Posts tagged ‘horror’
THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK: A GHOST STORY WITH A TOUCH OF FACT
The Legend of French Creek was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in January,2010.
I enjoy writing stories using actual locations. French Creek and Ricketts Glen are both fantastic state parks in Pennsylvania. Since I write mostly horror I imagine, even though it’s fiction, that the story might provide a bit of a chill to nearby residents of these locations.
The trail mentioned as being in French Creek exists as does the remains of a structure next to the trail.
Unfortunately, our dog, Millie, no longer exists but she did go camping with us on the camping trip used in this story. I miss her.
The Legend
of
French Creek
In southeastern Pennsylvania, the small towns yield to a rural countryside. Heavily timbered, with a sense of remoteness, the area has always been one of legend and mystery. The story you’re about to read is one of the legends generated by this atmosphere. For those curious enough to seek out the location of this tale, the signposts are in the story. A map of French Creek State Park is all you need.
* * *
My name is Will Trizma, and like most writers of the macabre, I am constantly on the look-out for material to weave into a piece of horror, spending time driving down back roads seeking scenes and atmosphere for my stories.
One warm October day, with the foliage a kaleidoscope of rich color, I went for a drive and chanced upon what I thought was a goldmine, but now I’m of a different mind. But, as you can see, a story was created.
My wife, Joan, and I were about to go camping at French Creek State Park on Halloween night. Our dog, Millie, would join us. Her disposition is gentle, but she is always aware of strangers or something out of the ordinary.
Joan was a high school teacher and gone most of the day. I spend my days at home writing. But when my muse fails, I drive the rural roads taking notes on settings that I may be able to use in a story. It was one such drive that inspired the tale you are reading.
I was driving along highway 23, just east of Elverson, when I saw a roadside store I just had to explore. It was a small building, faded white in color, and above the door was a sign proclaiming, General Store, in equally faded gold letters with a green background, looking like something out of the 1950’s. I parked in the small, graveled lot. Along one side of the store was a good-sized garden with the last tomatoes and peppers of the season. A series of vines snaked through the garden with butternut squash waiting for the first frost of fall to turn them into a golden brown. I smiled, thinking that the bounty of this garden was the source for produce for sale in the store I was about to enter.
I climbed two well-worn stairs and entered an earlier era. Behind two rows of fully stocked shelves was the counter, and behind the counter stood a man who had to be eighty if he was a day. He called out, “Hello, young fella. What can I get for you?”
The store was the sort that existed before the supermarket came into existence. To my right was an ancient refrigerator case holding cold cuts and cheese. I walked the two rows of shelves. There was soup, canned vegetables and a host of other products. But where a modern grocery store might have ten brands of the same product and a vast quantity of each, there was only one brand with four or five samples available. As a guy, I thought this made shopping a lot easier. The shelves to the far left held products for the local sportsman. Ammo and freshwater tackle lined the shelves. After drinking in the atmosphere of the store, I wandered up to the counter. I really wanted to talk to this old fella and get more of the feel for this area to perhaps use in a story.
On the counter was a cardboard display of beef jerky. I took out a sleeve and laid it down.
“That’ll be seventy-five cents,” said the old man. “You from these parts?”
“No, just driving around,” I answered.
“Must be on vacation driving around in early afternoon.”
“No, not on vacation,” I said.
“Young fella like you out in the middle of the day must be unemployed.”
“No sir, I’m a writer. I’m always working, maybe not making much money, but always working.”
“What’ cha write?”
“I write horror stories. This area of the county is full of ghost stories and legends. When I’m between stories, I ride around looking for atmosphere and leads I can use.”
“What’s your name?”
“Will Trizma,” I replied.
“Ain’t never heard of you. I do enjoy a good ghost story but never heard of you.”
“That’s one of my problems,” I answered. “Not enough people have heard of me, but I’m working on that. Right now, I’m looking for inspiration for a new story.”
“What’s your new story about?”
“That’s the problem; I’m stuck. I’ve found plenty of atmosphere, but no story line.”
The old man leaned forward, “You want a story?” He looked over his shoulder, although we were the only ones in the store. “I first heard this story from my grandpa. Scared the ‘you know what’ out of me.”
“Sure,” I said full of anticipation. “I enjoy hearing the local lore and set my stories in locales that really exist.”
The old man’s voice grew soft, “This is a story, or maybe not. I don’t know and never had the nerve to check it out. It’s called The Legend of French Creek, although it comes from way before the state park existed.
