My Neighborhood is Writing a Horror Story

My neighborhood is writing a horror story.  I don’t mean that a bunch of people are getting together over finger foods and cocktails and collaboratively penning a piece of pulp fiction.  (Although that sounds kind of awesome so if anyone wants to do that, email me.)  No, I mean, the neighborhood itself seems to be acting out some sort of horrific tale of terror, and I’m upset because A) it’s kind of scary, and B) it’s better than anything I’ve come up with lately.

Most of you are probably going to tell me that I’m overreacting.  Fine.  Go ahead.  I don’t care.  I need to say this, regardless of what you think, in a “cover my butt” sort of way.  I need to go on record with my observations just in case something is actually going on here.  That way, when a monster comes up out of the sewer and devours all of us, you can point to this blog and say, “Huh.  I guess someone should have listened to Carie.”  And before I begin, may I remind you that, despite how crazy Tom Hanks appeared, he turned out to be RIGHT in The Burbs.

The first two unsettling incidents are actually rather sad. I promise not to be graphic, but simply stating the facts could cause some upset, so read at your own risk.

For over five months, a little male cardinal lived in the bushes between our house and our next door neighbors, and he… well, he wasn’t quite right in the head.  He became infatuated with my neighbor’s blue van.  Day in, day out, hour after hour after hour, he would peck at its side mirrors, windshield, and back window, leaving little trails of bird poo down the sides and scratching up the finish.  He was attracted to other cars too—their black SUV, if he had access to the garage, even our cars would do if the blue van was gone.  I also saw him ferociously pecking at our attic window a couple of times, and one day he flew full speed into our glass front door, but survived. 

The little cardinal did not bathe in the birdbath, nor did he mate and build a nest, and I never saw him eat an insect or heard him sing a pretty song.  All he did was peck the van or closest-to-van alternative.  He was a sad, strange, deranged little bird and he drove us all crazy, but after awhile we got sort of used to him and his antics. 

Two weeks ago, the owners of the blue van moved away.  Two days later, I found a pile of red feathers and a small mangled carcass in our yard.  The crazy little cardinal was no more.  I assumed he’d been killed by a cat, but I secretly wondered if the loss of his beloved blue van was the real cause of the little guy’s demise.

Ok, that was to ease you in.  This next one’s worse.

One week after the little cardinal died, I walked Uno up to the park in the center of our neighborhood, and we found the remains of a dead cat in the field there.  Beyond from the usual upset of seeing a dead animal, this concerned me for two reasons.  One, it was only half of the cat.  And two, it was half of a cat I knew.

He didn’t have a name, or if he did I didn’t know it.  He was a stray, a mangy black tom with long white “socks” on his two back feet.  He had been prowling this neighborhood for longer than I’ve lived here and he was tough.  I’d seen him stalk birds (in fact, it was this cat who I assumed killed the crazy cardinal) and chase down other felines, intent on more than a playful romp if he caught them.

His violent death is a mystery.  So far, we are attributing it to a coyote—they live in the greenbelt behind our house, but we have never seen one in the neighborhood.  I don’t like to think of them being in our park.  Whatever it was, it was sad (and gross) to see that old ‘White Socks’ had somehow met his doom.

Ok, the sad stuff is over.  But there is plenty more weirdness.

For instance…

If you read my Facebook posts, you know that Mark and I have seen an increase in the number of scorpions in our house lately.  There have been four sightings in the past two weeks.  And they are larger than usual.

Ok, not THAT large, but still pretty big.

We have also started spotting big furry tarantulas in the neighborhood, and every time we’ve seen one, it has been traveling in the middle of the street, moving fast, seemingly with a destination in mind.  But I have never seen one of the holes where they live, and this confuses me.  When I was growing up in Richardson, we had tarantulas in our yard (one fell off the screen door onto my neck in the seventh grade, but that’s a horror story for another time) but they all lived in easy-to-spot holes in the ground, next to sidewalks or under rocks.  And when we saw the tarantulas, they were usually sitting next to their holes or walking nearby, never “hurrying” down the middle of the street.

That is Mark's brave hand.  If this photo had
audio, you would hear, "Take the picture!
Take the picture! Take the picture!"

There have been an increased number of “For Sale” signs in the neighborhood this month as well.  Off the top of my head, I can think of nine houses that are currently on the market.   So maybe I’m not the only one noticing these creepy incidents.

And then yesterday…

When I walked Uno to the park yesterday, I noticed some suspicious holes under the roots of one of the big oak trees there.  I thought, Ah ha!  Maybe this is where all the tarantulas live!  (That would be really weird because it’s nowhere near where we have actually seen the tarantulas, but whatever.)  Then I noticed that the ground around the tree was littered with enormous dead beetles.  These things were brown, about the size of a walnut, HEADLESS, and sucked dry.  Yeah.

