished novel, Arthur Gordon Pym is a stowaway in the ship Grampus. TV show: The Usher’s effective lawyer is Arthur Pym, nicknamed “The Pym Reaper.” Also, when Frederick and Lenore are putting together ships in bottles, Lenore suggests they call the ship Grampus after her grandfather Roderick.
“The Tell-Tale Heart” (narrated by Dean Knight for the Poe Museum). Short story: The narrator kills an old man, then hides the body under the floorboards in his house. But the narrator is haunted by a thumping sound that he believes is the heart of the old man. TV show: This is the name of the fifth episode (all eight episodes are named from Poe’s works).
“The Pit and the Pendulum” (narrated by Martin Yates for Ghastly Tales). Short story: A prisoner of the Spanish Inquisition is tied down, and a sharp-edged pendulum swings from the ceiling. It slowly lowers toward the prisoner. And if that’s not dangerous enough, the prison cell also has a deep pit. TV show: This is the name of the seventh episode.
Finally, with no relation at all to the show, is an illustration I made a few years ago…
Last week, my wife and I saw Explosions in the Sky play at the 9:30 Club in Washington, DC. The show was amazing. It was probably the most immersive concert I’ve been to. The music was instrumental, so it was easy for me to get swept away without focusing on lyrics. Also, the band started a new song swiftly after each song ended.
As a way to process the experience, I wrote a stream-of-consciousness piece while listening to their new album, End. (The album on Spotify.) If I had written during the concert, I wonder how different it would’ve been.
Here’s the piece…
You leave your house and go on a journey, driving the highways and following a map app to show you the way but what about the times when there are no highways and no apps to direct you and instead there’s the sound carrying you along in a kind of direction with the rhythm but the thoughts blooming in your head are your own, the stream of thoughts the parade of images and memories and what you’re feeling and the lights moving in beams are like the movie where the aliens invaded the house and the main character didn’t leave the house willingly to embark on adventure, she had to escape the intruders, and the music’s beams are like the beams from the UFO trying to pull her up into the ship and wanting to explore into her memories the images parading in there, the aliens like peeping Toms and intruding in a further sense, another journey like the musicians, looking lost in their own world, like the writer in Misery who said sometimes writing is like falling through a hole in the page and entering the world of the story but here it’s with sound, the soundscape carrying the musicians and audience along into a journey together with every song, but separate within ourselves.
***
By the way: the alien movie is No One Will Save You, which I saw a few days before the concert. The movie’s available on Hulu, and here’s the trailer on YouTube.
If you’re into instrumental “post-modern” rock, I’d recommend giving the band a listen. I think their first album I listened to was The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place. And if that music speaks to you, I’d recommend seeing this band in concert if you get the chance.
I’m running a free promotion for my novella, Don’t Lose Your Head, and today’s the last day you can pick up the ebook without spending a dime. This crime and ghost story is available on Amazon.
A little about this spooky book…
When you leave for a trip, who knows you’re gone from your house? Family and friends, sure. Neighbors, perhaps.
So does the chauffeur who drove you to the airport. Alan Burris takes advantage of working for a car service to know when clients will be away from their houses for several nights. Some houses are easier, since they don’t have a security system — and these houses are on his list for a night visit to steal valuables.
The Resnick house has been on Alan’s list for a while, and now it will be empty for a few nights, since Mr. and Mrs. Resnick are spending a long weekend in Chicago.
But is the house really empty? Alan’s about to find out what it’s like to not be alone in the house, his car, his apartment, and his head. And with another person hanging around, to what length will Alan go to get rid of them?
Here’s the first chapter…
*****
Alan Burris glanced in the car’s rear-view mirror and saw an older version of himself sitting on the back seat. As if the mirror contained magic to reflect how Alan could look in several years, with deeper lines in his forehead and gray hairs blending into darker ones at the sides of his head.
William Resnick had never noticed the resemblance, but his wife picked up on it during her first ride in the black Lincoln sedan.