TO BE CONTINUED
THE SUPERIOR SPECIES: CONCLUSION
HISTORY IS REPEATED
When news of the existence of the two Neanderthal children became known to the scientific community, Gold was overwhelmed with requests to study them. The boys were now ten and possessed all the characteristics of the typical Neanderthal physique. They were short and extremely muscular with prominent brows and wide nose associated with their kind. It was their mental abilities that Gold found both interesting and disturbing.
Gold taught the boys to read. Now they devoured books. They were sponges for knowledge. Fielding still visited the boys. On one such visit he told Gold, “You know Carl, physically, the Neanderthals are developing precisely as expected. It is their mental faculties that I find intriguing.”
“I share your amazement,” said Gold. “They have a thirst for knowledge that far surpasses what their human contemporaries demonstrate. It’s almost as if they are making up for thousands of years of extinction.”
* * *
A wild storm raged as Gold drove to the Neanderthal residence. They were fifteen now and had become something beyond human.
Gold entered the living room to find Adam and John reading. They were always reading. Gold stood drenched before them. He reached into his pocket and produced a revolver.
Adam said, “I fully expected this to happen someday. I expected history to repeat itself. You fear us. I have read all that has been written about Neanderthals. I know the conjectures your fellow scientists have about our intelligence. I knew, early on, that you realized how wrong those theories were.
“At the same time, we both realized that you would not accept us as merely different. Because of your human egos, we appear threatening, superior. John and I are ready to accept the only outcome this experiment could produce.”
Gold shot twice with the realization that he was the savage were and the Neanderthals were the superior species.
THE END
THE SUPERIOR SPECIES: CONTINUED
THE BIRTH
Bill March had three women he had used as surrogate mothers in the past who refused to see the babies for whom they had made life possible. They were ready to perform the function again. All were young, in their mid to late twenties and all were single. They were all paid for their service and all three shared similar feelings about their pregnancy. They wanted to provide a family to couples who needed help.
The three women were each implanted with two of the Neanderthal embryos. They were all told that the fetuses belonged to a very wealthy couple, and that they would be paid well for their services and their confidentiality. When it came time to deliver the babies, the births would take place at the couple’s country estate. All preparations had been made to equip a room at the estate with the criteria of a delivery room, all the latest equipment necessary to handle whatever emergency might occur.
Two of the women miscarried.
These miscarriages revived the doubts March originally felt about the project.
Pat Meyers carried the last two fetal Neanderthals to term. She knew she was pregnant with twins, but she grew no larger than she had when she carried a single child. This disturbed her. She also knew she carried two boys. Even with her doubts, it made her happy to know she was bringing joy and creating a family. She was making it all possible.
Two weeks before her due date, she was moved to a country estate in northern Connecticut. The house belonged to Gold and had been in his family for many years. Mark told the two nurses who would assist in the delivery, “The babies may seem somewhat peculiar. You will be paid to overlook anything out of the ordinary. After all, we must be sensitive to the parent’s feelings.”
Pat went into labor and had an extremely easy delivery. Although she had carried the babies to term, both were less than four pounds at birth.
Each nurse cared for one of the infants. The boys were covered with a fine down of black hair. One of the nurses whispered to the other, “Look at his head. It’s so misshapen after such an easy delivery.”
Once the babies were settled in the nursery, the nurses left the estate. As they walked to their cars one said to the other, “Those infants were indeed peculiar with their misshapen skulls and covered with hair like an ape. But the one thing I will never forget about them was their eyes. They weren’t the eyes of any baby I’ve ever seen. They had a weird look to them, like intelligence. I felt they were looking right through me.
The other nurse responded, “Did you also get the feeling that they feared our touch. I’ve never seen that in a newborn before.”
REALIZATION
From the time of their births, the babies struck Gold, Fielding, Sanders, and Mark as odd. The infants appeared tense, as if they had an inherent fear of Homo sapiens. The only time they relaxed was when they could see one another.
“Strange,” Gold noted, “it’s as if they know they are alien to us.”
The babies grew into muscular toddlers and were walking at six months. Gold and Fielding closely followed their development. Sanders and Mark occasionally inquired as to the progress of the children, but other projects quickly took them out of the picture. Their major concern was when Gold would go public with the astounding accomplishment. They were eager for the recognition their work would bring. Gold would answer their inquiries by saying, “Soon, very soon.”
