Sunday, April 29, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "Z" is for Zombies


Day twenty six and the letter "Z" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you! It's been a pleasure, and I can't wait until these stories are published! 

Adele's story concludes....


Back int ruins of Goldtown, in the old miner's cemetery, are grave even older than the first gold rush settlers. 
Some say that the reason the old Goldtown was moved to its current location off the highway (besides tourism and catching those travellers from Utah and California) is because of a mass uprising of the dead--essentially because of zombies. Even the old timers now, who hear about Goldtown's move from their parents and grandparents, that after the settlers came and started building and drilling into their once sacred lands, they disturbed the resting bodies of the native ancestors, and a curse was enacted on anyone who disturbed the dead. 
The curse made curious things happen around the town--milk curdling, babies stillborn. After a while it was obvious the settlers weren't welcome here...and it really became a problems once the Christians moved in and started preaching. That's when things got really weird.


Saturday, April 28, 2012

A-Z Challenge "Y" is for the Old York Jail


Day twenty four and the letter "X" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues....


Part of our tourism relies on our "old-timey" Western appeal, and at the re-furbished hotel (most of which was brought over from the old hotel from the abandoned mining town) they built it on the same spot as the old sheriff's office and jail. In fact that's one of the great appeals of having dinner at the old hotel--you and your guest can dine in an old jail cell. Now the most recent appeal is that you can eat in the old haunted jail cell. 


It's called the York cell, and its been haunted ever since a woman, who came all the way from Boston to cash in on the then-booming mining town hung herself inside. She had been a maid-of-all-work for a well to do family who were part owners of the mining company, and one of the few wealthy inhabitants of the time. Charged with care of the children, but unable to have her own, she took very good care of the children to point that she was almost obsessive with their care. Until one day, when the youngest boy was found at the bottom of the stairs with his neck broken. The young maid was (falsely) accused of shoving him down the stairs as punishment. (I believe, after looking through the microfilm of the newspapers at the time) that it was a horrible accident. However, the parents were consumed with anger and grief and blamed the child's death on the maid, since she was in charge of his care. Consumed with guilt and overwhelming sadness, she committed suicide in the jail cell, and if you listen closely, you can still hear the sounds of her devastating sobs as you eat your dinner. 




A-Z Challenge "X" is for "X-Files"


Day twenty three and the letter "X" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues....


There's been a lot of speculation over the years about the existence of the secret branch of the government, specifically the FBI, known as the X Files. A government agency dedicated to strange, unusual, and possibly the paranormal. What better place to hide this supposed branch of government, but a stretch of desert that no one cares about and no one really knows exists (and probably wouldn't care if they did)?
This was long before the popular series came out in the 90's, and like a lot of people, I sat glued to my TV on Sunday nights (and Friday and Saturday nights when it went into re-run status). But unlike most of America, I didn't have to tune into a TV show to see it-- I could see it all the time happening in my little mountain desert town. 
I've seen the dark sedans, the men and women both dressed in sharp suits and sunglasses. They've even talked to me several times--about the missing tourists, the teenagers that like to hang out at the graveyard and the old hospital and the abandoned institution. 
Sometimes I wonder why more of them don't come and ask questions, why the families of all the missing people and detectives and police from other places don't make the connections to this little town. 
But what do I know, I report the news, I don't make it. 


Thursday, April 26, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "W" is for "The Well to Hell"

Day twenty two and the letter "W" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues....

Current legend has it that back in 18887, when this was a booming gold mine community, the miners had drilled a shaft that was nine miles deep before breaking through to a cave. Intrigued and puzzled but this completly unexpected development, they lowered a brave man (others say it was a kid who was among the youngest of the miners, others say he simply lost a bet). As they leaned over the cave to hear what was going on, they could reportedly hear screams of torments souls and the whispers of the damed, that got louder the longer they stayed there.
The rope the man had been lowered down with tugged once, sharply, followed by horrific screams, then the sounds of bone crunching and bloos rushing. Needless to say, the young man was never heard from or seen again, and his death is listed as an accident. The mine has long since been adandoned, but tourists have reported strange sights and sounds when exploring the area around the old mine. In an effort to boost tourism here, a mayor during the 70's actually posted a sign above one of the abandoned shafts that said "The Well to Hell"--which is still partly there.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "V" for Vanishing Hitchiker

