EPISODE 08: “Short Straw”
On
December 24, 1976, Sgt. Vardeman “Vardy” Odom drew the short straw from Old Ezell’s broom and landed himself Christmas Eve desk duty at the Wayne County Police Department. He expected nothing more exciting than a drunk to pass by his desk that evening. What actually came through his door, though, quite nearly changed his mind about Christmas Eve desk duty.
“Short Straw” does not appear in A Consternation of Monsters. In fact, it does not feature a monster at all (unless you count the slow march of death in his plaid sport coat). However, the story does feature two characters who appear in multiple stories in A Consternation of Monsters in a based-on-a-true-story Christmas tale intended not to chill hearts, but to warm them.
DOWNLOAD: Episode 08: “Short Straw”
“So This Is Christmas – Celebrating Terry W. McNemar” at the Bridgeport Public Library.

About Terry W. McNemar
T.W. McNemar was a novelist, short story writer, and humorist from Stonewood, WV. His work reflects the humanity, humor, and conscience of everyday life, often in a strong Appalachian voice. His has been the featured works in: The Johns-Hopkins University ‘ScribblePress’, Young Women’s Monologues from Contemporary Plays, MountainEchoes, and Traditions, the literary journal of FSU.About So This Is Christmas by T.W. McNemar
So This Is Christmas is a five-short story collection of based around the Christmas season published in 2012. McNemar was inspired by family and friends who have served in the United States military in various wars. The only non-veteran tale is a short piece of a coming of age story that adds a bit of comic relief. These are not light-hearted Christmas stories. This is a look at life that just happens to occur during Christmas in West Virginia.
We have Audio

The Black Star of Kingston
My very first audio book narration, The Black Star of Kingston, by S.D. Smith, is now available. Currently it is only available via its publisher, Story Warren Books, but it will eventually be available via Audible and iTunes within a week.
Sam says some very kind words about my performance at his blog over at SDSmith.net. The project was a pleasure to work on and I look forward to new adventures in audio down the road. (Not the least of which will be my own audio book for A Consternation of Monsters.)
Check it out.
I am the Ghost of Christmas Present
Actual Conversations Heard in my Bed #5
SETTING: My bed as the wife and I are preparing for sleep, both reading our devices.
THE WIFE– Hey, will you turn off your big light? I don’t want it messing with my circadian rhythms.
ME– (Turns off bedside lamp) The rhythm is going to get you.
THE WIFE– (BEAT) Well, that was mean.
ME– What?
THE WIFE– Why do you want to start me off to sleep with an ear worm like that?
ME– You mean to-NIGHT?
THE WIFE– Ugh!
ME– Uhn UHN,un-un-UN?
*Slap*
Some of us are too smart for our own good.
I took the dogs on a walk down the trail behind our house. As is their wont, the dogs scattered to the winds, save for the two I had on actual leashes due to their predilection for wandering over to the nearby goat farm to hassle the kids. After 10 minutes of standing around in the clearing at the end of the trail, I clapped loudly and most of the dogs came back. Sadie, who I’d last seen wandering beyond the pasture fencing, failed to return immediately.
Back home, I got everyone into their shock collars and went outside to clap for Sadie again. She was in the yard waiting for me, most of her white fur covered in thick gray mud. I knew she would need hosing off before she could come in the house. I also knew she’d never stand for it. I walked over to her and could see she was on her guard against me grabbing her collar. I allowed my fingers to brush along the fur behind her neck and she was away in a shot, running around the side of the house. I continued into the garage to turn on the spigot of the hose, then unrolled some of the house from the hose wheel. I called for Sadie, but she did not come. It occurred to me that the back door was wide open, my wife seated just inside reading a book. I popped my head in the front door.
“Hey, you probably ought to close the back door. Sadie is coated in mud and headed this way.” The wife complied.
I returned out front and called for Sadie some more. No dice. So I did a little yard work, sprayed the surface of the former holes a certain other dog has dug in my hard, which I recently filled with dirt, grass seed, and a variety of dog shit, to prevent redigging. Probably 20 minutes went by with no Sadie to be seen. I marched around the house looking for her, expecting to find her on the back deck. Nope. She was also not on Sadie Knoll, the perch she likes to lay on in our side yard. She wasn’t hiding behind the retaining wall. She wasn’t in the wood shop. She wasn’t lurking in the bushes or under the side deck. That damn dog had “run oft,” I thought. She was probably hanging out in the weeds, knowing what was awaiting her if she did come back when called. At least, I hoped this was where she was hiding. Worse would be if she was out roaming the neighborhood, biting all of its children and goats and leaving muddy footprints on its front walks. I went in the house.
“You’re sure Sadie’s not in here, right?” I asked. The wife said she didn’t think so. I went in our bedroom. Sadie wasn’t on our bed, or on her dog pillow. She also wasn’t on the cool tile of the bathroom. There were no muddy footprints to be seen, though there had been a smudge of mud near the back door. I checked a few more places downstairs, but saw no evidence of the pooch, so I went outside to clap and call for 10 more minutes.