Fielding spent hours observing the Neanderthal infants, monitoring how their bodies developed as they matured. They were far more agile than he expected, nothing like the lumbering brutes commonly associated with Neanderthals. As expected, their frames indicated that they would develop into adults of short stature compared to modern man. Their physique began to fill out, becoming more muscular than that of human babies. Gold, however, would uncover the true mysteries of the Neanderthals when he studied their psychological development.
The infants began talking at eighteen months, and not with the fumbling birth of knowledge of speech associated with human children. Gold discovered them talking one day as he entered the room where they slept. He was stunned, for he never heard them parrot sounds as children do to develop speech. The Neanderthals did possess the high nasal voices predicted by the bone structure of their skulls. Gold found the sound of their voices annoying.
Studying their psychological development, Gold thought, these infants are progressing far more rapidly than human toddlers of comparable age. Gold began recording his conversations with the Neanderthals. During one of his sessions with them they both seemed withdrawn. He asked, “What do you boys think about?”
The Neanderthal born first was called Adam, the other John. Adam answered, “Why, he asked,” are we so different from you and the others we meet?”
* * *
It had been four years since the Neanderthals were cloned and Gold became more and more ill at ease about what the experiment had created. Fielding and Sanders wanted the results of the experiment to be published. Mark preferred to be left out of the picture.
One night Fielding and Sanders visited Gold in his study, site of the initial plans for the project. Fielding asked Gold, “Carl, don’t you think it’s time to publish our Neanderthal results?”
Sanders added, “The boys have shown none of the signs of premature aging that many of the animals clone in the past have exhibited.”
Gold said, “The boys are coming along fine. In fact, their intelligence level, given their age, is remarkable. But I still feel we should wait to publish. There is something strange about the boys. I would prefer to let them develop further before we go public.”
In the end, Fielding and Sanders persevered. A manuscript was prepared and sent to Science.
TO BE CONTINUED
THE SUPERIOR SPECIES: CONTINUED
NEW HAVEN, CONNETICUT
It was a wild night with a howling and frigid wind buffeting the windows of the senior faculty house on the Yale campus. Sheets of rain kept all the details of the world beyond the windows indefinite.
Four men, leaders in their fields, sat before a roaring fire, the flames reflecting off the dark wooden panels of the study walls. Each man held a brandy stiffer and appreciated the ambiance of the room and the moment. The men were in one of the faculty houses provided to senior members of Yale. The residence was that of Dr. Carl Gold, an evolutionary psychologist. Gold was in his mid-sixties, and with his trim build and gray mane of hair, would not be out of place in the boardroom of a major company or arguing on the floor of the senate. He was a leader in his field with a worldwide reputation.
Gold had invited three men he knew by reputation as giants in their own fields. He also knew them all personally, in varying degrees, and was confident that what was discussed this stormy night would not go beyond the walls of his study.
Across from Gold sat Fred Fielding. Tall and gaunt, Fielding had a permanent tan from his many field trips as physical anthropologist. Next to Fielding was John Sanders, a world-renowned human geneticist. Sanders published his work in all the major journals, but most of his work was now tied up in the debate over the use of human stem cells. Sanders, with his short thick build, was the opposite of Fielding. With his thick black hair and swarthy complexion, he was often mistaken for a maintenance man. The broken nose he earned during his collegiate boxing career added to the image.
The last of the three invited guests was Dr. Bill Mark, a fertility specialist and adjunct professor in Yale’s medical school. Tall, slim and blond, with his athletic build, he appeared to be in his mid-forties although he was well on the way to sixty. As each man introduced himself and discussed their specialties, Mark wondered if he had been summoned to this meeting by mistake. His discipline did not fit in with the others present. He was not a researcher. He was a physician.
Gold surveyed his colleagues and friends. “Gentlemen, the storm that rages beyond these walls will be dwarfed by the storm that may rage within these walls tonight. I’m sure you are all aware of the magnificent discovery made in the Swiss Alps. The body of a perfectly preserved Neanderthal, using carbon dating, is estimated to be thirty thousand years old. I have spent my life studying these creatures. From the time the first Neanderthal skull was found in 1848, this subset of man has remained a mystery. We are still trying to fathom the extent of their intelligence and how they fit into the human tree of development.