“Bill,” said Mrs. Resnick, also in the back seat, “he looks just like you!”
“Huh? What?” Bill Resnick looked up from the report’s pages on his lap.
“The driver.” Mrs. Resnick grabbed the headrest of the front passenger seat and leaned forward, saying, “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know your name.” She spoke up, as if the driver was a hard-of-hearing geezer—even though Alan was younger than both of his passengers.
Alan briefly toyed with the idea of asking the male Resnick if he remembered his driver’s name, but doubted that game would go over well. Don’t annoy a client. One of the rules of the biz. Alan introduced himself to the Mrs.
“I’m Laura,” she said. “I’m sorry we didn’t do proper introductions when we got into your car. I don’t know where my mind was.”
“It’s fine, ma’am. Like I said earlier, it’s good to meet you.”
The line deserved repeating. After driving Bill Resnick to and from JFK airport for a couple years, Alan had never seen the Mrs. until now. Her existence was known, due to the wedding band encircling Bill’s finger. Alan had wondered what the wife was like, imagining a woman who dressed in elegant clothes, moved with grace, and performed as a fantastic hostess at dinner parties. The kind of hostess who put the guests at ease and could carry conversations about pretty much anything.
Seeing Laura Resnick this morning answered Alan’s imaginings, along with finding out she wasn’t as attractive as the picture of her in his mind. Not that she was ugly, but Alan had elevated her to a level of beauty he now realized was unfair and unrealistic. But he had been correct about her elegance and grace.
Even though Alan would never discover her hostess skills, he was going to discover the Resnick house’s interior. Having the Mrs. in the Lincoln gave the green light for Alan’s plan—once a general idea and hope—to be placed on the schedule. His patience was about to be rewarded.
Mrs. Resnick turned back to her husband and said, “What’s with the scoff?” She had lowered her voice. “You don’t think he looks like you?”
A small laugh from Resnick, or something resembling a laugh. “Hardly.” Resnick returned to his Very Important Papers.
Alan asked himself, What do you care, Rez? Always at your reports and phone. Acting like you run the fucking world.
Mrs. Resnick pushed on: “I’m serious. If you shaved off your mustache, you two could be twins. Okay, so your hair color’s different, but your faces are quite similar.”
“Laura, would you give it a rest? I need to prepare for this briefing.”
She sat back against the seat, clearly dejected. “But we have, what, two hours on the plane?”
“There’s a ton I have to cover. I don’t want to look like a fool in front of the client.”
“Fine.” Then she spoke louder again, for their supposed geezer driver’s benefit: “Alan, could you turn the radio up? Just a little?”
“No problem, ma’am.”
The NPR reporter, who had been talking about the economies of several European countries, transitioned to a new story about ethnic cleansing in an African country.
Ethnic cleansing, Alan thought. Such a safe, shined-up phrase for the meaning it tries to hide. Like “we’re letting you go.” Like you’ve been sitting outside the boss’s office for hours, a puppy crying to be let out and taken for a walk.
Mrs. Resnick gazed out the window, at the other cars crawling beside them. Was she envisioning herself in another car, yakking it up with another driver, another husband? One who was more attentive? They could’ve talked about their thoughts on ethnic cleansing, doppelgängers, and anything else that came to mind or the radio.
Maybe she would’ve placed her hand on the other husband’s knee and suggested some plans for when he was done with his presentation to the client. With his work wrapped up for the day, the two of them could’ve dined at a fancy restaurant then continued the romance at a fancy hotel. She could’ve said, “I’m glad I finally joined you on a business trip. I know you’re busy during the day, but you’re all mine in the evening.”
Has it been a while since you guys got it on? It’s not like you’ve got kids to tiptoe around.