“She’s still not back?” the wife asked upon my return. I told her, no, and that I was getting pissed. But there was one more place I wanted to check, just for kicks. I went to the stairs and began to ascend. I knew Sadie could not have climbed them before me because our cream colored carpeting on the stairs was only mildly filthy with standard issue dog dirt. Similarly, the landing at the top of the stairs only had the same high-traffic foot dinginess that we’ve been looking at for weeks. I mused aloud how this was a fool’s errand, for surely if Sadie had snuck in the house before the wife had been alerted earlier there would be a visible trail in her wake. Then, I peeked into the office and saw this…
That sneaky little cuss had indeed run in the back door and hidden herself away in my office before anyone knew to stop her. And she’d sat up there, hearing me call and clap for her for the better part of 45 minutes. You can see from her expression that she was sadly aware that the jig was well and truly up.
I fetched a leash and led her down to the front yard where I sprayed her til the water ran clear. Took 10 minutes. She then lounged on the back deck, drying in the sun.
In her defense, the carpet on which she lay down in the office was actually a left over piece of carpeting that was resting atop the regular carpet. So it’ll be easier to clean. I hope. Sadie herself may yet need another bath.
We have review!
A great revi
ew of A Consternation of Monsters was published in today’s Charleston Gazette, written by book team reviewer Cat Pleska.
Check it out at the Gazette website…
http://www.wvgazettemail.com/article/20151101/GZ05/151109977
Old Country Origins
Like many of the stories I’ve written, “Old Country,” recently adapted for the Consternation of Monsters Podcast, has its origins in a shared fictional universe created by me and several friends during our college years in the early to mid-1990s. We were big fans of the I.C.E. Heroes Role Playing system used by the game Champions. (Specifically, we were playing the 4th edition of the system, which had then recently been published in a big blue hard cover book with extraordinarily sketchy binding, resulting, almost universally, in what “handy pull-out sections” when that binding failed. I should add that my own personal copy of the book remains completely intact, but this has more to do with my hardly ever bothering to open it then or now. But I digress.) Champions, and the Heroes RPG system it used, was a game designed to let you simulate super heroic battles on paper and within your imagination. Much like any other role playing game, the players played characters who went on adventures designed by a central game master, who subsequently ran all the non-player characters, both villainous and non, who the players would encounter and often fight. We eschewed the use of the store-bought Champions characters, of course, in favor of characters of our own creation. For our own superheroic characters we chose to imagine what we ourselves would be like were we equipped with super powers of our own. So I played a version of myself, Eric Fritzius, who had the perhaps unfortunate luck to have been consulted on directions by a crew of lost alien in a big black space ship, and who, in the process, was accidentally injured mortally. Guilt-ridden, the aliens, the Tentriconians, crammed his consciousness into a new body composed of their primary form of technology, a wondrous substance called 5thMatter. Only it didn’t seem to work, so they dumped the body and fled the planet. (There is, of course, more to it than that.) Eric awoke, days later, to find news reports of a strange ebony-colored being floating around his college campus, and to subsequently find that this being was himself in a different form. Naturally, he became a super hero and joined with a team of fellow super-heroic college students called Avatar.
“What what?” you say. “Avatar? There are only a billion other franchises using that term. Can’t you guys be more original?” Well, in 1991 we were the major holders of the title, as far as we were concerned. James Cameron and the Last Airbender folks came along well over a decade later. So shut it.
Avatar, we decided early on, was a legacy team and ours was the third incarnation of it. The first existed in the 1920s, the second in the `60s through the early `70s, and then on to us starting in 1991. Similarly, our major enemies–a technocratic semi-terrorist organization called Chess–had also existed in one form or another in each of these eras. My friend Sujay Shaunak (Mobius) was our primary GM, mapping out some challenges for us to face, keeping long-term storytelling plans close to the vest so that the various plot points could be revealed along the way in a very comic-style sequential storytelling style. Occasionally others among us would GM, primarily Joe Evans and C. Marcus Hammack. They too had their own little corners of the universe separate from the adventures Sujay was leading us on. (This also meant Sujay could actually play his character once in a while.) They tended to come up with their own villainous teams for us to fight which did not overlap with the backstories of the other GMs, so as not to step on anyone’s toes. I wound up becoming a defacto 4th co-developer of this shared universe due to my penchant for world-building. I set about creating a database of all the characters and concepts we’d created, along with a timeline to keep our adventures all straight. While I was at it, I sketched in some details of the previous incarnations of our team, creating most of the characters on those teams in the process and fleshing out the backstory of our universe. Eventually, as our characters did a bit of time traveling and so forth, further historical events were added to the timeline and database. I took a special shine to one of the characters Marcus created, a mysterious little old lady he called Madam Z who I outright stole from him and imagined much of her backstory. Wrote a handful of short stories about her as well, one of which hinted at possibilities of this backstory, though revealed nothing too tangible. She tends to wander through other stories, though, and appears more than twice in A Consternation of Monsters. So I became the 4th guardian of what was then called the Avatar Universe.
What does this have to do with mobsters with mystic ties in 1983? Glad you asked.
Having determined that the second team called Avatar had disbanned in the early `70s, we felt it necessary to explain why they would have done this if Chess was still around–which they clearly were since we were fighting them in the `90s. Our solution was that Chess had only seemingly been defeated in the 1970s, but reared their head again in the 1980s, slowly and quietly seeking to wrest control of organized crime in our home turf city of New Auckland, Va. We figured they would have overwhelmed the mob of the era had they wanted to. Trouble was, Joe’s part of our shared universe revolved largely around a mob in the early 1990s that still existed and were not run by Chess. So I came up with the notion that the mob of the 1980s wound up bringing in reinforcements to fight off the advance of Chess. And these reinforcements, I imagined, would be called the Spirit Syndicate. I further imagined that this was not the first time in the history of the Sicilian Mafia that this had occurred. I speculated that it could even have happened centuries back, during the formative days of what would become this Thing of Ours.