Uno and I backed away slowly and went home and locked the door.

Although the tree-of-death scared me, I was curious about it.  Was there really something living in those holes that feasted on huge beetles?  Also, I didn’t have my camera yesterday and was worried no one would believe me.  So, being the good little investigative blogger that I am, I went back today with my phone so I could take a picture of the holes and the carcasses.  

 

What I found out is this:  The thing that lives in the hole IS the giant beetle!  I saw a couple of live ones crawling around in there.  There was a big one near the entrance but he wasn’t in good light for a picture so I poked him with a stick and made him angry.  So angry that he GROWLED AT ME.  No kidding.  Here is a 25-second video of the giant beetle growling at me.  There is no narration because I was honestly too startled to speak.

So now the question remains, why are their dead HEADLESS brethren lying around outside the holes?  Was there a mass suicide?  Or an attack on the tree by something larger and creepier?  Or have the giant beetles turned on each other?  I didn’t stay around to find out.  I high-tailed it back home and dead-bolted the door.

Like I said before, I know some of you will say I’m crazy.  I’m blowing this whole thing out of proportion, bah, blah, blah.  Fine.  Maybe nothing creepy is going on.  But the way I see it, right now we’ve got people flocking out of a neighborhood where birds and cats are turning up dead, scorpions and tarantulas seem to be on the move, and something is decapitating the giant GROWLING beetles that live underneath a tree in the park.  If that’s not the plot of a horror story, I don’t know what is.

There.  I’ve gone on record.

Bringing Home the Bacon

My husband is currently the bread-winner in our household.  I used to win bread too, but then I quit my bread-winning job to write.  So now I mainly consume the bread.  The hubby is happy with this arrangement, because even though there is less bread in our house, the house is cleaner and more cheerful.  In short, the bread we do have tastes better. 

Ok, enough with the bread metaphor.  Moving on to bacon.

Being content with our current lifestyle does not keep the hubby from bragging about his ability to provide for our little family.  He regularly tells me as he leaves for work that he's "off to get the bacon" and sometimes when I ask what he did at work, he responds with "made the bacon".  If I cook (actual) bacon for him, he often suggests that I should thank him for bringing it home.

And that is why I am proud to announce that I recently brought home a little bacon of my own.

In January, I earned (hold onto your hats for this one) ONE DOLLAR (!!!) when my poem “My Moment of Weakness” was published on the Every Day Poets site.  (Check it out here.)  I’ll admit, that little accomplishment went to my head and I frivolously spent all of my earnings on gum.

Then, in May, one of my haiku was chosen for publication in Dos Gatos Press’s 2014 Texas Poetry Calendar, earning me a free copy of this gorgeous book: 

Get your own copy here!
20% off until the end of June.

And five of my poems won awards in the Austin Poetry Society’s annual contests, earning me $95 in prize money.

My sonnet, “Lost”, won 1^st place in The Neill Megaw Memorial Award and will be printed in the Austin Poetry Society’s anthology.

My untitled limerick won 2^nd place in The Jilted Award.

My pantoum, “Uno”, won 2^nd place in The Animal Passion Award.

My free verse poem, “Old Soul”, won 2^nd place in The Loyalty Award.

And my free verse poem, “View Crossing Mansfield Dam”, won 3^rd place in The Mary Oliver Award.

Now that's a decent amount of bacon.
About 20 pounds if my math is right.

Speaking of bacon, the rules for The Jilted Award called for all poems to be in limerick format on the subject of rejection.  My FICTION piece (which won second place) was this:

In a delicious little nightgown of red,

I presented him breakfast in bed,

but my heart was achin’

when he chose the bacon,

leaving me alone, hungry instead.

My husband did not know of this poem’s existence until he was seated next to me at the awards ceremony, where all first place poems were being read aloud to the audience by the poets.  He was quite content with my second place prize in this category.  The judge's comment on my poem was, "Bacon?  He chose bacon?  The man is clearly an idiot."  =)

And last but not least, this month, Dark Moon Digest has been kind enough to publish my very first short story in Issue #12, earning me a free copy of this beauty.  (To own your own paperback or ebook version, click here.)

I'm considering framing both covers
 side by side, for contrast.

My piece tells the story of a clown in a jack-in-the-box toy that sends messages to a little girl grieving over a loss.  Fun for the whole family!

So there you have it.  I’m a contributing member of the household again.  If I continue at this rate, our taxes next year are going to be very confusing.

A Love Affair With Books, a.k.a The Next 10 Books of 2013

I love books.  Real books with pages and ink and spines and jackets that can be removed to (sometimes) reveal more treasure underneath.  I love books with a hands-on intensity, the way some people might love a meatball sub or a really old sweatshirt.

