Image Inspired Mini Story #14

When the Hound of a Thousand Faces chose to be born on Callis Four he knew he would not live long.  The body was small, female, and he felt colder than the last one.  He had his saffron acolytes bring him a sweater and went out onto the balcony.

"Where is it now?"

"It is over a city called Var Hammen, South and West, several thousand miles.  It kills everything it passes."

"I did not ask what it was doing.  I asked where it was."

The bald monk, number 38,705, fell prostrate before the him within her.  The Hound ignored the adulation.

"What attempts have been made against the Shayde?"

"Viral, nuclear, cryofission, vortian, and... psychic."

The Hound laughed, surprised by the musical sound in his throat.  "Psychic?  Really?"

"We are dying Master.  We felt that no avenue of possibility should be neglected."

"You wasted your time."  Chastised, the monk held his index fingers along his nose.

"All glory to the Eternal Hunter, I bow before the wisdom of your multitude.  Truly, you are the Stars Salvation."

"Lead me to the hangar.  I want to finish this quickly."

His worshipers were prompt and thorough.  Their serial numbers were low; they'd been doing this a long time.  The vessel was properly outfitted, bristling with antennae, glistening with sensors.  He and the monk entered and they flickered into the sky like a tin grasshopper.  The ocean blurred beneath them.  Mountains sprung from the water.  Beyond, the darkness of the Living Storm.

"Timeless One, I beg intrusion upon a few seconds of your limitless existence to speak with you, here in the moments before the end of my finite consciousness."

"Sure."

"I consider it the highest honor that I might bring you here, knowing I will die with you.  The sacrifice is little knowing that you will save my people.  I go to my fate gladly, with pride in my heart I can scarcely contain."

The Hound clicked some switches.  Instruments swiveled and they dove toward the burning maelstrom.

"Save your people?  Yeah, no.  Your planet is going to die.  Probably the next few planets as well, until I get enough readings to figure this thing out."

38,705 blinked.  "But, you're the Immortal Light of Heaven..."  Lightening lanced out and licked the ship, rocking everything.  "The Stars Salvation..."  A panel burst into flames.

"Look, I really am busy here."

The Monk slumped down into his seat.  The windows displayed a swirling mash of fire, stone, and electricity.  Something metal ripped off the ship and careened into the gale.

"You will remember me?  That I was here with you?" Asked the monk.

The Hound didn't look up from his readings.

"Yeah.  Sure."
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TaleTown Kickstarter Video Wrap

So, tonight we're shooting the last scene of our Kickstarter video for the TaleTown project!  TaleTown Project?  Kickstarter video?  Huh?

Explanations may be in order.  Remember that post a few weeks ago where I mentioned that I had a programmer and we were planning on creating a Facebook game?  How I mentioned it was going to be consuming a big chunk of my life?  It is.  Ravenously.  But it's going fantastically.  We've brought Jiba Anderson in on the project as lead art director.  He's already finished character designs (you'll see them in a week or so).  Andrew Janssen has been programming like a fiend.  We can already access the game and upload art into it.  Now, mind you, this is bare bones.  It's just a series of options and buttons, nothing that resembles a game yet.  But it's bones.  Everything grows from that.

While working on this we discovered Kickstarter.  Kickstarter is a fund-raising website where you put up a video, explain your project, establish a reward structure for donations, and hope to raise money for whatever it is you're working on.  It's crazy hot right now for small projects, like this, to find grass roots funding.  You should check it out. 

We're doing this project regardless of whether or not we get paid for it, but funding would be nice.  Since Andrew has more programming on the front, we decided it would be worth pausing some of Jiba and my work to put effort into funding.  So about three weeks ago I called up Gracie Hagen and talked her into doing our promo movie.  I wrote a script and tonight we finish shooting!  By mid-week she'll have it edited.  With any luck our Kickstarter proposal will be up by next Friday.

The video is only a minute or two long.  It's structured like a Choose Your Own Adventure sort of thing where the pages of a book turn and lead to different scenes.  Jiba and I got to play ourselves, post-alien-invasion-resistance-fighters (pictured above), and pork-n-bean deprived homeless bums!  Also, since Andrew is in Indiana, we used a stand-in wearing an Andrew mask in every scene.  We didn't want him to feel left out.  Tonight, we get to live large and look like successful debutantes!  Of course I ended the script with a celebratory party!  We'll do our wrap and final shoot all at once.  How's that for efficiency?

I'll keep you posted as soon as it's up and online!