The original version of “Old Country” told that story, but it appears in much the same manner as you see it in the published version. Other than a possible allusion to unnamed forces stepping in and messing with the “family” business, not much differs. I was mainly interested in telling the story of Martin Riscilli receiving a phone call alerting him to his impending doom and being forced by circumstances to try the craziest thing he can think of, following the advice of his crazy old grandmothers. The outcome of the original story implies that the forces he summons to help him might be sticking around for a while, which could potentially lead to a new renaissance for the local mob against any forces that might be trying to subvert them–be they technocratic semi-terrorist organizations or human men and women within an organized crime family looking to consolidate power, as the case may be. The story could still work in either scenario, but from my point of view now we’re going with the later.
I even began toying with the idea that this story could be set in my new home state of West Virginia, as there is a certain amount of organized crime activity such as this in parts of the state. One reviewer already picked up on this, though there are scarcely any hints toward that in the story itself.
“Old Country” ends on something of a cliffhanger. It implies there is more story to come and was designed to allow the reader to fill in what that story might be. That’s kind of my philosophy in short story writing. Of course, I have my own version of what that story will be (“New Country”), as well as the story that comes after it (“Other Country”). What will Martin do now that he’s been presented with tremendous power and a painful loss? After all, if Jimmy Jambalaya made this move on Martin, the son of a valued mob soldier, would it really have been done without some degree of consent from those at a higher rank? And what is his sister Rachel’s role in all this? She was, after all, another recipient of the stories of Sparrow Salvatore and Natale; she too received a birthright. What does the future hold for 1983?
Halloween Signing in Huntington
“Alas… poor Yorick”
In honor of my recently completed role as the Gravedigger in The Tragedy of Hamlet, and in honor of writer Eric Douglas’s 100 word flash fiction horror short story challenge, here’s a sci-fi horror flash story inspired by the play.
Alas, poor Yorick
Yorick, the Time Traveler’s assistant, removed the last shovel of dirt. He pried open the coffin’s lid, breath held. There was no need.
“Empty? You said there would be gold.”
“Golden opportunity,” the Traveler said. “You see, my fellow of infinite jest, your betrayal is also uncovered.”
He jabbed the needle into the boy’s neck, sending him writhing into the coffin, struggling against the paralytic to escape.
The lid fell.
“That Hamlet speech I made you learn?” the Traveler shouted, shoveling on the dirt. “You’ll hear it again shortly. Well, shortly for me, at least.”
Within the grave, Yorick screamed.
Copyright 2015 Eric Fritzius and Mister Herman’s Publishing Company.
EPISODE 07: “Old Country” a live radio adaptation
On a day in 1983, M
artin Riscili receives the most important phone call of his life. His late father’s mobster “associate,” Jimmy Jambalaya, has just phoned to alert Martin to his imminent death by Jimmy’s own hand. His house is watched. His phone line is dead. Jimmy’s on his way. And the only thing Martin can think of that might yet save his life is his grandmothers’ quilt.
If only he could remember where he put it.
A story of crime and punishment and contractual terms with forces beyond our understanding.
This is a live radio-style adaptation of the short story “Old Country” from the collection A Consternation of Monsters. This was recorded live on October 12, 2015, at the Greenbrier Valley Theatre in Lewisburg, W Va. It stars Sarah Elkins as Melissa, Shane Miller as Martin, the author himself as Tino and The Warrior, and a special appearance by Dr. AC as Jimmy Jambalaya.
Please visit Dr. AC’s horror movie review blog, Horror 101 with Dr. AC, for information about how you can pledge to support his charity efforts in the Scare-a-Thon October Horror Challenge.
DOWNLOAD: Episode 07: “Old Country” a live radio adaptation
“Old Country” Adaptation at the Greenbrier Valley Theatre Literary Tea series tonight
Tonight, at 5:30p at
the Greenbrier Valley Theatre in Lewisburg, W.Va., the West Virginia Writers co-sponsored Literary Tea series continues. Tonight we feature a revenge-themed reading of “Barn Burning” by William Faulkner, as read by Aaron Christensen (King Claudius in The Tragedy of Hamlet).
Additionally, we will feature a full-cast radio-style adaptation of my short story “Old Country” from my collection A Consternation of Monsters–also a revenge-themed story. The adaptation stars Shane David Miller (Rozencrantz), Sarah Elkins, Aaron Christensen and myself. So please join us at 5:30p for tea, goodies and literary readings.
My first Consternation TV interview
Big thanks to Eliot Parker for interviewing me yesterday on his Armstrong TV chat show Chapters, which records on a monthly basis at Empire Books & News in Huntington, W.Va.
The interview will likely see air toward the end of the month and will be played on rotation thereafter. I’ll post a YouTube version of it here when it becomes available. Here are some photo highlights in the meantime, courtesy of author S.D. Smith who was also interviewed during the taping session.
Oh, and as of today, A Consternation of Monsters is now available for sale at Empire Books & News. I’ll be doing a signing there on Halloween day. More news on that to come.