“There are many facts about these distant relatives of modern man that lead to fascinating conjecture. To begin with, their brains were ten percent larger than that of modern man, yet they are thought to be simple brutes. We now know that Neanderthals manufactured tools and produced art. The mask found on the banks of the Loire in France was an unexpected find. The fact that they produced art indicates they had an appreciation of life beyond their own existence. They apparently did lack one skill. They were not as adept at fashioning weapons as their fellow bipeds.
“Another intriguing discovery found in the Kabara Cave in Israel was a Neanderthal bone of extreme importance. The bone I refer to was a Neanderthal hyoid bone. This find dispels the theory that Neanderthals could do nothing but grunt. The presence of a hyoid bone indicates they were capable of speech. Taking into consideration other aspects of their skulls, it is thought that Neanderthals had a high, nasal voice.
“There are many questions to be answered, and now we have the means at our disposal to journey from conjecture to fact. I have obtained a sample of the newly discovered Neanderthal. The reason I have called you all together this evening is to formulate a plan, that my utilizing modern genetics and in vitro fertilization will produce a Neanderthal. We shall be able to answer all the questions that have plagued modern man about the Neanderthal enigma.”
Fred Fielding was the first to speak. “As a physical anthropologist, I look forward to examining the body of the recently discovered Neanderthal. But your point is clear. To see how the physical characteristics, whose meaning we assume to deduce, come into play in a living specimen would mean phenomenal advances in our knowledge of man’s distant relative.”
John Sanders, the geneticist, now spoke up. “With a specimen from this newly discovered Neanderthal, modern genetics could solve, once and for all, the debate of where Neanderthals reside in man’s family tree. However, what you propose is to produce a living individual. To do that would require cloning, a method too dangerous to try on a human – to say nothing about it being illegal.”
Gold said, “My dear Dr. Sanders, you would not be cloning a member of the Homo sapiens species. You would be cloning an example of Homo neanderhtalensis.”
A smile crept across Sanders’ face. This argument would be viable, until the law caught up with the science. “In that case, I am willing to isolate the DNA. What we would need next is a human egg and female willing to carry the Neanderthal to term.”
All eyes were now on Dr. Mark, the fertilization specialist. He said, “I now see where I fit in. I see how we all fit into this project. I will not mince words. I feel uncomfortable about this proposition. The mechanisms of the plan would be simple. I have a supply of donor eggs. We can remove the egg’s DNA and use cloning methods described in the literature, insert Neanderthal DNA and initiate mitosis. I also have a group of women we use in my practice who are willing to carry babies as surrogate mothers but refuse to see the baby after birth. They want no chance to form an attachment to the child.
“I think the experiment Dr. Gold proposes can be accomplished. My question is should it be done? By using the scientific name of the Neanderthal as a loophole, we feel we are free to create an individual who may possess human emotions, who may possess a soul. This is much different than cloning a sheep or a cat, no matter how much we choose to belittle the difference. I am not sure I can proceed with this endeavor.”
Gold said, “I picked you, Bill, because I knew you would not go easily with this plan. What we are planning to do is of profound importance, and also of profound scientific and moral complexity. Yet, for science to advance, sometimes risks must be taken. I appreciate your arguments. I know there are risks, but we have the capacity to venture into the unknown and bring light to a land of mystery. Through our expertise we can gain knowledge of the beginning of our humanity.”
The debate went on until dawn lit the study windows. Fielding and Sanders warmed up to their initial confidence. Mark persisted in his initial skepticism. But in the end, as a new day on Earth began, a new chapter in mankind’s knowledge was agreed upon.
THE CLONING
John Sanders received frozen tissue samples from Gold. As he gazed at the sample packed in dry ice, he could not believe he was peering into a box containing a tissue sample of a ‘man’ dead thirty thousand years. Sanders’ ego did not get the better of him. He knew he had been out of the lab for too long to attempt the important work that lay ahead. He employed a promising PhD candidate, Michael Rose, to do the actual work. He would tell Rose as little as possible about the nature of the experiment. The meeting at Gold’s study had left him with the feeling that he was involved in a conspiracy rather than an experiment, the fewer people that knew about the true purpose of the experiment, the better.
Sanders’ first meeting with Rose went well. “Michael, I would like you to help me in a special project.”
“Certainly Dr. Sanders. I’m a little desperate for a new project now that the study I’m working on is going nowhere.”
Sanders said, “It’s a cloning experiment.”
“Fantastic,” said Rose. “What will we be cloning?”
Sanders hesitated, and then answered, “A non-human primate.”