Morbid Suit Podcast

The first Cult Fiction event we ran back in June 2010 was called Papers and Skin.  All of the stories had something to do with skin in one way or another.  My story was called Morbid Suit and was read by the lovely and talented Michelle Shupe.  We recorded the event.  If you didn't make it out to the show, at long last, you can hear my story!  Just click the link to hear it in your browser.  If you like, you can right click it and Save Link As... to download the MP3 and listen to it at your leisure.  Enjoy!

Click Here to Listen to Morbid Suit 

My Wife's Alien Pod Belly

Today we will celebrate my wife's Alien Pod Belly by having a great big party!  Being the progressive Alien Queen Mother that she is, Jill didn't want a traditional sort of baby shower (although the image of raining babies caused her to giggle).  We decided instead to throw a regular sort of party instead, that way all us gents could come and splash our testosterone around.  Jill needs it.  If she gets any more estrogen her massive belly is going to take over her body.  This thing is huge!  Seriously, she looks like she could fit an adult howler monkey in there, or a couple chickens, maybe 47 hamsters.  If I hadn't seen the ultrasound of our little bundle of joy myself I'd be worried.

So we're headed to Yuca Cafe, across the street from the frame shop, to marvel at the girth of it all and have one big party before our little girl comes into the world.  Yes, if you didn't know, I'm having another girl.  This is no shock.  I've had three sisters and already have two daughters.  Obviously my fate is to be surrounded by women.  I'm not going to complain about this.  Women are pretty great!  Besides, I knew a guy who's fate was to be surrounded by mosquitoes.  Way worse.

I'd just like to say a few things about this baby before she squirts out.  I've had several friends look at all I'm doing (frame shop, game designing, writing, etc...) and sort of shake their heads in wonder at the fact that Jill and I are tossing a baby into this insane mix.  I'd have to be crazy right?  I mean, all that extra work that babies produce!  How the hell could I possibly manage this?

Well, I'm going to fill you all in on one of the secrets of life itself.

The things you love energize you.

That's it.  Pure and simple.  Sure, babies create work, but they also produce drive, motivation, and happiness.  Their positive output is greater than the effort of wiping their asses.  Everyone knows that doing a job you hate takes twice as long as doing a job you love.  I love being my own boss and working at the frame shop.  I love working with a talented team of people on this game project.  I love work-shopping with other authors.  I love raising kids.

At this point in my life, I'm barely doing anything I don't enjoy or feel good about.  Sure, I'm as poor as a toad and that annoys the crap out of me.  But that won't last forever.  And meanwhile, I'm thrilled that I'm going to be getting another little energy battery.

Just as soon as she bursts forth from the Alien Queen.

February Beast - Vinterbugs

As I walked the streets of Chicago during the recent "Snowpocalype" blizzard I encountered a most unsettling occurrence.  Now, I am not one to avoid the more dangerous or strange elements of life.  Certainly, I have a regard for my own well being and attempt not to place myself in intentional risk, but I am also possessed of a wild spirit that seeks adventure and exploration.  That said, I often find myself in the weird circumstance that accompanies dark woods at night, lonely abandoned structures, and the stony embrace of the underworld.  I do not cringe from shadows.

Such being the case, against my expectant wife's protests, I set forth into the great Chicago Blizzard of 2011.  The date should have been warning enough for me!  Alas, I was caught up in the bluster and forgot my numerology.  Regardless, what is done, is done, and I am here to tell of it.  The greater part of my walk was uneventful, if you consider scouring winds and dervish snow to be of little import.  I found it quite exhilarating, at first.  But then I became aware of the noise.

It was a strange buzzing, like a swarm of bees.  At first, I thought it was electrical.  It sounded very much like a strained transformer.  But I quickly discarded the idea.  The storm had knocked out the power.  The whole section of city I had wandered into was swathed in darkness.  The noise seemed to be coming from an alley.  I deduced that it must be the wind passing over some arrangement of materials such to create the sound; an accidental instrument.  If only that had been true.

I never did see them, only the body they left.  It was like watching a snowdrift melt in accelerated film to reveal a pile of tiny bones.  Now, I was not so unwise as to inspect them in detail, but I am fairly certain (from personal past experience) that they were the remains of rats.  Upon viewing this windswept visage a spark of memory lit within my head.  I quickly returned home and for the remainder of the evening.

What had been brought to memory was a passage I'd once read about an American missionary in the fifties named Carl Mosender.  Mr.Mosender was in the Costa Rican jungle working with an international team when he was bitten by a venomous spider.  It was not fatal, but left him feverish.  During his recovery one of the other volunteers, a man from Greenland, watched over him.  Mosender recounts how the man told him he should be thankful.  That the insects of the tropics, even with their deadly poisons, are far less dangerous than the Vinterbugs of his native land.  It was this that stuck in my head.  So I did a little digging and I can hardly recount the things I found.