My Canadian/U.S. basic cable resume.
Ten years ago, on a Sunday night, I found myself walking the darkened streets of downtown Durbin, W.Va, dressed as an 1880’s train conductor, and looking for a bar. (What brought me there into that situation was an experience I decided to write about at the time. What follows is a revised edition of that writing. And if any of it seems familiar already, it’s probably because you read the introduction to A Consternation of Monsters, because this experience informed that introduction.)
The day before that, I received a phone call from Jessica Viers, a friend of mine who worked for the Greenbrier Valley Theatre in Lewisburg. She asked if I was interested in going up to Pocahontas County, to Durbin, to act in a Canadian basic-cable television series that would air on the Outdoor Living Network. The job only paid $50 and would probably be filming late into the night, but it was a paid acting gig and I’d get to ride on a vintage train and hang out with friends from the theatre. Sounded like a fun time to me, so I signed on.
We pulled into town around 3p and stopped at the depot where we were to meet our Canadian film-crew. Durbin, back then, was a little town of about 300 people with an amazingly picturesque main-street, complete with a general store, a little bed & breakfast and a working train depot that runs scenic train tours using classic locomotives of the past. It’s one of only three incorporated townships in Pocahontas County.
The crew we met worked for a company called Creepy Features, based out of Toronto, which produced a show called Creepy Canada. They were in Durbin to film segments of a story called The Ghost of Silver Run Tunnel. (Which we assumed must mean that they’d run out of creepy stuff to cover in Canada so they had to go south.) It was a legend I had never heard, but that might be because Silver Run Tunnel is nowhere near Pocahontas County. It’s 154 miles away from Durbin, in Cairo, W.Va. The reason Durbin and not Cairo was chosen as a film location, though, is because its tourist railroad depot is home to the oldest of two working Climax Model locomotive engines in the world, the very sort of engine that was part of the original legend. It’s a great black, smoke-belching, steam-spitting dinosaur of an engine and is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. This engine was attached to four cars around and within which we would be filming. Bob & Al, the engineer and conductor, were tuning it up as we arrived and we spent a half hour watching it as we waited for the crew.
The legend of the ghost of Silver Run Tunnel is pretty standard ghost story material: a young lady is murdered on a train in the 1880s, her ghost comes back to haunt the Silver Run Tunnel near the site of her murder, and has allegedly appeared to people traveling in the area, often including train engineers and other such folk.
After signing waiver forms granting rights to use my likeness for the show, in any form it might take, etc., I was hustled off for a costume fitting and before long was dressed in an honest-to-God conductor’s uniform, which had been graciously provided by the actual conductor, Al. I had the hat, the vest, the pocket watch and the big flappy gold-buttoned coat.
Now, from the script I’d been given, I didn’t think I would have much to do. The conductor was only mentioned twice in it and wasn’t necessarily the same conductor in both scenes. He certainly didn’t have any lines, nor did any of our parts since most of this action would be overdubbed later with narration. However, the director for the shoot had other ideas and soon I was in costume and being filmed assisting Jessica–our would-be ghost–in some pre-death scenes, the both of us improvising dialogue which was recorded by a boom mic over the roar of the train. I’m sure we looked atmospheric standing beside the enormous train-engine as it spat a steady stream of steam over us. After several different angles and close-ups, the director added the presence of the killer himself, played by my former local play director, Devin. He did look quite menacing coming through the steam and the atmosphere was lent additional creepiness by the overcast and rain-threatening weather.
We moved on for some filming in the caboose of the train, which we had to use for all the train interior shots as there were no passenger cars available. This filming wound up stretching on past sunset as the crew fought to get all their daylight shots done while they still had light, plus some day-for-night shots that would be darkened later in post-production.
As with any kind of project like this, a lot of our job as actors was to hurry up and wait, particularly after dark where every shot had to be lit, which was a complicated process as all the equipment had to be powered by a portable generator. I felt kind of bad for the others in our group who had to wait back at the depot doing nothing while Devin, Jessica and I filmed scenes in the train itself for a couple of hours, but I figured it would eventually be my turn to wait.
One of Devin’s scenes got to be a bit hazardous. Director Bill asked him to move along the side of the tanker car, which meant walking on a seven-inch wide grid of metal runner while holding onto a pipe for a railing, then step across into the caboose while the camera filmed. This was not an easy thing, as there’s a nice sized chasm between the two cars that’s constantly shifting length due to the jostling of the train. One wrong step meant potentially falling between the cars and getting ground up under the train’s wheels. Making matters even trickier was that the camera was set up blocking most of the way across. Devin did it just fine, though, and even looked menacing the whole while. We had several “Do your own stunts” occurrences throughout the evening, another of which was Jessica’s “death” scene at the hands of a knife-wielding Devin. It took a while to film and from my vantage point outside the caboose windows, looked pretty violent.
Around 8 p the train pulled back to the depot and we were told supper had been served. The crew had brought in around 8 huge pizzas and there was plenty to go around. It was good stuff too, particularly since it was not pizza from a major chain. After we ate, Bill announced that Devin was through filming as the killer and could change back to civilian clothes. Everyone else would be needed, but I wouldn’t be needed for a while as there were quite-a-few night scenes they wanted to get out of the way that didn’t involve me. Devin asked if there were any bars in the area and the crew mentioned that there was one across the street. He decided to give it at try and I decided to join him since it didn’t appear my services would be needed for hours yet. Downtown Durbin is a ghost town on a Sunday night. Not a single store or business was open including, as we later found out, the bar. But that didn’t stop us from walking its length in search of something open. Other than the sounds of the train and some cool wind breezing through, everything was perfectly quiet. If it weren’t for the sole Coca Cola machine, which looked quite out of place set against its backdrop, we could have convinced ourselves that we’d been hurled back in time to the 1940s.