Day twenty one and the letter "V" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues....
On the night Layla met her new husband (see "Killer in the Backseat"), Daniel had already had a strange encounter on the road. It always seems like bad luck comes in waves, doesn't it.
But Daniel was on the way home from college at UNR to his little hometown here in Goldtown, when he happens to see an attractive young woman on the side of the road. This being Nevada, and the roads stretching in between towns are long and often empty--and dangerous. So--nice guy that he is--Daniel stops to offer her a ride and she accepts. Daniel and the woman go to the party in Goldtown, and everyone thinks that Daniel has brought home a girlfriend from school--everyone thinks that his girlfriend is wonderful and charming, and at the end of the night, Daniel offers to drive the girl home. He places his jacket around her shoulders because it gets really cold in the desert, and when he touched her shoulders, it was like touching ice.  
He asked for her address and she gave it to him, it was a small mining town/truckstop that barely boasted a few houses and a ranger's station--not all that unusual for up here. But when he pulled up to the driveway and turned to her, she had gone. Completely disappeared--the car door never opened. If his other friends hadn't seen her at the party, he would have thought maybe someone slipped something into his drink, or maybe finally his loneliness was messing with his head.
Not sure what else to do, he went up to the door, and even though it was quite late, he knocked on the door. A middle aged woman answered the door, and seemed unsurprised--even weary--that he was there, as if she had had to explain this a hundred times in her life. The young girl Daniel had seen was her daughter, who had died ten years ago in a car accident on her way home from UNR. Shutting the door, the woman told him if Daniel didn't believe her, he could find her name up there on the cemetery. Daniel took the backroads and found the cemetery. There are a lot of cemeteries back in Nevada's old country, mostly miners and prospectors, ghosts on top of ghosts, and the cemetery the woman at the house had directed him to was twisted with undergrowth, overgrown with grass, with tombstones dating back from the 1800's. Daniel found the grave, in the newer section of the small cemetery, and to his surprise, saw his jacket folded up on top of it, a high desert flower resting on top as if to say thank you.



Tuesday, April 24, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "U" is for Ursula

Day twenty and the letter "U" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues....



Little Ursula was a girl who liked to lie about everything. She lied about what she had for breakfast, or what she dreamed about that night. She lived with her Auntie CeCe, who was what in the old days they used to call a spinster, but this one really was--an unmarried woman who made money by taking in other people's laundry and sewing.
As the months went by, Aunt CeCe noticed little Ursula's lying problem, but no matter what CeCe said or did, the girl refused to change. Thinking maybe it was a kid thing, maybe it would stop. So CeCe was patient. She had a money box under her bed, locked, where she kept her savings. Like I said, this was kind of in the old days, where a lot of country people didn't trust banks.
And one day, the money box comes up missing. CeCe asks Ursula if she knows how the money went missing, and Ursula says she doesn't know. CeCe is really upset because this money is almost her entire life savings, it's her hope and her retirement. She shakes Ursula, she yells and screams, but Ursula refuses to admit to taking the money. Completely enraged, CeCe can think of only one thing that will punish Ursula for taking her money. She puts a few sleeping pills in the girl's evening hot chocolate, and as she passes out, CeCe carries her to her bedroom, and sets her on the bed. She leaves for a moment to retrieve her sewing kit--the one with the heavy upholstery needles and thread. As she steps back into the room, she is momentarily struck by the sight outside Ursula's window--a net of fireflies. Maybe its beauty was a warning against what she was about to do, but CeCe had had it with Ursula's lying, and they were now destitute.
She began to sew up Ursula's mouth. After that night, the old seamstress and the little girl were never seen again.

Monday, April 23, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "T" is for Ghost Train Bride

Day nineteen and the letter "T" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues....

We have a train left over from the old mining days that is part of our modest tourist trade, and every Halloween it becomes the "Ghost Train of Goldtown" but there are people who will tell you it's haunted all year long.

One day, after the great war, before the train was shut down for good, it still used to run to Sparks and Needle, a man on his way to San Francisco had a whole compartment to himself. When he took his seat, saw a woman in a sitting in the sit across of his, wearing what looked like an old fashioned wedding grown with white lace and in her hands, she was holding what looked like a white bundle.

After some time passed by, the woman looked at the man and started to talk, but he could not hear anything of what she was saying. The she laughed soundlessly.
The man, confused, tried to ask her what she was saying, but again, she didn't do anything and started to look toward the window. Then all of a sudden she gripped the bundle in her hands really tight and silently screamed in horror before passing out in her seat, with the bundle still in her hands.

The man jumped out of his seat and ran to get some help, but when he came back with a staff member the woman disappear. He then described the woman to the staff member, who just started to chuckled, and then he explained to the man that probably he just saw the ghost bride of the train.

The train staff member told the bewildered man that about 20 years prior, in the roaring Twenties, a newly wed couple were on their way to their honeymoon in California, when the husband opened up the window so he could declare his love for her to the world. A loose wire came off from the top of the train, whipping around the man's neck and decapitating him almost instantly. When the staff arrived to screams of the new bride, they found her cradling her husband's head in her lap, sitting in a pool of his blood.They reversed the train back to Goldtown where the police picked her up and took her to the Goldtown Asylum where it's said she cut off her own head to join her husband.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

A-Z BLog Challenge "S" Suicide Girl

Day eighteen and the letter "S" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
In this tragic story, a teenage girl committed suicide, she drew a picture, scanned and posted it online as a memory of something she left behind. After Solome's death, her story broke out and spread all over Northern Nevada. The local high school lore says that you get sucked into the portrait she drew, especially because of the sadness in the eyes. Maybe the sadness and anger of being bullied somehow got pulled into the drawing before she died. It's said her spirit haunts the image, and whoever looks at the drawing is overwhelmed with a paralyzing sadness. Of course, the rumors now say that if you stare at the portrait for too long, you'll feel like you're going insane with the feeling of being teased and bullied to the point where you feel like committing suicide.


.