No kids had ever yelled good-bye to Resnick as he left his house and walked toward the Lincoln during one of Alan’s pick-ups. And no kids had ever yelled hello when Resnick made the reverse journey. No minivan was parked in the Resnick driveway. Instead, a silver Lexus RX. Other times, a red Infiniti Q60. His and hers. Alan had changed his decision several times in trying to match which car belonged to husband and which to wife.
Also, no dog had ever appeared at the door. No finely bred dog barked and wagged its tail to bid its master adieu or hello. All the clues pointed to a married couple living a comfy life in the nice suburb of Westbury with no kids or pets.
*
Earlier this morning, when the Resnicks had left their “we’re quite well off financially and like to show it” type of house, they hadn’t poked at a security system’s keypad. There had been no tell-tale chirp of a system being armed. As both Resnicks had approached Alan, standing by the Lincoln’s open trunk, he had almost leaped with joy.
It’s too good to be true. Wait. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Get the details first.
Alan had greeted them with a perky “good morning,” and loaded their luggage in the trunk. The Resnicks had climbed into the back seat, and Alan shut the door behind them. Then the drive and careful information gathering started.
Alan had said, “Good to finally meet you, Mrs. Resnick.”
“Likewise,” she had replied. “And I want to thank you for taking such good care of my husband. He tends to run a little late.”
A harumph from her worse half.
“It’s true, Bill.” Mrs. Resnick had a soothing voice. Her attention returned to the driver as she said, “But you’ve kept him from missing his flights.”
“All in the job, ma’am,” Alan had said. Modest and polite. Keep it up, soldier.
“And this morning, it’s important not to be late.”
“Why’s that?” Here we go.
“Because I’m going with him, of course,” Mrs. Resnick had said. “We have old friends in Chicago, and it’s been too long since I’ve seen them. Far too long. When Bill told me he’s going there for a meeting, I jumped at the chance. It’ll be a mini vacation. Just from today to Sunday, but it’ll be a chance to relax and sightsee. Right, Bill?”
“Yeah. Right.” Resnick clicked open his briefcase and started shuffling papers.
The papers didn’t keep what Resnick probably saw as the old ball and chain down. Mrs. Resnick said, “Well, I’m looking forward to it.”
Alan pinched his thigh to test if this was a dream. He didn’t wake up.
Time for some justice. Tonight’s the night, Rezzie old boy. It’s finally here.
*
The Lincoln exited on to the ramp toward Kennedy airport and eased to a stop at Terminal 7, underneath the United Airlines sign. Still plenty of time to catch their 10:05 flight.
Alan went into the steps of the departure routine. Clicked on the car’s caution lights. Pressed the button to open the trunk. Got out of the car and was slapped by the noise of the morning rush: a plane taking off, cars honking and jostling for space. Alan opened the back door on the curb side and offered his arm to Mrs. Resnick. She looked surprised for a second then thanked him, grabbed his suit jacket-covered forearm, and pulled herself out of the car. Alan hoisted the luggage from the trunk and set it on the sidewalk.
Alan said to the couple, “I hope you have a wonderful time in Chicago, Mr. and Mrs. Resnick.”
Mrs. Resnick flashed her husband a look, and since she presumably didn’t see the signal she anticipated, her hand slipped into her handbag.
Alan smiled. “No need to tip me, ma’am. The limo service is paid through his company.” Alan nodded to Resnick.
She looked relieved as an uncomfortable moment passed. And Alan wasn’t about to tell her that good, ole’ Billy Resnick wasn’t that great of a tipper when replying to Velox Limo’s invoices. The subject of frequent complaints Alan shared with his boss, Hank.
“Let’s go,” William Resnick said and started wheeling his luggage away. Off to check his bag and show the world how it should be run.
“Have a good day,” Mrs. Resnick said to Alan, seemingly embarrassed by her husband’s brusqueness, before she went to join him.
As Alan watched the well-dressed couple walk through the doorway of the airport terminal, he imagined conking William Resnick’s skull with a cartoon hammer, slumping him to the ground so hard that stars and tweeting birds orbited his already swollen head.
###
Dave Williams 