The Rail & Trail general store. To the right of it is the Upper Inn Club, which is the closed bar we wandered into and then quickly out of.
Eventually, after walking all the way down to the end of town and then back up, Devin and I found the bar. It looked closed from the outside, but one of the two doors on its storefront was unlocked. We entered to find chairs on tables, the lights dim and not a soul to be seen.
“Hello?” Devin called.
“Meow,” a kitty voice answered. But no human voice returned our calls. There were some lights coming from beneath a door that appeared to be an office for the bar, but no noises came from within. We decided that they really were closed and that shotguns might become involved if we disturbed the place further, so we left, shutting the door firmly behind us. Only in a place like small town West Virginia could the bars leave their doors unlocked on a Sunday night.
Back at the depot, there was a family waiting on one of the benches. We’d had a few curious on-lookers throughout the day, but at 9 at night these folks were determined to stick around in case anything interesting happened. I believe they were related to Durbin’s mayor, who had welcomed us earlier and had been very gracious.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you the man who was filming over by the train earlier?” a little boy asked me. “You helped carry that woman’s bags?”
“Yeah, that was me,” I said. The kid beamed up at me as though I was the most famous person he’d ever met. (For all I know, I might very well have been at that point in his life.) His sisters and grandmother were soon talking to me about the filming process and seemed very eager to hear what I had to say.
“Do you know when they’re going to film the ghost on the front of the train?” the grandmother asked. She had heard that there was a scene in which the ghost, i.e. Jessica, was to ride on the front of the engine itself as it rolled down the track. Even then Jessica was getting into her ghost garb and was cinched up eight ways from Tuesday, not only in a corset so she could squeeze her thin frame into that even tinier wedding dress, (she was only able to eat one slice of pizza because she had no room for more in there), but also with a harness with which she was to be affixed to the front of the engine for her upcoming scenes. The harness was woefully uncomfortable, difficult to remove for bathroom-break purposes and her ghost costume was not the warmest either. But she was a trooper
I told the grandmother that from what I heard there were several scenes that had to be filmed elsewhere before they would get to the ghost on the train, so it would likely be a good wait. Then the grandmother surprised me.
“Would you mind, maybe, finding a piece of paper and signing it for us. Like an autograph?” she asked.
“Um, ma’am, none of us here are actually famous, or anything. We’re just from Lewisburg.”
“Well, I know. But you might get to be famous. You’re going to be on TV.”
Only then did it truly hit me how surreal yet oddly cool this situation was. Sure, I might think it was absurd for them to want our autographs, but I was seeing the matter from backstage, where we were just a bunch of community theater players. In front of the curtain, though, life was still glitzy and this little documentary program looked like the big time. I went and told the cast that their autographs had been requested. They thought it was cute too. Devin suggested we sign a copy of the script, so I volunteered mine (hey, I hadn’t used it so far, what were the chances I’d need it?) and we all signed our names and our character names. The family was overjoyed. (Now, it should be noted that Tonri Latham was then and continues to be a much-sought-after lighting designer who works all over the country on major projects, and Max Arnaud is a working actor in New York, who I’ve since worked with in other shows at GVT, so there was some degree of fame present.)
It was around this time that I had a very interesting conversation with a local man on the topic of ghosts and legends. As detailed by fictional radio host “Rik Winston” in the introduction to A Consternation of Monsters, this gentleman, with fear in his eyes, told us about the time he encountered a mysterious figure on his family’s property, when he was young. As “Rik” says in the introduction: “He was hesitant to spell it out at first, but I could tell
from his manner that whatever he’d seen had shaken him so badly that the very memory threatened to overcome him right then. I had to know his story. With some encouragement, he explained that, as a teenager, he had once heard some odd noises coming from atop the tin roof of his family’s barn. He crept out into the night, his daddy’s shotgun in hand, only to find that the noises were being made by the boot-clad heels of a figure standing atop the barn. And that figure, he told me in a whisper, was none other than a headless horseman.” When he finished, I don’t recall having much to say, other than “Wow,” cause the notion of someone claiming to have seen a headless horseman in this day and age, outside of a show on FOX, is simply ridiculous. Then again, how much more insane is the concept of a headless horseman than, say, a ghost haunting a tunnel?
Eventually, a flat-bed car was attached to the front of the engine, Jessica was attached to the engine itself and the cameras and lights set up on the flatbed for filming of her first ghostly scenes. The family loved that too, Jessica less-so, as she spent much of the time wearing a very non-ghostly jacket over her ghostly duds.
Around midnight I was starting to get sleepy and my remaining scenes—whatever they might be, as I wasn’t really sure myself—still didn’t look like they were any closer to being shot. I tried napping on one of the depot benches, but didn’t get any sleep. So mostly I just sat up talking to my castmates, Tonri and Max, who had played engineers and were just grinning from ear to ear that they’d actually been allowed to drive the train during their scenes.

Soon Devin came back to the depot and told us we’d missed out on all the fireworks. While the crew were filming near a small building just down the tracks from us, the wind whipped up and tipped over one of their $35,000 (Canadian dollars, mind you—probably about $10,000-$15,000 American) arc-lamps. It struck ground, went out and seemed a lost cause. Then, while rushing over to check on the lamp, the director caught his foot in the camera cable and down their expensive hi-def camera went too. If not for the barn-door shutters on the front of the camera, its lens would have likely smashed when it struck one of the rails. Instead it was mostly fine and so was the light.
Our next technical difficulty came when Bob, the Real Engineer, announced that his steam-powered locomotive was nearly empty of water and thus out of steam. It would take an hour to fill it back up. This put the the director, Bill, into fits, as there were still several shots of the train moving in the darkness that he needed. He moved on, though, and wound up filming some locomotive perspective shots using a tiny gas-powered service car. I can’t say enough good things about Bob and Al. They were fantastic and really seemed to enjoy the process.
Around 2 a.m. it was my turn before the cameras again. We set up several scenes on a boardwalk beside the stationary train, only to have Bob back the train out of our shot several times. By then the trains tanks were mostly full again and he was busy switching out the train cars we’d used onto side tracks in preparation for bringing on the more modern-looking cars and even a new engine which would be used for tours next weekend. So every time the Climax Engine backed up or came toward us, Bill would interrupt our shots to quickly get footage of the train passing. This helped him secure the shots he needed. Pretty smooth. We finished up our shots and Bill announced we were at a wrap.
Our actor carpool didn’t leave until nearly 3 a.m. and didn’t get back to Lewisburg until 5 a.m.
Months passed before I heard anything more about the episode itself. By then it had already aired in Canada, but there was no word on a U.S. airing. Eventually, I received a DVD of the appearance. And when I watched it, I was shocked. Not at the quality of it, which was fine, but at the fact that my character, the innocent 1880s conductor, got pinned by a modern day Silver Run Tunnel Ghost theorist/psychic as the killer of the girl who became the ghost of Silver Run Tunnel. I know!
Turns out, I actually know that Silver Run Tunnel Ghost theorist/psychic. Her name is Susan Sheppard and she’s a writer and paranormal investigator who lives in the Parkersburg area. I know her and her daughter through West Virginia Writers, Inc. Susan was actually the whole reason Creepy Canada came down to film in our state at all. She’d worked with the director and producer on a previous project and had pitched some legends in our state to them at the time. They bit. So Susan, who I was unaware was involved at all, got to be the on-camera talking head to speak
about the case of the ghost and propose a few theories about it. She, unaware of who was playing the conductor, supposed that he may have been the guy to kill the girl who became the ghost and not the guy Devin was playing at all. The funny thing is, the producers took footage from the scene where I was leading Jessica to her seat in the train and were able to zoom in and freeze on a micro expression on my face that looked a little bit sinister in order to have visual record to help shore up Susan’s theory. I never made the expression intentionally, but for a second my face registered something dark all the same.
About a year ago, my friend Courtney at the theatre sent a note to me, Devin, Max and Tonri to say she’d seen us on Destination America. Evidently her mother had recorded a bunch of DA’s ghost shows for use as background in the Halloween season and Courtney had tucked into the second episode of their show Hauntings and Horrors, only to be shocked to find herself staring at me, Jessica, Max, Devin, and Tonri in our various roles. The Creepy Canada footage had been repurposed for a new show in 2014, which has now been replayed any number of times. That $50 they paid me has gone pretty far for them.
My Hauntings & Horrors appearance to re-air this Wednesday
Well, it wouldn’t be October without the annual airing of my episode of “Hauntings and Horrors” on Destination America. (Shhh! It’s actually my episode of “Creepy Canada” recorded way back in 2005, then repurposed in 2014 for American audiences who apparently need a destination.)
So if you happen to have super deep cable or Dish Network, set your DVRs to record episode 2 on 10-7-15, at 6 a.m. eastern, and you can see me play a train conductor who may or may not have a big shocking secret (depending on the version of the story they used).
In addition to me, you’ll get a glimpse or two of other acting luminaries such as Jessica Viers, Tonry Lathroum, Devin McCann Preston, and Max Arnaud.
And not to plug my book, or anything, but the story “Rik Winston” tells in its introduction–the one involving a trip to Durbin, W.Va, and a local guy who told him about the time he saw a headless horseman on the roof of his barn–was actually a tale that I was told first hand by said local guy during my trip to Durbin to film for Creepy Canada.
In other words, a Headless Horseman lives near Durbin, W. Va. Fun fact.
In fact, I think I’ll just tell that whole story here on the blog, next week. Stay tuned…
“Making Echoes” the Secret Origin of The Hocco Makes the Echo
In honor of this week’s Consternation of Monsters Podcast, I thought I’d take a look at the origins of the first story in the Consternation collection, “The Hocco Makes the Echo.”
Before I go on, however, you should probably read the story I’m about to talk about. If you’re already equipped with a Kindle account, you can download a free sample of the book which contains the entire story. If you don’t have a Kindle account, it’s easy as pie to sign up for, as Kindle offers a free app for a number of reading devices. If you have a smart phone or a tablet or simply a computer, you can use Kindle and get great deals on digital books. Check it all out HERE. Or, you can listen to me read it to you as part of the latest podcast HERE.