And because I love books the way I do, you really should not loan me yours because soon I will forget the book belongs to you and begin treating it like mine. 

I will write in it—a tiny pencil note in the margin, if you're lucky, something I can erase upon remembering.  (A.R., I am certain you will never find the remnants of the marks I made in your copy of On Writing.) 

I will take it to a Chinese restaurant and spill homestyle tofu delight on page 73 (as I did with L.L.'s copy of Horns, sorry). 

I will leave it on the floor for the cat to use as a hairball-catcher.  (I apologize, E.H., but that issue of The Sun was just not salvageable at all.) 

Or, as in the case of the book that I borrowed from my husband's boss's wife, I will remember that it does not belong to me and that it does in fact belong to an individual who I would like to think well of me, and I will be very extra careful with the well-loved paperback and will go to great lengths to protect it from harm.  Yet still, inexplicably, it will sever the corners of its own front cover mid-flight between Baltimore and Dallas.  I blame the cramped conditions of Spirit Airlines for that one.  (And I ask forgiveness, again, from B.L.)

You are welcomed to borrow books from me, just know that they will come with bent corners and Chinese food stains and photos of my dog tucked inside and notes in the margins that I have forgotten I wrote and which I will later be embarrassed to discover that you read.  Oh, and if you borrow a poetry book, know that I often read those in the bathroom.

But still, my shelves are your shelves.  Borrow away.  (And then give them back, please, Chinese food stains and all.)

What I’ve Been Reading:  The Second Ten Books of 2013

11.  Raiders! The Story of the Greatest Fan Film Ever Made, by Alan Eisenstock

In the 1980s, two kids in Mississippi decided to make a shot-for-shot remake of Raiders of the Lost Ark.  And they did it.  It took them eight years and they nearly killed themselves in the process, but they did it.  The snakes, the fiery bar scene, the submarine, and yes, the BOULDER.  They did it.  The boys grew up while making this movie; they experienced parent divorces, first kisses, and trips to the emergency room, all while filming their masterpiece.  And the final movie?  It’s awesome.  This book is the story of those boys, their movie, and how all the magic happened.

I saw their movie before reading the book, and I loved them both.  To read my more detailed and very enthusiastic review of the book on Goodreads, click here.

To see a trailer of their movie, click here.

And to see the entire movie, come over and bring some beer or chocolate to share.  I happen to own a DVD of the full film (it was a gift—I asked no questions about how it was obtained) and I would be more than happy to host a screening for interested parties.

12.  The Liberation of Gabriel King, by K.L. Going

This young adult book about the summer of 1976 in Georgia tackles the big issue of racism in a pretty tame and endearing way.  It was a good, quick read, and Going has a real knack for capturing childhood fears.  Her description of Gabriel’s first heart-thumping leap off the high tree branch onto the rope swing above the bullies at the pond (pages 90-93) is spot on.

13.  Writing Down the Bones:  Freeing the Writer Within, by Natalie Goldberg

This book was so good that it turned me into a criminal.  (Click here to read about my crime.)  I highly recommend it to writers, but in this case, I will not loan out my own copy.  I treated the book like a journal as I read it, scrawling all sorts of personal notes and drafts in the margins and blank spaces.  It’s now too intimate to hand over.  Plus, you need your own blank copy to do the same. 

To show you just how helpful this book was to me, watch this short video I made.

14.  The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield

The day I bought The Thirteenth Tale, I had been writing for hours at Epoch coffee shop on North Loop, sitting at a table outside that overlooked the parking lot and, beyond, a large field with a few scattered headstones sticking out of the ground in no particular order or arrangement.  A cemetery, no doubt, but an odd one.  From the moment I noticed it, I wanted to take a closer look—it was fenced, but I hoped to find a gate or at least a better view—but I was so caught up in my writing that day that I kept putting off my curiosity until the sun set lower and lower and lower and finally it was the onset of dusk and here I was, the classic vampire hunter in the old movie, just now setting out to visit the graveyard. I'd had all day to do it—it was no one's fault but my own if I got bit.

I found no gate and, darkness being what it was, probably would not have entered at that point even if I had, but I did find a sign:  The Austin State Hospital Cemetery.  (After reading about it online, I know there must be ghosts there.)  When I stopped to peer through the chain-link, I found I was not the only curious soul prowling the park that night.  Two cats, an orange one and a calico, were hanging out inside like they owned the place.  The calico sauntered amongst the tombstones, while the orange tom glared at me from a few feet beyond the fence, his eyes glowing with the reflection of the streetlights. 

The whole scene was a poem, and I tried to capture it in my head as I walked on, not toward my car, but toward the strip of shops down the street a bit, my laptop and all my writing implements strapped snuggly to my back and out of reach.  Still reciting the few lines of verse in my head, I wandered into a place called Monkey Wrench Books. 