“Has that ever been done before Dr. Sanders?”
“Not to my knowledge. We would be making history.”
Rose could not believe his luck. He was going from a dead-end research project to an historic experiment.
“When do we begin?”
“Immediately,” Sanders said. “I already have a tissue sample from which you can extract the DNA for the cloning. I also have a list of references I want you to read and extract from them the method used to fertilize the egg and develop it into an embryo.”
* * *
Two weeks later Rose had the DNA extracted and the materials he would need for the union of the egg and extracted DNA to begin their journey to a living entity.
Sanders called Mark, “Bill, we’re ready to implant the DNA into the eggs.”
“I’ll ship them out by express mail,” said Mark. “Good luck!”
The eggs arrived in a container of liquid nitrogen. The paperwork indicated that there were ten eggs contained in the container. When all was ready, with Sanders at his side, Rose began the cloning experiment.
The eggs were rapidly thawed. Once thawed, Rose removed their DNA and inserted the ‘primate DNA’ he had prepared. Each egg was given its own petri dish of life sustaining fluids and put into an incubator.
Both Sanders and Rose periodically checked on the eggs. Initially, all ten began to divide. But soon four of the small balls of cells died. The remaining six progressed to a point where they could be slowly cooled, then frozen and stored in liquid nitrogen until they could be implanted into a uterus.
Rose was excited as he entered Sanders’ office. “Dr. Sanders, the embryos are frozen. I’m looking forward to seeing the results of the experiment.”
Sanders said, “I’ll let you know how things progress.”
“Do we have the monkeys that will carry the embryos to term here?”
“No Michael, the implantation will be done at another institution.”
After Rose left, Sanders sat at his desk and thought, You’ll be told the embryos all died after implantation. For you, this experiment is over.
Strangely, Sanders found himself feeling envy for Rose. His dreams had recently been haunted by what this adventure might produce.
TO BE CONTINUED
A VALENTINE’S GIFT: A STORY OF UNDYING LOVE
A VALENTINE’S GIFT: A STORY OF UNDYING LOVE
Jim Reed sat in a desolate park in a seedy section of the city and pulled the collar of his badly worn coat up as the North wind howled, he sipped from the bottle concealed in the brown paper bag and, with each sip, a grimace spread across his face while momentary warmth filled his empty belly.
“That god damned day is coming,” he thought. He did not have a calendar for a calendar needed a wall on which to hang and his watch was gone, long gone to a pawnshop. Jim kept track of the date and headlines the world produced from the newspaper machines along the sidewalk.
He drank rapidly; trying to prevent his mind from wandering to the day he lost his future, his purpose, that Valentine’s Day five years ago. But he could not prevent his numbed mind from reviewing his life and recalling the day his reason for being was erased.
* * *
While in college, Jim developed a drinking problem, and it lingered after graduation. He found a job as an accountant, worked hard during the day and drank hard during the night.
A friend from work wanted to fix Jim up with a girl. A date was arranged, a Dutch-treat dinner. Jim arrived at the Italian restaurant early, sat at the bar drinking red wine when a stunning woman with long black hair walked in searching for someone. She approached Jim and said, “I’m Debbie Wilson, could you be Jim Reed?”
Jim could not believe that this woman was his blind date. He gulped down his wine, took her hand, and headed for the restaurant area. He drank less than he usually did on a date and just enjoyed talking to Debbie. Before he knew it, they had spent two hours over dinner, and he was sober. He wanted to pay for dinner, but Debbie demanded to pay her own way. She smiled and said, “Next time you can treat.” This brought a grin to Jim’s face. Debbie paid her part of the bill, and as the cashier placed the change in her hand, Debbie exclaimed, “What’s this?” She looked down at the dirty white penny in her hand.
“That’s a steel penny,” Jim explained. “One year, during World War II, pennies were made of a composite in order to save copper in order to make shell castings.”
Debbie’s eyes brightened as she said, “This is going to be my lucky penny. It’s so unusual.”
Their relationship grew into love, and six months later they were married. They bought a small house and soon Debbie was pregnant. Jim’s life had a hope he had never imagined as he watched Debbie grow with their child.
They found a hospital providing a room for natural birth but had the facilities to cope with any problems that might occur. One day, as Debbie was preparing a special dinner to celebrate a special day, her water broke. Jim rushed her to the hospital thinking, “By the time this Valentine’s Day is over, I’ll have two loves, not one.”