Okay, so you’ve gone and read or heard the story, and enjoyed the dickens out of it, I’m sure.
Guess what? Probably 95 percent of it is true. Maybe 94. Granted, a lot of difference goes down in that remaining, largely supernatural, 6 percent, but that doesn’t discount that the rest of it has a lot of basis in truth.
“The Hocco Makes the Echo” is a tale I wrote nearly 15 years ago, way back in October of ought ought. I did it as a writing challenge laid down by a group of writer friends, which was for each of us to write a horror story for Halloween. I think we had to have a deadline extension at one point, but we got our horror stories written before the holiday itself. Mine was probably an easier one to write because I didn’t have to make up much of the details at all. It was based on an incident that happened to me which had become one of the standard family stories that get trotted out every-so-often. The story itself had its origins nearly a quarter century before then.
When I was about 4-years-old, my father tried to teach me about the science of echoes in the driveway of my Papaw’s Wayne County Mississippi farm. Dad was all about science, and had indeed earlier taught me how to recognize Orion, both in the sky and on his home-brewed star maps, (which he originally created when I was in utero). So he would clap his hands to hear the echo of the sound from the trees. And he would shout various phrases into the trees as well. (I believe Hamburglar may have actually been one of the words he used.) Little me wasn’t buying into it, though. I can’t exactly recall my thought processes at the time, but the idea of sound bouncing off of trees making the echo just didn’t make logical sense to me. Instead, according to Dad, I proclaimed “The Taco makes the echo.” And stuck to my guns for the first couple of his attempts to prove otherwise. “The taco makes the echo.” Then some part of me realized that the word taco was already taken. We were, after all, living in San Antonio at the time, so I knew from tacos. I switched the name of the echo culprit to hocco after that, (pronounced “hocko”). “The Hocco makes the echo, Daddy.” And here’s the thing: I even knew what the Hocco looked like because I was staring right at it the entire time. The Hocco was, in fact, a the stump of a cypress tree, down in the boggy area between Papaw’s yard and the thick woods of the state forest beyond. The stump itself was probably three feet high and blackened with rot and moisture. Due to the way it was broken, the Hocco stump had two tall ear-like protrusions at its top, making it appear to my young mind like a tall black cat seated on its haunches, its back straight, listening. (My parents owned a couple of tall black cat wooden sculptures at the time, so I had a point of reference for tall skinny cats sitting like that.)
“The Hocco makes the echo, Daddy.”

An old dead oak tree, beyond which the ground sloped down into a boggier area where the “Hocco” lived (as indicated). The Creepy Tree can be seen in its original pre-2005 location.
Dad, for his part, was none too pleased that I wasn’t buying his science. And he did indeed walk closer to the woods (closer to the Hocco) and I, in turn, tried to climb on top of his head to get as far from the ground as I could get. He has since said that at the time he assumed I must have thought the Hocco was something very small, or many very small things, close to the ground, but it was only decades later that I let him in on the stump Hocco reality. (I wish I had a picture of that stump today, but it has long since returned to the earth. The illustration on the cover, however, gives you kind of an idea of how I saw it in my child’s mind.)
Of course the remaining events of the story, the last six percent, were largely fiction, though they were fictional elements within a nonfiction setting. The geography of Papaw and Mamaw’s farm house, for instance, is true to reality; including the bathroom in the center of the house, inconveniently just off the dining room. I also did own a book called Gateway to Mystery, which was a collection of abridged versions of classic stories. We also did tend to sleep in Mamaw’s back bedroom, in the brown-painted metal bed (a bedroom that appears prominently in Puppet Legacy, though that story flips the 94/6 nonfiction/fiction ratio in favor of fiction).
Write what you know–that’s the standard advice. So that’s what I did. Incorporating not only the base story of the father/son science lesson, but also elements from my Papaw’s farm which have always struck me as odd, if not especially horrific. For instance, I already discussed the various cement-block face etchings in the buildings of Papaw’s farm in my blog entry Album Cover. But the other major farm landmark I have not discussed here is the Creepy Tree. This structure existed then and still exists today, albeit in a new location.
The creepy tree, in reality, is exactly as described in the story: just two gnarled branches of wood, grown together, bolted to a post, around which Mamaw grew roses. It’s odd-looking to be sure, but isn’t truly all that creepy in real life (as can be seen in the photo). However, the fact that a nearly identical one existed on the property of Old Man Manning down the road (an actual neighbor, who was a fascinating character worthy of chronicle in his own right) was certainly a notable one. My dad noted it and also has said he could never get a straight answer out of Papaw as to the reason such structures existed on both farms. (Though, if you think about it, it could have been as simple as Mamaw noticing the Mannings’ homemade rose trellis during a visit, wanting one for her own yard, then putting Papaw to the task.) The fantasist in me, though, saw the two creepy trees as possible folkloric totems. And if such totems were present in both places, it must be for a reason. I had just the reason to plug in.