Friday, April 20, 2012

A-Z Challenge "R"-Spooky Railroad Bus

Day seventeen and the letter "R" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
One day, on their way home from the school a half hour away from Goldtown, a bus full of children were crossing the old railroad tracks left from the mining days, and long since abandoned. Abandoned for close to 30 years by the time this story happened. As they crossed over the tracks, the bus stalled and wouldn't start again. As the driver struggled to get the bus going again, the old alarm signal started to clang and the children in the bus saw an old fashioned train, a steam locomotive, quickly barrelling towards them. By the time the bus driver had tried to get the panicking kids to evacuate, the train was almost upon them and the screams of the kids were drowned out by the old steam whistle. No one on the bus survived the incident and the train itself has never been found. A few years later, Layla,was driving down the same road and stalled on the track. If you remember her from the Killer in the Backseat story, she just has the worst luck with cars. Again, she struggled to re start her car as the steam whistle sounded down the tracks. AS she struggled, she thought of her new husband and the baby they had on the way, and everything went quiet. When she opened her eyes, the car had moved inches away from the track, safely out of the train's way, but when the train passed by she could see the faces of the children in the windows of the train. Shaken, she got out of her car to see if this was really a trick of her mind, and saw hand prints of the children on her car, as if the kids had pushed her car out of the way.



And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these short stories will be available in their completed form once this challenge ends on Kindle!

Thursday, April 19, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "Q"-The Quincy Sisters

Day sixteen and the letter "Q" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
This is a story about the Quincy sisters who were murdered mysteriously in their bedroom.
There was a little boy named, let's say, Johnny, who was one of those annoying kids who liked to forward chain letter emails (open this and forward it to 10 friends or else this little girl will die of cancer and it will be YOUR fault-those kinds of emails). He was so into it that he started making them up on his own because he liked to scare and annoy people. What can I say--it's a small town, and some of these kids will sit in front of the computer morning noon and night--I mean that's their whole life.
One day little Johnny opens up an email that is from two sisters--twins, in fact. They called themselves the Quincy Sisters and informed Johnny he was their long lost little brother, which was confusing to Johnny since he was an only child. The sisters told him they had lived in his house--while he was there. Johnny of course replied they had to be mistaken, since he surely would have remembered living with two twin older sisters, and told them, to put it politely, take a long walk off a short pier.
The next day, Johnny gets a message from an anonymous email with a chilling message, and some photo attachments. The first photo was of two twin girls, taken in what looked like Johnny's front yard. The other photo was of a newspaper clipping from our very own Goldtown Journal, detailing the mysterious and brutal murders of the Quincy sisters. In the email, the sisters said they were indeed his older sisters. In 1991 they had lived in his house, and the bedroom he had now has been their bedroom. They told him all about growing up in Goldtown and about their lives and how happy they'd been until they were killed. They even told him about the loose floorboard in the kitchen that squeaked.
The article from the Goldtown Journal detailed the brutal slaying of the Quincy sisters in 1991, attacked and killed in their home after midnight. Instead of a crazed killer, or an escaped prisoner from the local prison, suspicion fell on the parents. No signs of forced entry were seen, and no one had heard the girls cry out as they were being attacked. The only leads that the police could find were some suspicious (possibly contrived) emails on one of the girl's computers. The case went cold, and no evidence was ever brought against the parents. In conclusion of the email, the sisters told Johnny how angry they were that the people of Goldtown had seemed to forget about them, and that a new baby had been born that very year the girls had died--Johnny. Johnny, by now in high school, told the email senders he didn't believe them, they were full of shit, and to go to hell. An email reply told Johnny that if he didn't believe them, to look in his bedroom closet.
That was the last email on Johnny's computer.When the police traced Johnny's steps, they saw the names of the twins carved into the bedroom closet floor: Petra and Pele, and below that, Johnny.


And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "P"- Poodle in the Microwave

Day fifteen and the letter "P" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I have a brand spanking new Facebook Page, so the more "likes" the better! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
Poor Petey the Poodle. It sounds like something out of a macabre children's book. This happened, supposedly, sometime in the mid-70's, and I found the archive piece in the old Goldtown Journal, complete with a gory and grainy black and white picture.
I personally think it was a slow news day and my predecessors at the Journal were looking for something to happen in our small town and since nothing was, they decided to create their own story. According to the Journal, the poor Widow O'Brien, an mining widow, was a little addled in her brain after her husband's death a year or two before. (This I DID look up, and it seems Maisie O'Brien did exist, and her husband has indeed been a miner. They had been married for about 40 years. I'm sure I wouldn't be the same, either.) The Widow O'Brien decided to give little Petey the Poodle a bath and subsequently dry him off in the Microwave--a somewhat new invention in the early 70's in rural Nevada. The result, tragically, was a dead exploded poodle covered in burn scars.  
My analysis, besides the slow new day that prompted my predecessors to contrive this story, is really a cautionary tale about people's nonchalance towards risk-free technology, and dismissiveness towards both elderly people and animals. Stories like this serve as a kind of thermometer on how we view the more helpless among us.