After they entered the hospital, a nurse took Debbie’s blood pressure and immediately had her rushed to the emergency room. Debbie’s eyes reflected the fear Jim felt as he sat at her bedside. When Debbie began to convulse, Jim was escorted to the waiting room.
Hours later their obstetrician entered the waiting room and sat next to Jim. The doctor’s eyes never left the floor. In a soft voice he told Jim, “I’m sorry but your wife is gone, we lost the baby girl too. If you will come with me, I’ll take you to your wife.”
Jim felt horror, shock and helplessness all at once. On shaky legs he followed the doctor and soon found himself standing next to a bed and staring down at Debbie’s pretty face. She seemed so much at peace while Jim was in such torment.
The next few days were a blur; Jim drank himself into numbness while friends and family expressed their regrets. Jim stayed numb for five years, never cried over his loss, keeping the grief tied up inside. He stayed numb as he was fired and eventually lost his house. He had been homeless for two years now and just didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.
* * *
Jim left the park and made his way into the city. He mumbled, “That god damned day is here,” as he sat on the grate of an office building immersed in the steam, trying to stay warm. The hour was late and the street was strangely deserted. Steam created an odd glow around the streetlamps. Through the mist, a woman holding a small baby approached him.
“You look so sad. You deserve a better life,” she said.
Jim yelled, “Get the hell away from me,” but the woman wouldn’t budge. She just stood before Jim as her eyes filled with tears.
“Your life needs to turn around, I’d like to help you,” she repeated this as she placed a small cloth sack before Jim. As she turned to leave she said something strange, “We love you.”
Jim watched through the mist as the women departed; saw the figure of the woman recede into the distance, melting into the mist.
Jim sat there, drinking from his bag and lifted the small cloth sack. He opened it and spilled its contents into his hand. He sat there looking at the single dirty white penny. He lifted the paper bag to his lips and then tossed it away as tears coursed his face.
THE END
THE SHAPE OF MOVIE ALIENS REVEALED
THE SHAPE OF MOVIE ALIENS REVEALED
In a post on January 12, I dealt with the shape of aliens and how I have heard complaints that they usually, in some way, resemble us. The Blob, Nope and Solaris were movies where the aliens definitely did not look like us.
SPOILER ALERT. If you have not seen these movies and want to save the identity of aliens until after you see the movies. STOP READING NOW.
In The Blob it is hard for me to believe that it is an intelligent life form capable of supporting a society. I think of the blob as a being which an advanced society sent to see what is ‘out there’ and has some means of reporting back. Really, it is nothing more than an eating machine. I also, in past posts, mention that I wrote a novella, Elmo’s Sojourn, where a retired scientist transported an alien species through wormholes into his cellar and decides to return to its home planet only to discover that it is actually someone’s pet. I get the same sort of distraction with The Blob.
Now to Nope and Solaris which, I feel, demonstrates fantastic departure from the usual alien shape
In Nope an alien ship hovers in Earth’s skies. There is one point in the movie when there is a rapid extension from the craft in the sky. I thought that this was the alien showing itself.
However, the alien is, in fact, the entire spacecraft. I think this is a fantastic piece of science fiction imagination. This started me trying to picture its society and how it multiplies. Probably as an ameba does. It reaches a point where it splits.
Years ago, I belonged to a very small science fiction writers’ group. In the group was a woman who wrote a story which had an interesting twist. She had a spacecraft which could transport passengers and the entire spacecraft was an alien. Her imagination was ahead of its time.
Now to Solaris where the alien is the ocean covering the planet. The ocean can produce solid objects. It also controls the thought of the human inhabitants in the spacecraft orbiting the planet. To show the extent of the mind control the ocean has over humans, one of them is visited by his wife who has been dead for ten years.
At the end of the movie the man visited by his dead wife returns to Earth or thinks he has returned to Earth. The movie shows he is in the same setting where he was before he left. The scene pulls back and you see an island in the ocean. That is where he actually is. One thing you notice when he is back on ‘Earth’ is that the ocean made a mistake. It is raining inside of the house.
So much for aliens who usually resemble us.
RETURN OF THE BLOB (BLOBS)
RETURN OF THE BLOB (BLOBS)
In my post on January 12, I discussed shapes of aliens and how, in three movies, the usual mold was broken and said the answer to who the aliens were would be given to you on January 18. That revelation is moving to January 24. Gives you more time to see the movies.