Now, I suppose a reader might ponder why the totem of the Creepy Tree, if assumed to be powerful, doesn’t seem to do much to stop the Hocco once it builds up a head of steam and decides to enter the house? It’s a good question. And there is an answer to it. Perhaps you don’t want to know it, though, so I’ll offer only a hint. It ties into one of the general themes of the stories of A Consternation of Monsters: belief is a powerful thing. There are also some fundamental questions that could be asked about the Hocco itself. I offer further hints below in green text (highlight it, if you dare): Is the Hocco an actual, physical creature, or is it an idea brought to life? Perhaps better still, which is scarier: dark, cat-like creatures in the woods who hunt using echo-location in the truest sense of the word, or entities that exist across the globe who feed on belief and can use its power to take on whatever form may be necessary to achieve the response they need in a victim (including those who may not initially believe)? Sound like any implausible monsters you’ve heard of?
The Creepy Tree, by the way, has another wrinkle in its tale. Not only did similar trees exist on my Papaw’s property and Old Man Mannings, but some time after my Papaw and Mamaw had both passed away, the Creepy Tree moved. Or, rather, it was relocated from its place on Papaw’s farm to my aunt and uncle’s home next door. It is now bolted to a new post in their front yard. Now quite likely my aunt just wanted the object, so associated with her mother and her mother’s roses, to be closer to her home by a hundred yards. But the fantasist in me finds it curious from a potentially folkloric totem standpoint all the same.
The Hocco Makes the Echo was the very first of my Aaron stories (also known as the Southern Parallels, to use their official title). While I didn’t intend it initially, Aaron Hughes (or whatever his surname happens to be from story to story) has become my literary alter ego. He’s now a character through which I can tell both fictionalized versions of events I experienced as well as events which I might have experienced had things gone a bit differently (much as the Hocco doing in Rob Hughes might suggest). In turn, Rob Hughes, being an analog of my dad, doesn’t stay dead for long. He’s turned up or has been referred to in most of the other Aaron stories, including one which was recently published in the Diner Stories: Off the Menu anthology.
Is there a master plan to the Southern Parallel Aaron stories? Sure thing. I’ll probably even wind up adapting some of them into podcast form in the coming months, being as how I only have 10 stories in A Consternation of Monsters itself. Publication plans are afoot as well, though.
Here is a short flash fiction sequel to “The Hocco Makes the Echo.” It’s a small section from a much larger piece.
1993
Professor Riggs pointed at one of the layered blackboards of the lecture hall. On it was a barbell-shaped diagram he had drawn with chalk. There were arrows pointing into the spiraling mouth of the uppermost barbell and more arrows pointing from the mouth of the mouth of the lower one.
“Parallel universes,” he continued, “are also a factor in the Einstein-Rosen bridge.” He stabbed a fat finger in the direction of diagram. “Mathematically, the theory of black holes simply doesn’t work consistently without the existence of a universe beyond the black hole into which the matter and light that are pulled in from our universe must pass. Though science fiction would have you believe otherwise, these other universes are inconsequential to our reality because it’s not possible for us to have any interaction with them. One theory states that these universes exist all around us at different vibrational attunements. However, our most powerful supercollider could only muster up one millionth of the amount of energy necessary to open a gateway between them and allow us to see these realms. In other words, it can’t be done, so stop thinking about it.” There were chuckles from the students. Aaron only smiled.
“And beyond the impossible notion of communicating with or seeing into a parallel world,” Professor Riggs continued, “the idea that these parallel worlds would be mirror images of our own, with duplicate copies of each of us, is preposterous. Consider the genetic factor alone. We each came from an ovum fertilized by a sperm. It may have only taken one to do the fertilizing, but there were 280 million others attempting the same feat any one of which might have won the race had things gone a little differently. Factor in that this math would have been the same for your father, your grandfather and on back through the generations—each coupling a 1 in 280 million shot at producing your next ancestor in the family line. In other words, it took thousands of people and billions of chance fertilizations to make you who you are today. So to consider that there would even be one other parallel world where all the zygotes lined up and everything fell into place exactly as it did here, is truly, astonishingly, retarded.”
More reviews
Jon Byrne, the author of a very good collection of fantasy and science fiction himself, has posted a review of A Consternation of Monsters on his blog. It’s quite favorable.
I recommend you go and read his review, then go check out his book, The Last Ereph.
Dog story
Last week, we went to a Labor Day gathering at the home of our friends Rebecca and Chester. Naturally, everyone who came to the gathering prepared way too much fantastic food, so it was a feast that never seemed to get any smaller no matter how much we ate.
One of R&C’s dogs is a three-legged pooch called Tripod. A very sweet animal, it gets by just fine with just the three. While standing around Rebecca’s kitchen, one of the other attendees asked how Tripod came to lose a leg. Chester began to tell the tale, but Rebecca stopped him and said she had thought it would be funnier if they passed the storytelling baton to me, as the writer in the room, and let me come up with a story on the spot. No pressure.
“Get to work,” my wife said.
“Okaaaaay,” I said slowly, allowing me a few seconds thought. “So there was this orphanage that was on fire, you see,” I began. “And Tripod–well, the pre-Tripod, mind you–was rescuing all of the orphans from the fire,” I continued at a measured pace. “One by one he just kept dragging them out until he finally got to the very last orphan. Then, just as he was pushing that final orphan out into the safety of the night, the frame of the building collapsed…”
“And chopped off the leg,” Rebecca said.
“No, no. He narrowly escaped the collapse…” I continued, dreaming up another tragedy that could befall the poor dog.
“Tripod’s a girl,” my wife said.
“No. Not at that point in the story,” I quickly said. “That happens later.”