Tuesday, April 17, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "O"-Ophelia

Day fourteen and the letter "O" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
Ophelia was a beautiful woman who lived at the old mental hospital in the 50's. The story is, and I've verified this through my own curiosity by looking through the old town records, that she was admitted there when she was about 8 years old by her parents after she tried to kill her mother. She had long black hair that seemed to float in the air around her and she seemed like she was surrounded by currents of water--every time you looked at her, it seemed, it was as if you only saw a glimpse of her.
The ultimate destruction of the facility is said to be a fire caused when they attempted to give her electric shocks, prevalent at the time as a "cure" for disturbed brains. Remember that story I told you about the Devil's Chair? Ophelia was the last patient to be strapped into it. Apparently, something went horribly wrong, and it ended up killing her, and everyone in the room, as well as destroying the whole asylum. Some were able to escape, helping the worse off patients to safety, and its also rumored that Ophelia herself survived, horribly disfigured, wearing a veil to conceal her burn scars. Some say that she didn't survive the horrible fire, and that her vengeful spirit still roams the ruined building.


And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories.

.

Monday, April 16, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "N" -New Village of Goldtown

Day thirteen and the letter "N" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
Hidden in the mountains, nestled in the foothills, is a small town I've told you about before, Goldtown, an old abandoned mining town from two centuries ago. I"ve told you about it being a popular teen hangout, and tourist spot, but there's more there than I've explained.A rocky trail--I dare not call it a road--winds its way through the abandoned neighborhood, and what's I think the most surprising about this ghost town is that most of the original buildings are still in tact. It's a lot like walking onto an empty movie set.
What's the creepy part? Most of the belongings of the original owners are still there, just as they left them. All the clocks in the town were all stopped at the same time. The mayor wants to keep the town open and preserved to increase tourism, so he's posted a guard there at night, to prevent vandalism and arson.
And here's a weird thing...people who have gone into the houses in the past and wanted to take a little piece of the Wild West with them end up meeting some kind of accident that inspires them to return whatever object they took in a hurry.Like a lot of urban legends, the guard who monitors the creepy empty ghost town reports odd pranks in this old New Village, as the mayor wants us to start calling it--it sounds more cutesy and therefore appealing to tourists--and reports odd sounds like footsteps, or the laughter of a child, or the moan of a mourning woman.
But some facts remain: no one knows exactly when or how the town was abandoned and the town proper moved about a half hour away to where our town sits now. Whatever happened, its like the town sits in a frozen moment in time--all the personal effects, papers, clothing, toys, snuff boxes, handkerchiefs, shot glasses lined in the saloon (the whiskey long evaporated), cards laid out on the table in a round of poker... 

Saturday, April 14, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "M" May you Live in Interesting Times...

Day twelve and the letter "M" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...

May you live in interesting times...no matter where its actual origin comes from, ancient Chinese proverb, local patois or Klingon philosophy this saying can be a blessing or a curse. If you've been reading my tales of the secret life of our town, you know that there's a lot going on here under the surface of things. Look closer.

Living in my little mountain town, I say its a blessing. The most common misconception is that little redneck towns are boring. And there are days when time seems to stretch out like  the highway--endlessly unspooling--but there's another saying here, too. Only boring people get bored. I'd rather be interesting.

Friday, April 13, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "L"-The Lightning Struck Lovers

Day eleven and the letter "L" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
Remember that story I told you about the Devil's Chair, a few stories back? This next story, I suspect, sprung up for similar reasons. While I have my opinion that our Devils' Chair might actually have some truth to it, based on the evidence I've seen, this next one I'm pretty sure is all fictional. I've been to Lover's Rock. (Who with is none of your business!) And while the rock formation is there, and indeed looks like a couple in an embrace, I have my doubts about its origin, but this is the way the story goes:

It all starts with the way the rocks form in the canyons around here--if the face of a cliff looks like an actual face, there must be a sleeping giant trapped in there for some long past wrong deed. But there are people who swear this next one is true...
So many of these stories involve teenagers, but this one involves a tourist couple in their 30's, who went exploring the canyons and washes that surround our town. If you drive to the tallest hill--usually the safest one because its close to town and boasts out satellite stations--you can find any number of spots to look out over our small town and watch the lights slowly turn on and warm the sky.
As couples are inclined to do, inspired by the romantic view, they started to get down and frisky.
During the summer, the desert it often prone to flashes of heat lighting, and we're no exception. A few flashes in the night sky above them might have warned them to stay away from the satellite and cell phone towers--literally a hotbed of electrical activity esepcially during hot and dry summer nights, but perhaps it was the beauty that made them stay. It's like watching fireworks on display especially for you.
One such violent flash struck the lovers on the top of their heads as they were kissing, filling them both with heat and light for a moment before killing them both, who were dead frozen (or fried) in fused lip lock with each other.
Over time, animals and nature took care of the remaining flesh that stuck to the two bodies, and instead of the bones crumbling to dust, moss and lichen began to grow over the bones, creating what's now known as Lover's Rock, the town's most unlucky make out spot.  







And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "K"-Killer in the Backseat

Day ten and the letter "K" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues...

There's a lot of traffic that comes through our little town--mostly tourists, truckers and bikers. Although the highways don't seem that crowded, and the roads can stretch for miles and you might not see a soul for miles, there are stories about danger on the highway...