I would describe the place as a bookstore if that description did not seem so alien. Although the small store was full of books, when I walked in I felt like I was interrupting something.  The few people in the place stopped to look at me for a moment, seemingly alarmed at my presence.  I briefly wondered if the store was closed, but since the lights were on, the door open, I continued inside.  There were new books and used books and many books on political reform, labor unions, and history, but there were other books too—one whole shelf contained modern texts of random genres, possibly used but seemingly new (in good condition anyway) and all for $1 each.  That's where I found The Thirteenth Tale.  It's title alone seemed appropriate for the odd evening I was having, so I made my choice and was ready to check out and leave. 

There were people moving furniture and talking in low voices and I suddenly felt as if I had stumbled into the middle of a revolutionary plot.  I wanted to get back out again before I discovered what we were revolting against.  I stood at the counter near the cash register and smiled at anyone who would look at me.  No response.  A girl walked by and I asked, "Do you work here?" She said yes.  I said, "Can I buy this?" and held up the book.  She said, "Uh, ask him," and waved her arm in the general direction of the guys ignoring me.  When I got the attention of the correct “him” and asked again (more timidly this time because I was truly beginning to feel like I was in the wrong place—like someone who had wandered onto the set of a play and was asking one of the actors if they could purchase a novel being used as a prop) he seemed confused/annoyed/inconvenienced, but he did work the cash register and sell me the book.  I also bought, at the last moment, a Monkey Wrench sticker, so that I could both mark the occasion and also to try to let him know that I was on his side, whatever side that might be.  Then I skedaddled. 

On the way to my car, as I walked again past the cemetery with the feline sentinels, I scribbled the first draft of the poem in my head on the blank page at the back of the book, making this perhaps the first book I have ever written in before reading a single page.

If you enjoyed my tale of odd characters and graveyards and mysterious books and possible ghosts, then you will love The Thirteenth Tale.  It kept me entertained from the first page to the last.

15.  Homer & Langley, by E.L. Doctorow

This novel, which I read for my book club, is loosely based on the real Collyer brothers, Homer and Langley, who were famous in New York in the 30s and 40s for their eccentric personalities and compulsive hoarding. They both died in their massively cluttered and booby-trapped brownstone on Fifth Avenue in 1947.  The book was extremely well-written, touching at times and amusing at others, but once I learned that the characters were based off of real people, I found the true story to be even more interesting.  I suggest doing some exploring on Wikipedia.

16.  Carrie, by Stephen King

I’m late to the game on this one.  I just now got around to reading Stephen King’s first iconic novel.  It was definitely worth my time.  To see my full review of it on Goodreads, click here.

17.  Isaac’s Storm, by Erik Larson

This nonfiction account of the 1900 Galveston hurricane (which I read for another book club) could have been much shorter.  While it did paint a very vivid picture of the horror that storm created, the reader has to wade through a lot of scientific history to get there, and for me the first one hundred pages dragged.  

 

18.  Crossing the Trestle, by Jim Meirose

I picked up this tiny book (only fifty small pages) for free from Write By Night. I hate to say this, because I too am a new, struggling writer, and I want to be supportive, but it wasn't very good.  The introduction was the best part.  The three stories inside were... odd.  The first was extremely short and seemingly pointless.  The second and third had good overall ideas but were tedious to read, partly due to the many (in my opinion) unforgivable typos.  I am actually surprised (and confused) about that.  The copyright page asserts that all three stories were previously published in various journals.  Putting aside my feelings about the content (maybe I am wrong and these stories are brilliant) I do not understand how such poorly edited stories could make it to print.  Examples of errors include (but are certainly not limited to):  "but" for "buy", Ford (car) not being capitalized, and questions not ending in question marks.  I am puzzled as to why these reviews would publish work with so many errors.  And if they didn’t print them that way, then why did the author revert to sub-par work when publishing his little book?  I wanted to like Crossing the Trestle. I truly enjoyed the story in the introduction about the father carrying the dogs over the trestle time and time again, but I did not like the stories inside.  Two of them were on the verge of being… something… but they never quite got there, and the glaring mistakes were too distracting for me to get past.

19.  Transfer, by Naomi Shihab Nye

Although Nye is one of my all-time favorite poets, this was not my favorite book by her.  Still, it contained some wonderful words within its pages.  To see my full review on Goodreads, click here.

20.  Ghost Story, by Peter Straub

This was a good book, very creepy in places, and one night I actually had nightmares after reading it.  I enjoyed the first half much more than the last, but then again I’ve always thought that ghost stories are scarier before you know for sure what the thing is that you’re dealing with—once something has a face, a name, a purpose, no matter how ugly it is, some of the terror is gone.  The end was a little confusing to me, but I also had a fever when I read it.

Be on the lookout for these titles in the next 10 books of 2013: