About
I think it may have all started with The Muppets. That show still lives in some of my earliest memories. Fun, bizarre, and full of monsters (especially the episodes where Vincent Price or Alice Cooper were hosting), it was an easy favorite. I have the proof to back it up, too. Tucked away somewhere in my crawlspace, among the camping equipment and old photo albums, is a dusty, yellowed cassette tape with the voice of my two-year-old self, testifying to that fact. Apparently, Gonzo was my favorite, though I think that may have had something to do with him being onscreen at that particular moment.
However it may have started, I’ve always been fascinated by the mysteries and oddities of the world. For a little kid in the early 80s, monsters and spooky backdrops really were everywhere. Gremlins, Ghostbusters, Scooby Doo, and not to forget Halloween, an event with a gravity that fell just shy of Christmas but above my own birthday in significance. It wasn’t so much that I liked being scared. Though I did my share of that, it was never something I’d say I really enjoyed. It was more about how these strange creatures and ideas toyed with my imagination.
As I got just a little older and became a better reader, I’d spend hours flipping through picture books about ghosts, aliens, ESP, and the wide and wild collection of mythical creatures from around the world. Many of the real creatures, too. I can remember poring over a book about the deep sea and the types of life that were hiding there, down so far the sun couldn’t even reach them. Real-life sea serpents, sinister-looking fish with mouths packed with long curved fangs, some even had lights growing out of them. I was fascinated by the detailed illustrations and wondered how anyone could be more interested in the Berenstein Bears when they knew that this bizarre alien world was out there somewhere.
My father was always a fan of a certain mega-famous horror writer of that era, and introduced me to the movie Creepshow at an irresponsibly young age (It was probably more like he didn’t stop me from watching it with him, but I have no regrets either way). It was my first “real” horror movie, and even though there were many more that followed, it’s remained one of my all time favorites to this day. It’s fun and doesn’t take itself too seriously, which is something that I can admire.
When I was in the seventh grade, we had a long-term substitute teacher who decided (with some urging from the class) to buy a paperback copy of Stephen King’s ‘The Dark Half’ from a school book fair, to read aloud to us in class. Now, questions such as—Why would she ever agree to such a thing? and Why was that book for sale in a school book fair?—are all completely valid, but I assure you, I have no idea to this day. In her defense, she warned us that she would be cleaning up the language as she read along. But she did read it, at least a good chunk of it over several weeks, before it was quietly put away and never spoken of again.
Thankfully, these early stories are all lost to time. For all I know, the bits that made them up may still be slowly evaporating from the hard drive of a “portable” Compaq Plus computer, buried deep underground somewhere just outside my hometown. It’s better that way. I can remember them as I did when I first typed them out in my childhood basement, index fingers pecking out the glowing green characters on that tiny black screen.
Well, I couldn’t just leave it at that. So, before long, I had my own copy of the book. Then IT, then The Shining, and so on. His novels were great, but I especially enjoyed the short story collections. They seemed more punchy and imaginative. Once I’d exhausted all of those, I moved on to other short story collections, introducing me to many other authors. At some point, around this time, I took my first stab at writing stories of my own.
To me, it’s enough to have the memory of writing them.
In my early high school years, I’d spend my entire lunch hour at the school library. I never really fit in with the students who hung around the cafeteria, the popular ones who always had the money for fries and drinks every day, and I was too intimidated to hang out with the ones outside who smoked and dressed in strange clothes. I fit in fine at the library, though. It was quiet and peaceful, always the same 72 degrees, and there were more books than I could ever read, though I usually brought my own. After school let out, I’d abandon the school bus and walk the ten minutes or so to the public library downtown and pick up where I left off. I’d usually stay there until they closed and then hang around downtown until I had to go home. If I did have any money, I’d take the bus, but more often than not, I’d just walk the hour. On the weekends, I would pay two dollars to watch a matinee movie at the theater down the road from my house, typically alone. This might sound like a plea for sympathy, but I promise it’s not. I was perfectly fine just doing my own thing.
In my later high school years, I did end up joining the group in the smoking pit. My life became more about friends, music, and many of the other trappings of a mildly rebellious mid-90s teenager. There were still lots of movies, though they were usually on VHS and accompanied by friends (and sometimes beer). There were fewer books, though I still found the time now and then if something sparked my interest. Mostly non-fiction, though I do remember being convinced to read most of the Xanth series that existed at that time. Maybe I felt the need to balance out the horror fiction from my earlier youth.
Once I was out on my own, I took a year of college before deciding I didn’t want to give up that sweet summer-job money. This began a long string of other jobs in my twenties where I tried just about anything that someone would hire me for. The largest chunks of time were spent as a midnight shift truck dispatcher and a phone guy, but I also had brief stints at many different factories and retail stores. I ran a hot dog cart for a summer, and there were countless one-off jobs. Some of which were only ‘one-off’ in the sense that I’d figured out by lunch time that they weren’t for me. I also spent a fair bit of time as a security guard.
Now, security was an interesting job. At least it was to me. Nine times out of ten, I’d be stationed completely alone, middle of the night, in some random setting. It could be a town hall, or a vacant construction site, a sketchy apartment building, or a high-security data center disguised as a random run-down office building. I was only ever given the most basic instructions, which left a lot of room for interpretation. Being the curious cat that I am, I would “patrol” every inch of these places. Doing this, I got to see a lot of interesting things, occasionally even some strange things. For a while, I was guarding a lumber yard on the edge of town, in the middle of the night, completely isolated and nestled deep between a set of railroad tracks and a large swath of woods. There was definitely something strange about that place.
The other benefit to a good security job is the massive amount of free time it affords. Back when the flashiest new tech was a Motorola Razr flip phone (which I couldn’t afford anyway), I read to pass this time, and it was usually horror stories. I’m not sure I would recommend this combination to the weak of heart, especially not when you have to leave your booth once an hour to walk the tree line in absolute darkness, all the way to the end of a lumber yard. As someone who knows, I’ll give you some free advice: The flashlight only makes it worse. At this point, you might ask—Why would someone choose to do that to themselves night after night? Another perfectly valid question, and all I can tell you is that I eventually started writing again, by hand, in that little booth.
Since those days, a lot of real life has happened. I went back to school for engineering, and the writing slowed down a little. I started my new career, and it slowed down a little more. Don’t get me wrong, I like real life too. I feel like I’ve lived a lot of it, but it’s been over twenty years since I last sat in that booth, and there are other things still out there—strange things, even some scary things—and for reasons I can’t fully explain, my real job is to find them and show them to you.