Driving at night around here is scary enough--you never know if you are going to be driving along and, swayed by the phenomenon of highway hypnosis, miss an animal darting across the road. A lot of people are driving for miles, and they might just miss some eyeshine in the dark and end up with their car wrapped around a bull elk.
Layla was popular bartender at one of our local bars, and she swears this story happened to her. She usually leaves the bar around 2 or 3 in the morning, and drives the few miles to her home out in the cross timbers where the houses are spaced out. It also happens to be close to the state prison. After a few minutes of driving, she noticed a lone pair of headlights in her rear view mirror, coming up on her vehicle at a pace just slightly more than hers. She saw the car was going to pass her, when in suddenly pulled behind her and started flashing its lights. It's late at night, so of course Layla was starting to get nervous. The lights from the car behind her dimmed and flashed, dimmed and flashed and then suddenly the car began to swerve forward almost as if it was trying to bump her from behind. Layla's getting really scared now, and just thinks if she keeps her eyes ahead of her on the road, she'll be fine. She's not sure at this point if she should try heading back to bar, or back to town, or home. She didn't want to look behind her, the brights kept flashing on and off and scaring her. The car kept following her, stalking her every move.She finally pulled into a gas station and figured her only hope was to get to safety and people. She pulled into the station and ran for her life to the building. The lights were on but the door was locked. She pounded on the door, just as the the driver of the other car got out and screamed at her to call the police. He caught up to her and as they both turned around, they saw a shadow of a man rise up from the back seat, open the car door and run away into the night.
The driver had been trying to save her.
Layla has been dating Marcus for six months now. Maybe the story of their meeting is true, maybe it's not. But if their story is covering up some other secret, I think I might need to find out...




And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "J"Jinmenken

Day nine and the letter "I" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
This story has been around our little mountain town since the Japanese immigrants came here in the mid-1800's. They faded away, until the 1950's, and the surrounding broad planes of desert started getting lots of activity with nuclear explosions and testing sites. The legend reformed as the decades past, but the Jinmenken remain. For the most part, Jinmenken are dogs with human faces, who appear mostly at night and also by the sides of highways--so you can easily mistake them for coyotes. They have the ability to talk, but depending on who is telling the story, they are so bitter and hurt after being experiemented on by government scientists that they fear and distrust humans. I would, too. Oftentimes they're said to appear at the site of a car crash to help guide the spirits of crash victims.




And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories.

A-Z Blog Challenge "I"-Iron Maiden

Day nine and the letter "I" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...

A lot of the kids listen to metal music here. Basically your two choices are metal and country,a nd most listen to a combination of both.
It's considered unladylike fo a teenage girl to listen to heavy metal, so when Ismene went missing, that was the first thing al the old timers based her disappearance on. "You know that a girl like THAT can get into trouble."
Ismene had a fondness for Iron Maiden, and also for a boyfriend named Steve. She was a part of the crowd that ruled a small kingdom in the cemetary of Goldtown, so when she went missing, Steve was the natural choice for suspicion. Rumors ran wild through the town, saying Ismene and Steve and their group were listening to devil music, playing Iron Maiden albums backward to get messages from Lucifer, and enganging in sexual and satanic rituals in the old mining graveyard.
You want to know what I think? She just wanted out of this town, and I don't blame her.



And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories.

Monday, April 9, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "H"

Day six and the letter "H" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!


Adele's story continues...
Part of my job is to tell you the truth. But a certain amount of trust has to be placed in me. I was there. I'm a writer, a seeker of truth. You can trust me.
I, like many small town reporters, has a police scanner. This is the story as I understood it: A teenage boy, a local and his date, also a local, drove his date to the old Goldtown hollows. Not unusual.But of course I've mentioned that there used to be a prison up here, up until the 50's.
By the time I got to the scene, there was already yellow police tape crisscrossing the car and boulders and sage brush surrounding the place they had parked. The photographer was taking pictures. The air was hot and dry and seared your insides when you took a breath. The car looked like it had been painted in blood, and in a plastic evidence bag (don't ask me where or how I found it) were several bloody fish hooks.




And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "G"-Ghosts of Goldtown

Day six and the letter "G" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

THE GHOSTS OF GOLDTOWN
Adele's story continues:
I remember writing
A teenager was found dead in his motel room after a day of camping with his friends in Sunset Canyon, home of "Nevada's Scariest Ghost Town. A lot of teenagers hear the legends about the ghosts towns and for the most part, that's what sustains our community. Our whole livelihod depends on ghosts and legends. There used to be a prison out here before they moved it further north, and has been abandoned since teh 1950's. I don't know why they didn't tear it down.People keep building things here, like the long gone people of Goldtown, and the people who buillt the prison, but no one ever stays here, not for long. No one except us.
It takes a special kind of person to stay here, and sometimes I think the land knows it.
Anyway, this kid goes exploring with his friends, like a lot of people do, at night. You know, for fun. Hoping to catch a ghost. I can't even tell you how many film students from L.A. have come through here, hoping to be the next Paranormal State or bockbuster Blair-Witch style movie makers, but most of the time all they ever catch is a lot of blurry shaky film with nothing more incriminating than teenagers drinking and smoking and making out.
But this time was different. The group of kids he was with claimed that when they were filming him talking his way documentary style through the film at the old prison, he was alone. But a still photograph revealed otherwise, or so they claim. In the background you can supposedly see the shadowy menacing outline of--of what? Who knows? The ghost of an executed prisoner?
I've seen the photograph, and it looks pretty much like any other. Lots of spooky shadows, but that's about it.
The kid was found dead in his hotel room in town the next morning,and since our town is too small for a hospital or coroner, they had to load him in the sherrif's van and take him to Reno. Last I heard, it was a heart attack.




And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories. My dream is also to have a book published, and this is a great way to push myself to do it!

Friday, April 6, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "F" Funhouse Mummy! /PJV Hop

Day six and the letter "F" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! I'm also trying to generate some traffic through the PJV Hop, so I"m kind of combining posts. Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues...
There is a little store here, tucked away just barely out of sight in our one-streetlight on our one main street is an old gas station, not the one that's currently in vigorous use by the many campers and trailers that come through here--this was the old Sonoco that shut down in the 70's due to gas prices and an oil embargo.
It's currently in ownership of the Beckett family, and run by their entire family. It was rumored that they were once a part of a circus, and came out here after a shameful disgraceful failure (in their eyes) of a failed Hollywood career.
A lot of dreams come here to die.
They continue their dreams of entertaining the public, by running a kind of funhouse/old movie house in the converted gas station and offer the tourists a tour of the strange and unusual. Jackalope heads mounted on mini plagues, lots of jars of stuff in bright lime green jello said to be alien fetus or results from nuclear experiments.
Olen, the father of the whole tribe, runs the show. And one of his favorite things to show tourists, or anyone who asks, really, is the mummy, which he claims is real.
In his funhouse of horrors, the mummy is on permanent display. It is the (seeming) corpse of a man, perhaps "deceased" in his 30's or 40's, who is shriveled and wasted almost to a skeleton, although enough of the features are left (molded my wax, I'm sure) to create a bit of a personality. Wherever Olen got this from, I'm sure that part of its appeal was to freeze the mannequin's face in an expression of horror.
Supposedly, out here in the Wild West, this is the corpse of Jesse James, or one of his contemporaries, depending on who is telling the story. 
The most interesting thing about this the mummy's mouth hangs open and you can drop a nickel or quarter (or even a good old U.S. dollar if you feel so inclined) just for the thrill of sticking your hands inside a dead person's mouth.
Personally, I think Olen and his family went a little nuts after their failed Hollywood careers, but they're basically harmless. Just storytellers with tall tales. Everyone's gotta make a living.





And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories. My dream is also to have a book published, and this is a great way to push myself to do it!

From the Parajunkee Hop:
Q: Have you ever bought a book BECAUSE of a bad review?
I can't think of any off the top of my head. I do, however, take all reviews with a grain of salt, and there are some books I've bought---because I do like *some* YA reads--that I *wish* I had read the negative reviews first. For example, the Iron Queen by Julia Kagawa or the Vampire Academy series by Richelle Mead (who I LOVE in her Succubus series--it's just her YA fiction isn't for me.) But I probably would consider it--or least get a sample and judge for myself if all the hype is justified.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "E" Exorcism

Day five and the letter "E" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop or Facebook)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues...A lot of folks around here pride themselves on being good, solid, God-fearing people. I'm not even sure about telling you this.
Reporters are known to be gossips, you know? People usually tell me something if they want it in the paper. That is, if they want everyone to know about it.
But I hear things, that's my unique vantage point in this town. A lot of people settle here because our part of the world is so isolated, and the religious folk are no exception. People like to be left alone to practice their ways in peace, and for the most part, the townspeople leave them alone, and they don't bother us so there's not much of a problem.
Until rumors start ciculating about what's really happening in those fringe communities, where the women are expected to be seen and not heard,are often seen in long prairie dresses and braided hair.
In the 60's and 70's, and for the very first year or two of the 80's, there used to be a hippie compound out there that was bought and sold and changed hands to a conservative religous group.
Strange how times change. Most radical religious groups are very secretive, very private and this one is no exception.
There are a couple of versions to this story. I can tell you what I think happened.
When women aren't respected, when we aren't treated right, it makes us snap. Being subjugated like that, abused, used for childbearing, it wears out the body and soul. People might thinkt hey are doing god's work, performing an exorcism on the poor teenage girl. Like I've said before, it's easy to disappear out here, and some people just use god as an excuse. The last I heard, she was a "Lost Girl", excommunicated after her exorcism and left ont he road with a backpack and some money.






And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories. My dream is also to have a book published, and this is a great way to push myself to do it!

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "D"

Day four and the letter "D" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter! Thanks everyone for all your comments, I am still trying to catch up, but if you leave your blog url, I *will* get to you!