This post is for anyone who has an imagination and would like to try their hand at writing a story.
Not long ago I mentioned that I watched the movie, The Blob, staring Steve McQueen on YouTube. My imagination went into high gear when I coupled the end of the movie with the current condition of our planet. The Blob can be immobilized by freezing. So, the end of the movie has the Blob being transported by plane to the arctic and parachuted on a pallet. I imagined, upon hitting the ground, that it fractures into hundreds, perhaps thousands of pieces. I feel there is definitely the possibility of a sequel. However, I am too busy to write one, therefore, what follows are a series of ideas for anyone who wants to write the story and has my full permission to write the sequel.
Here are my ideas for a future story for the Blob.
The Blob lands in the arctic and has broken into pieces, and due to climate change, the area where it landed in the arctic begins to warm and all those pieces of the Blog come back to life. Now you have hundreds of Blobettes (my term) looking for someplace to go. The obvious place they would return to, I picture, is where they landed on Earth, Phoenixville, Pennsylvania.
What happens along the way to their considered home is where your imagination takes over along when what happens when they get to Phoenixville.
I might mention that I wrote a novella, Elmo’s Sojourn, which contains a hint of what could be involved in the ending of your story.
Elmo is a retired Los Alamos scientist and tinkers in the lab he has in his cellar. He thinks it is possible to travel to distant planets through wormholes. He builds a device and tries it out which results in a creature appearing which is obviously from a distant planet. It has the shape of a fire hydrant and has a singular eye which travels around the top of the creature’s body. Elmo decides to return with it to its home planet and discovers it is not a creature of vast intelligence but is someone’s pet.
If someone does venture to write a story let me know. Now, back to work
THE SHAPE OF ALIENS
THE SHAPE OF ALIENS
Some time ago I heard of a complaint about the shape of aliens in movies. Being a science fiction writer, this caught my attention.
The complaint was that the shape of aliens in movies usually resemble us or look vaguely like us. They will have a torso and a head or something that resembles a head and some sort of sensory organs. Along with appendages be they arms legs or tentacles.
The reason for this post is to present three movies which break this mole.
The first movie is the old classic The Blob which I discussed in a recent previous post. Many know what the Blob looks like. However, younger science fiction enthusiasts may not. You can view The Blob on YouTube to see what the alien does looks like.
The next movie is Solaris. A Russian version of the movie is also available on You Tube. There was also an American version starring George Clooney. In this movie you may not realize who the alien is until the end of the movie. You might even have to read about it on Google to confirm your suspicions.
The final movie is Nope, one of the best science fiction movies I have seen in quite a while. You will have to search for this one. I saw this movie once along with someone having their second viewing. They had to explain a few points in the movie I did not catch. But they still missed who the alien was. If you can’t identify the alien, or make sure you are correct, you again can Google for an explanation identifying the alien and explaining the fine points of the movie.
I will wait until January 18 to post an explanation of the identity of the alien in each movie. This should give you plenty of time to, if you are interested, view all or some of these movies. Whether or not if you watch them you can visit my blog on January 18 for an explanation of the alien’s identity.
THE BLOB: A CLASSIC WITH FLAWS
THE BLOB: A CLASSIC WITH FLAWS
I just finished watching, perhaps, the worst science fiction/horror movie I ever saw. And I have seen quite a few science fiction movies because they are my favorite genres. Yet this movie is one of the most famous movies of this type made during the 1950’s.
The movie was The Blob made in 1958. I must have seen it as a kid. Now I wanted to see the movie again because I live in the middle of Blob country., West Chester, PA. Mentioned in the movie is the town of Downingtown, which is just down the road. But the hub of Blob country is the nearby town of Phoenixville home of the Colonial Theater. The town holds a Blob fest every summer. And if you want to be part of the main event during the fest and redo the most famous scene from the movie you can be part of the crowd running out of the Colonial Theater.
The inspiration for this post was the ending seem in many monster movies of this era, The End ?.
In the movie Steve McQueen is the only name which survived the test of time. I can’t really say he acted in the movie; no one really acted in the movie, they just talked. And I would say the plot was weak at best. The blob comes down as a meteor and forms a crater. In the crater is a small sphere which opens when an old man discovers the crater and when the sphere opens, there is the blob which attaches to the man and the ‘action’ begins. Later in the movie Steve McQueen’s character, along with some of his friends, discovers the crater and a hot rock which they theorize as the origin of the blob. This is never corrected so the origin of the blob goes from being a sphere to a rock.