The number to times that skeletal remains are discovered following heavy snowfalls is startlingly high.  Even more so the number of skeletons found in the spring, and not all of them animal.  Most evidence of flesh eating Vinterbugs (an idea I would have found impossible myself) is circumstantial, with few notable exceptions.  One of the most relevant I will briefly describe for you.

In 1987 Jonathan Sendilig was involved in a cross country dog sled race across Alaska.  There was a snowstorm and he never arrived at his destination.  Rescue teams were sent out and discovered the sled, rigging, and skeletons of Mr.Sendilig and all of his dogs.  Mr.Sendilig was still dressed fully in his winter gear.  Clenched between the teeth of his skull, stuck to his molars, were the insect remains of what appeared to be albino cockroaches, the South American winged variety.

Do I put much credence to this type of story?  Perhaps, if I had not seen the snow scurry off the bones of those rats with such purpose, such direction, I would not.  But I have, and such personal knowledge binds me to, in the name of caution, warn you.  Take care in the snow friends!  If you hear icy wings, the cold buzz of the swarm, do not discount these noises you hear as natural, lest it be your bones they find in the snow!

The Curse - Ressurected!

Today I get a message from my friend Bill:

"I've done something terrible!  

I need to talk to you right now!  

But not over any computer!"

My first thought:

"Crap.  He's killed a hooker."

I could only have been so lucky.  Helping a buddy dispose of a body would have been better news.  No, it's much worse than that.

Back in the day I had a computer.  Now, knowing what I do, I hesitate to even call it a computer.  It was more of a supernatural entity, a malefic being brought into my world to sow chaos and disruption.  It began as a 386.  A what?  A 386.  That's the kind of processor it had, the nervous system of the beast.  When I got it, I loved it.  You see, I'd just upgraded from a typewriter.  A shitty typewriter.  This computer, the ability to run Word Perfect (there was no number behind it, there was only one writing program and it was Word Perfect), was going to pave my way to author celebrity.  Little did I know...

Six months until it started randomly shutting off, deleting things, being a general pain in the ass.  It was concluded; it's weak, it needs more power.  We upgraded to 486.  It didn't help.  Motherboard fried four months later, needed more Ram.  More files lost.  I began to suspect something was amiss when it gobbled up a new Pentium (they were so shiny!) and laughed at me digitally.  This fiend masquerading in circuitry was being a real dick.  It was clearly cursed.

Bill and I named it Dicko and then we tried to kill it.

We threw it away, trashed the whole thing, got it a new body, Pentium 2, and moved the hard drive over.  Little did we know, the hard drive is Dicko's cold heart.  My video card died in weeks.  Problems persisted.  More writing, gobbled up, lost for eternity.  There were more upgrades, more attempts, all failures.  Eventually, it was decided, no component that had ever been connected to Dicko in any way could be used.  We tore it apart.  We spread the pieces.  We splashed them with holy water. 

Years pass.  My writing actually starts to take off.  And then, this message.

I get Bill on the phone, all the while wondering how I can get a wood chipper and large quantities of bleach out to Colorado and still manage my other projects, pregnant wife, frame shop, etc...

"I found Dicko."

I think my heart stopped.

"I hooked it up to my laptop.  

It's Dicko."

Clearly the demon has possessed Bill, drilled his nefarious wires into his skull.  He actually connected it to the Internet?  I would have rather heard that Skynet was real!  At least Skynet had an agenda.  Dicko is pure unadulterated chaos, destruction, and frustration.

If the beast really has taken over Bill I'm going to have to do something about it.  Soon.  Before it's too late.  For all our sakes.  He's one of my best and oldest friends, but, for the good of humanity, I just might have to put aside my feelings and take action.  With him out of the way I might be able send that infernal hard drive back to the pit of hell (assuming it hasn't grown limbs and laser eyes).

We'll see how this turns out.  I'll keep you posted! 

Snowpocalypse Stroll

So, fortified by a few White Russians I decided to go out and take a walk around midnight during the big Snowpocalypse.  I didn't have much battery so I wasn't able get much, but here's what I managed.  All you folks in Chicago already saw this firsthand but I figured I'd post this for all those people I know living in warmer climates.  Also, maybe it will get them to finally stop whining about 40 degree weather.  Unlikely, but maybe.

Tonight's the Night!

Okay!  Tonight is the night for our third Cult Fiction show; The Dark Hunt.  I gotta say I'm really digging how everything for this show is just falling into place and it's shaping up to be a hell of a night!  All these people who are helping pull this off are amazing, seriously amazing.