Adele's story continues...
THE DEVIL'S CHAIR
A lot of people come here as a half way point between destinations. So we see a little bit of tourism,from people on their way to or from California or to and from Utah. Most people are employed here as motel and restaurant workers, and gas station personnel. We have a very modest grocery/general store.
Should I tell you this story? It's not exactly something they advertises in our thin brochures. In order to capitalize on any tourists, there was a weak movement to maybe show people around to some of the old abandoned mines and lead a few mountain hikes, pointing out some of the old shacks and tumbled down buildings where the ghost town is. Or was.
There's a hidden place in the back of the ghost town's graveyard. The ghost town backs up right against the canyon face, and there's a natural formation of rock there that looks like a bench. It think that 's one of the reason the original settlers picked this stop--it gave a place for mourners to sit with their loved ones for a while. This was at the middle to the end of the nineteenth century when the town was a booming mining village, and while a lot of people don't associate the Wild West with the Victorian era, but the people who came to these mining towns came from all over the country--and even Europe--after the Civil War. It was a custom of the time to have places of mourning in the cemetery, so here seemed like the perfect place.
A lot of the rocks, and consequently the mud and the dirt, is red here, but the mourning bench is no exception. There are deep red streaks in it, staining the very color of the stone, but it never watches out with rain.
There are a lot of legends about why this stain doesn't come out. Or why there is red only on the seat of the chair and not on the surrounding rocks. One is that this was a popular place for lovers, and once (or twice) a jealous spouse caught their betrothed with someone they shouldn't have been with. Another is the legend of the young mother whose husband was so jealous and possessive of her he accused her of being unfaithful and brought her to the chair to silence her forever and cut out their unborn child.
Teenagers, the few that we have around here, use the ghost town as their own personal playground. You can walk through the ruins of the old hotel, and even the old jail, and see evidence of their passing. Mostly liquor bottles and the occasional condom wrapper.
But the one place you don't see debris is the Devil's Chair. Even the eternally skeptical teenager won't go up there, especially after dark. At night, its said you can hear whispers and wails, but probably what people are hearing are coyotes or the wind raking across the ridge.
And now, dear readers, I must leave you. Don't forget, these stories will be available in their entirety at the end of the month when I collect them into a book of short stories. Like Tina@LifeisGood, my dream is also to have a book published, and this is a great way to push myself to do it!

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "C"-Chupacabra

Day three and the letter "C" for the A-Z Blog Challenge. If this is your first time here, my A-Z challenge is based on Urban Legends, and follows the life of a small town Nevada reporter, Adele.
If you are stopping by from the challenge (or anywhere else, like the Parajunkee Hop)-feel free to join the Bluestocking Club, or follow me on Twitter!  

Adele's story continues...

Bodies often end up drifting up like flotsam pushed up on shores. No surprise, the entire state of Nevada was once underwater, and you can see the mark it has left on the landscape: its in the cliffs and the canyons, in the roll of the sage covered ridges and hills. Hikers often stumble on random skulls--mostly animals picked dry by carrion. Cattle often wander away from their herds, and die of hunger and exposure, and their rib cages rise like white wings from between rocks and cedar trees.

This is what happened to me one afternoon.

A big hobby of people out here is to go out antler hunting--if you don't know what that is, its just going hiking in the ranges to see how many dropped antlers you can pick up. We have herds of mule deer that shed their antlers every season, and spring is the most popular time to go looking for them-after the snow melts and before the snakes wake up.
It's not always a good idea to go out by yourself--you never know if you'll twist an ankle or (highly unlikely) be set upon by a mountain lion, or just get plain lost. The landscape is repetitive (like the ocean) so its easy to get turned around and lost if you don't know where you're going, or your GPS (that you had the foresight to bring) craps out on you.

That's what I was doing when I found something that changed my life forever. I wasn't turned around, I wasn't lost, exactly, but I had been out longer than I thought and lost track of time and the shadows of the canyon I was exploring were starting to stretch in front of me. I had a bottle of water with me and my jacket and mag light, but I wasn't more than a mile from my truck, and that's not that far away. So I kept telling myself I had time to get to the truck. You can't really hunt for anything in the dark.

So when I heard the cry, I froze in my steps. Usually the presence of a human will make animals wary, and for the most part they don't bother you if you don't bother them. But still, it was getting dark, who knows what kind animal's territory I was in. It had been a hard winter. Nevada winters are typically harsh.
And then I heard it again, coming from the direction of a cluster of cedar trees--a favorite of bobcats. While bobcats are not man eaters, they still can fight pretty hard to protect their territory.
But the cry wasn't a warning to stay away, I could feel it. It was an animal crying out in pain, crying out for help.
Normally, I would have ignored it, but something in me made me seek it out. I can't ignore another living thing in pain.
As I approached the the cluster of trees where I thought I heard the sound, I saw a dark bundle of shapes under the tree. Something was clearly nesting there. The sounds were more like moans now.
I stopped about three yards away from the shapes under the tree, and as I got closer, I could see in the swiftly dying light descending behind the mountain ridge behind us, the miracle of a birth.
It was a female animal of some kind, dark skinned and hairless, who was very clearly pregnant with a distended belly that--I thought, it could be a trick of the light--was moving.
She raised her head at me, and I could see the tremble in her neck. Her breathing was labored, and her eyes were round and glassy and my heart just broke into a million pieces. It let out another pitiful cry.
I slowly approached with my hands out-the universal symbol for "I'm harmless and unarmed and won't hurt you" and crept to her side, descending next to her on my knees.
She was unlike any animal I had ever seen before--like a dog without it's fur, kind of, but with a pointy head and large teeth.
Although I was familiar with the stories I had heard about ranchers helping cows give birth, I'd never done it myself.  
And there, dear reader, I must stop for today. Don't forget, the plan is to publish these stories in their entirety at the end of the month!