McQueen’s character and his friends spend the majority of their time trying to convince the town sheriff that there is a monster rolling around town eating people. Soon the sheriff goes from disbelief to accepting the fact that people are being eaten and puts the number at 50 for no apparent reason while trying to disperse the growing crowd. Little to nothing is explained in the movie as to the origin of the Blob. Things just happen. What inspired this piece is how the Blob is defeated.
It turns out that the Blob cannot stand cold. After cooling it down using fire extinguishers they somehow load it onto a transport, I assume the plane is refrigerated, there is a lot that needs to be assumed in this movie. The blob is transported on a pallet which is attached to a parachute and dropped into the arctic.
The end of this movie should, especially if you are a science fiction writer, start your mind churning. Visit my blog on January 21 and your imagination will receive some direction.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS: A HORROR STORY
On one side of my property, some eight to ten feet deep, is a gully. I was told some time ago that this gully belonged to a railroad. I have seen an arial photo, taken perhaps in the 50’s, showing tracks at the bottom of the gully. I’ve also been told that they were either train or trolley tracks. I began thinking, What if there was ever an accident down there?
Unwelcomed Guests was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in February 2010
UNWELCOMED GUESTS
Will Trizma was a writer of ghost stories and mined the local countryside for legends and their settings. The area abounded in both. His wife, Joan, acted as his editor and sounding board for his ideas. At times, the only comment she would make is, “You’re sick.”
Not only did he write ghost stories, but he also dreamt of them. One night he conjured a most vivid story; a story from the future. But unlike most of his dreams, he could not remember this tale. The only recollection he had was that it was horrifying.
* * *
It was the evening of August 15, 1949. The time was slightly before ten as a train made its way toward West Chester. There were fifteen souls aboard, counting the crew and passengers on this quiet summer night. The steam locomotive was pushing a caboose and two passenger cars. The weather had been stormy for days and up ahead the foundation of the bridge spanning Ship Road had been undermined by runoff. Jim Purvis, making his last run in a fully loaded fuel truck, slowly crossed the bridge. As he reached the span’s center, it collapsed leaving the truck astraddle the tracks. Jim could not believe he was still alive considering the load he was carrying. Although injured, he managed to climb out of the ravine and go seek help.
As the train slowly made its way into a depressed section of track, the conductor, Ben Elliot, sat on the caboose’s platform and began filling his pipe thinking about sharing a late dinner with his wife. He looked down to light the pipe, and once achieving a satisfactory burn, he puffed contently, and then looked up. The sight before him made his scream, “Holy sh…! He never finished the expletive.
The caboose rammed the truck, followed by the cars. The locomotive cut through the wreck until it reached the truck exploding the gas tank and turning the wreck into a funeral pyre.
* * *
Writing is a lonely profession, and years ago Will sought out a local writer’s group for support and editorial advice. During a Christmas dinner attended by all the writers, Will and Joan suggested a summer party and volunteered to hold it at their house. As the day of the party approached, one spouse or two became sick and others were called away unexpectedly on business.
Will and his wife greeted their guests, their thirteen guests.
Their dog, Millie, a lab mix was her usual excited self with the arrival of every new visitor. Once everyone was there, she settled down and dozed in the sun.
The conversation was lively with all the creative minds present, and as dusk approached, Will was called upon to tell a ghost story. “Not dark enough yet,” he answered.
Dessert was served, and when there was no longer a hint of sunlight, and with the patio bathed in twilight, Will deemed the time right for his tale and went into the house. He returned with candles, one for each table, after extinguished all the inside lights. “Now we have the right atmosphere,” he said. Will began his story and even Millie appeared interested, her eyes reflecting the candlelight.
The weather had been rainy the last few days, and at ten as he began to read, Will noticed a mist begin coming out of the gull bordering one side of his property. A few guests had asked him earlier about the gully and he answered that it had once harbored a railroad track.
The mist became denser and soon overtook the yard along with the guests. One by one they all fell asleep, including Millie. As the wall of fog enveloped all present, fifteen human shapes began to form. The specters slowly made their way to the dozing, and one by one, entered their bodies.
The next morning, they awoke from their deep sleep and knowingly smiled at one another. Ben Elliot looked around, and Will’s eyes filled with tears. “We’ve waited sixty years for this moment.”
Millie awoke and growled. She knew there was something terribly wrong with her master.
THE END
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