You see, I've got this vision, where we get people from every form of the arts and just smash them all together into this awesome creativity collective.  Sure, Cult Fiction is horror themed.  I love horror.  Horror makes for fun exciting shows.  But that's not the heart of it.  The heart of these shows is bringing everyone together.  Us authors tend to be solo acts.  We don't typically get to play with the other arts.  I'm tired of that.  Cult Fiction is the remedy.  Authors, Actors, Musicians, Dancers, Artists, Filmmakers (yes, I totally want indy films in this thing eventually, short plays, performance art, etc...), and Techies.  Yes, computer geekery, sound guys, web guys, etc... is an art in my book.  I sure can't do it.

So far, it seems to be working.  Tonight we'll really get a taste of it and I'm really stoked.  I don't think I'm alone.  People really like the idea of being a part of some giant cross-art event and the more folks who like it, the more we can hit this thing from different angles in the future.  Oh, am I talking about the future and we haven't even had this show yet?  Of course I am.  You know me.

See you tonight people!  Happy Hunting!

Image Inspired Mini Story #13

“Steph.  Wake up.  I think I hear something.”

Stephanie didn’t open her eyes and let out a long sigh.  “Of course you hear things.”

Eric sat up, letting a rush of cool air into the sleeping bag.  Steph shuddered.  “Will you cut it out?  You’re giving me goosebumps.”

“No, really.  I heard something.”  Steph sunk deeper into the bag, seeking warmth.

“Yep, that happens.”

Eric lowered his voice.  “I think it’s outside the tent.”

Stephanie didn't attempt to conceal her annoyance.  “Well where else would all the nature be?  Unless it’s inside the tent, I wouldn't worry about it.”

“I saw this show on cable about teenagers who would sneak around the woods, looking for campers.  When they found a tent they’d sneak up and circle it and then just beat the shit out of it with bats and sticks.  I heard some noises like that, lots of things around us.”

Stephanie laughed.  “So you think we’re surrounded by maladjusted youth?”

“Don’t joke, Steph.  People die that way.”

She shifted to her side, turning away from him.  “No, no they don’t.”

“I saw it on…”

“Doesn’t happen.  Now let me sleep already.”

He didn’t speak.  He flopped back next to her, clearly dissatisfied.  Outside the wind blew through the trees, slowly rustled the tent as if it were breathing.  The crickets and cicadas buzzed in waves, rising and falling with a rhythm louder than a city.  Stephanie started to drift off when Eric sat up again.

“What if it’s a bear?”

Her temper flared.  “Godamn it, Eric. Enough!”

“I heard a bunch of them.  It could more than one.”

“There aren’t any bears!”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we’re in central Illinois!  There are no bears!  No mountain lions!  No wolves!  Nothing!”

“But…” Stephanie cut his protest off before he could voice it.

“No! No more! There is nothing to be afraid of! The biggest things in this forest are deer! Big-assed, grass-munching, stupid herd animal, fucking harmless deer!”

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Cult Fiction: The Dark Hunt Show Schedule

Here it is!  Our third Cult Fiction show!  This one brings you more creepy goodness than you can shake a tentacle at!  We've got horror stories!  We've got awesome actors reading!  There's a sexy mid-show burlesque!  There's a not quite as sexy but still equally awesome band playing after the stories!  There's freaking S'mores!  Facebook event details "here".  Spread the invite!

• 8:00 - Doors Open, DJ 3RIC starts in with the atmosphere.

• 8:30 - Act One Begins
•  The Rites of Passage:   A hunter stalks strange prey at the end the world.  
• Written by Mike Martinez
• Read by Christopher Skyles.
• Halfway to Shore: A search reveals a terrible punishment for the future.
• Written by Michael Penkas
• Read by C.S.E.Cooney
• Inhabitant: Some real estate is better left un-sold.
• Written by Jude W. Mire
• Read by Kalina "Kitten" McCreery

• Mini Intermission: S'mores and Booze!
  
• 9:15 - MiaMorte provides amazing transforming werewolf burlesque!
  
• Mini Intermission: Booze and S'mores!
  
• 9:30 - Act Two Begins
• Blue Eyes: A feral lust takes a dangerous turn.
•  Written by Brendan Detzner
• Read by Kiersten Thomsen

• Menders Bounty: The cost of health care just got deadly.
• Written by Eric Cherry
• Read by Amanda Eaton

• Intermission: Last chance at the S'mores, Lauren pours more drinks, and DJ 3RIC sets the tone.
  
• 10:30 - Art Galt's Widow take the stage by force and play until their fingers bleed!  Or, maybe they just go on stage and play until they finish.  Be there and find out!

There you have it!  All this for five measly bucks!  Not even nice crisp ones.  We're not picky.  We're good with measly ones.  See you there horror fans!

Long live the cult!