“Listen,” she said. “Smells are very important to me.”

“What do I smell like?” I asked, standing in the kitchen, my fingers interlocked on top of my head.

She stepped closer to me and put her tattooed-arms around me and pressed her face against my T-shirt and inhaled deeply.

“You smell like the playground across the street from me when I was still young and innocent.” She inhaled again. “And like warm hugs. And lazy Sundays in.”

Daughter: Daddy I’m bleeding.
Me: I’m sorry sweetie. Are you bleeding as much as Ric Flair in his match with Triple H at the 2005 Great American Bash?
Daughter: No. Just a little on my toe.
…
And she knew exactly what I meant. #Proudfather

Recently I began dating a mad scientist who conducts bizarre experiments on human brains for the military and she is equipped with chains, torture devices and dangerously sharp weapons. This sounds like fiction, but it’s strangely true.

Our beloved dog Lucy has passed away. If there is a heaven, she is running through the fields of the Lord.

I took the girls to Luray Caverns for the weekend. We toured the caverns then went downtown Luray, Virginia for dinner and saw a sign for a free concert in their park. Ben Prestage was the second act and we caught his performance. He plays a mean guitar while beating the drums with the footpedal and blowing into the harmonica. He’s a very talented blues performer. My 8-year-old wanted to get his CD and Prestage’s wife was selling them. We got a double live disc from a show in his home state of Florida. He’s performed at Burning Man. If he comes to your neck of the woods, check him out and support great live music.

Cheers to my old girl Lucy. I thought we were going to lose her last week, but she’s feeling better. She’s the best dog in the world and I know the day is coming soon where she will run in the fields of the Lord and wait by the gates of heaven for my arrival (I hope I don’t disappoint her), but that day is not yet.

My best friend and his wife came over for New Year’s Eve. We’re playing Monopoly. I’ve forgotten how many beers and shots of Crown Royal Special Reserve I’ve had – I can’t believe I’m typing this well – and is that a nonsequitor, where was I? – wer’e playing Monopoly. Oh my God I haven’t been this drink in a long time. My lips are numb. I’ve rolled five six times and ain’t had a single chance to buy a single property. Either landing on community chest or chance or someone else’s propertyl I’m buzzed and doomed. This h as been a great night. My best friend’s wife and my 7 year old are one team. My wife is to my left. My best friend is across the table. I’m the race car as I’ve almost always been since I was a kid. My best friend just collected $50 from every player for the 2nd time already. I think someone put the last community chest card on top again instead of on bottom. Unfair!!!. Three exclamation points. I’m so drunk. My kids are having fun. This is a wonderful night.

UPdate: I just bought Boardwalk. Shit property but I finally had a chance to buy something.

Update 2: My 5 year old owns more prpties than I do. I just added personal tag. My dog is at my feet. Life doesn’t get better than this.

“Dad you look like this,” my 7 year old just said.

Update again: My 10 year old sold me vermont out of sympathy. I’m glad she’s choosing my retirement home.

My first father in law who was a raging alcoholic at one time in his life said he always hated new year’s eve because the amateur drunks came out. I’m glad I’m at home.

2nd time I’ve landed on income tax. I just own two properties. I’m putting the computer down before it falls off my lap. more later.

Update: Just traded Boardwalk to my best friend for Vermont, St. James, Penn, RR, $550 cash plus landing on Park Place and Boardwalk for free for two turns. Others are mad at me for the trade, but I was not only short on cash since I paid $150 school tax and was in jail twice on top of the two incoomme taxes previously. My wife just spilled her drink which gives me time to update. No one lands on PP and BW anyway….oops my 10 year old just did.

“OK, your daugther is payihg for your sin,” my wife just said.

Others are griping for my deaql.

This is our best New Year’s in years.

Rita (my best friend’s wife) to my 7 year old whispering in her ear: “No we can’t hire a hitman.”

Update another: shit where’d he get all that money for houses?!?

Update again. I just traded Oriental and Vermont to my wife for $10 and (whisper whisper) to be paid later. I’m screwed in the game, but, well…

Update yet again: the Nerf guns have come out as people landing on Park Place upset with exorberant. rents.
Update another: all kinds of trading going on. I have lots of cash but now no properties. However my 10 year old is happy.

A9

Just sold St. James to my 10 year old for $200. Made her happy…

I shouldn’t drink and play monopoly.

Update: ack she just landed on PP with 3 houses.

Update: Now his wife just shot him

He’s declared the winner.

Now we’ve switched to wii…he’s getting schooled at bowling by my 7 year old.

UPdate last: added links I meant to add earlier. Going to bed. Happy New Year.

Imagine them raining down on you…flying everywhere on the gusty 40-70 mile per hour winds. Hovering helicopters shining down bright lights and blaring a warning sound. The smoke clogging up your nostrils and choking your throat. The feel of your blood pulsing through your body is echoed in your ears. Bum Bump. Bum Bump. Bum Bump. Faster. Faster. Driving across town to a safer place is like driving through a snow storm in hell. The heat increasing in ebbs and flows and white ash so plentiful it blurs your ability to see where you are driving. Fear starts to creep into your psyche. True fear, not the Hollywood version of “boo” and fake gore. It starts to creep into your stomach and creates an ache of incredible depth. You keep swallowing to keep the fear down…then you realize you are dehydrated…your eyes, nose and throat are bone dry from the heat. Your only thought is to get out…get out…as far as possible. And, then when you are out, you think of all you left behind. Memories. Photos. History. Stuff. Then you start worrying about your friends and pray they are OK.

Forget War….Wildfires are Hell.

The Tea Fire in Montecito

My niece had triplets, making me a great uncle for the first time.

Early in June I woke at dawn to let my dog out and found a wooden crate, the type used decades ago by a tea importer, outside the back door. The box was nearly identical to one I had found in an old barn in Ohio years earlier. The Ohio crate had contained diaries and journals of several people as well as newspapers and photographs – all from the 1890s – and a previously unknown story from author William Hope Hodgson that appeared to have been written in 1913 shortly before he left for the war that claimed his life. I had published several of the diary entries and the Hodgson story online as The Mystery of the Haunted Vampire.

My dog sniffed the box outside the back porch door with a suspicious air before she walked off to do her business under the trees.

I looked around, but did not see anyone. On top of the crate was an envelope with a handwritten note inside. The writer claimed to have tracked me down and left the chest to me because of my previous interest in the contents of the other crate. I carried the crate inside with my dog following at my heels. I set it on the kitchen table. Inside I found letters, notebooks, folders holding sheaths of yellowed, typewritten manuscripts, and a photo album containing dozens of images from the 1920s and 1930s.

As my morning coffee brewed, I glanced through the contents of the folder on top. It appeared to have been a manuscript written in the style of a 1930s pulp magazine story. My first guess was, of course, that the story was fictional. But as I went through the box and read the notebooks and what appeared to be investigation reports I began to wonder. I now suspect the story referred to actual events and the unknown author wrote up the account as a fictional story. I do not know if the author ever attempted to publish his or her stories, but I suspect from the writing style they were intended for Weird Tales or another pulp horror or adventure magazine such as Weird Spicy Tales.

In the initial story, with chapters posted on Fridays (photos on Wednesdays), and in other stories, there are references to other investigations, hidden pasts, dark deeds referenced only in passing, and secret organizations. I shall do my best to fill in the blanks where possible, but those secrets might be hidden away in other crates, perhaps to be unveiled at a later date.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15