Monday, April 2, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "B"

BLOODY MARY
Adele:
He wouldn’t acknowledge the baby as his. Didn't want his wife to find out he’d been with the babysitter. It’s such a hard thing to keep secret in this town. Everyone knows who babysits who, who is married to who, who had a checkered past—who to trust and who not. There are people you can wait a few days to accept a check from, and others you want the cash up front. So when a teenage girl gives birth in her bath tub, its really hard to keep quiet. Why she called me, I’ll never know. I am the social center of this town, being the little busy body that I am.
The following informationw as found scribbled in many loose journal pages when I went to check the house after Angela called me. No trace of Angela, the baby, or the husband has ever been found.

This is not a game. this is real.

Why won't he talk to me anymore? What did I do?
It's his ba-

I tried to get him to open the door. He was sittin' on the couch, playing video games—

Shattered glass.

Built a house on a grave—there’s a million of them out here, you know.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

A-Z Blog Challenge "A"

This is my first time participating in the challenge, and I hope to create a short story collection out of this by the time the month of April is done! My theme is Urban Legends, so today begins with "Area 51". Adele is the thread of these pieces--a small town reporter for a rinky dink newspaper. So how does some one in a small town encounter all these Urban Legends? Read on to find out and maybe some of her stories will surprise (and maybe) intrigue you! Hope you enjoy!

My name is Adele, and I'm a journalist working for the Silver Star, the tiny little newsletter masquerading as the town newspaper in a small town in the middle of rural Nevada.

Anyone who called me told me what the lights were like, and wanted me to get out there as soon as possible to investigate. I had to turn my phone off. Passed right over my head, rushing at tremendous speed. It was like a parade of lights. They weren't trying to hide anything, it was right there above town, inprotected airspace,
It was seven lights in a V-shape, almost like a flock of birds,  low, huge, miles wide, silence, no hum, intending to be seen, coming down The Loneliest Road in America.
The entire town has to see this, how can they not? I got hundreds and hundreds of calls at my office. I know people think that only crazies see UFOs, but the cross section of humanity that poured into my voicemail and email were not lunatics. They were doctors, lawyers, plumbers, teachers, nurses, cashiers, truckers, everyone from every walk of life imaginable, every age imaginable.
The reports we got later were that everyone saw the lights, but nothing appeared on radar. People think because Nevada is so isolated, that the small towns out here don't matter, so who cares if the government is testing an aircraft, because that is the accepted version of what people saw that night.
Problem is, the government keeps denying it, then putting out press that we're all a bunch of rednecks in tin foil hats, the quickest way to discredit us.
We didn’t know what to say, hadn’t seen or heard of anything like this before. Wasn’t a a helicopter, wasn't a plane, I can tell you that much.

But, the wonder of it all! So many people of so many different backgrounds all coming together with the EXACT SAME STORY. Does that make sense to you?
 People, the next day came out of their houses and into the streets, wondering what is going on. The internet was down. The phones--both landlines and cell phones either didn't work or would emit the strangest buzzing-clicking sound.
We didn’t have answers because we didn’t know either. We had a humvee drive through, a man in camouflage tell us it was some kind of magnetic surge, some kind of mess up in the electrical grid, which I think are two different things. I don't think he counted on anyone noticing.
All they left us with was intrigue and excitement--and more questions than answers with a sense of the miraculous. Whatever happened was not a fluke, not a random event, and not an accident. This was a well orchestrated-almost a choreography lights, an extraterrestrial ballet in the sky.
And to tell you the truth, not many people I talked to were really all that frightened. It wasn't a War of the Worlds type invasion. They were just in awe, and incredibly joined together in a common experience that I think untied this town in just the most unexpected way. For a time, anyway.

The cover up begins. We asked what it was and the army's response was basically: “You don’t have strange lights over your town.”
So, I say to you: pay attention to what went on here. They all want to say I’m crazy, that we're all crazy, too much isolation, even a couple of in-bred redneck remarks. Either that, or the constant sun combined with The Hills Have Eyes type of nuclear energy has fried our brains.
You shouldn’t ask questions. It’s something they don’t want to deal with it. Nobody ever got back to me when I called them about the lights not appearing on radar, or to clarify the "You don't have lights over your town" comment. What is that? I'm not crazy--I know what I saw, and I know what other people told me, they're afraid for me to talk about it. Any day now they'll either show up in black suits or white coats until I shut up.
Well, no one ever accused me of shutting up, that's for sure.

Not there yet, but a little closer than yesterday

3500 WORDS PER POUND WEEK 9 (I THINK) WRITING So, how’s the writing going? Not that great, but I did just rewrite a chapter of the WIP I’v...