The Legend Of The Smoking Cowboy...

To the many of you that have been following my little escapades over the past seven years…this may not come as much of a shock to you. To the many more that really have no idea what I'm about and who I really am…I hope you enjoy this…and I hope it creeps the living hell out of you. Since 2004, my best friend and I have been vigorously investigating the paranormal because of separate incidents in our lives that pretty much made us both ‘obsessed’. We've investigated just about every local cemetery and claimed haunted house in our local area and even went as far as successfully influencing the powers that be that we deserved a night alone in Six Flags Over Texas to investigate claims of hauntings in the park that date all the way back to the 1960's! It's been a fun ride. However, in October of 2010 the two of us tied the knot and ceased to be business partners. We became husband and wife. One of the things I promised myself upon saying 'I do' was that I was going to be less of a careless adventurer and more of a husband over our first year of marriage…just to see if I could remember how 'normal people' lived. This meant that I wouldn’t be running crazily after every claimed haunting and every creepy cemetery that I came in contact with and no spending month after month pecking out another novel…at least until our one year anniversary in October 2011. As you can see per the title of this rant…it didn’t last. We were bored out of our freaking minds and eventually came to the conclusion that we could care less how normal people lived! After all…the two of us are far from being normal people and there is something about being all alone, miles away from civilization in the darkness, in places where some have claimed to experience pure hell. That feeling of isolation and terror…nothing can compare to it. Now that I’ve got the explanations out of the way…I can get to the meat and potatoes of this whole scenario. Next time…pay attention from the beginning and we won't have to backtrack?

So…over the past seven years, we've spent night after night in this beautiful country cemetery hoping to catch a glimpse of what some have called 'The Smoking Cowboy'. After all, I was informed by a member of the Money family a few years ago that they didn’t want their cemetery associated with 'people like us' so the 'Goat Man Legend' was out of the question. Dear mean people…bite me on my three published novels and get over yourself! In other words, the cowboy would have to suffice. Supposedly, three different people that have never spoken to one another have all witnessed the darkened figure of a cowboy smoking a cigarette in the darkness at a local grave yard that scared them to the point of pissing their pants and running away screaming. Sweet. Sounds like fun! I love pissing in my pants almost as much as I adore screaming and running! Where do I sign up for this? (Oh…by the way…I’m not going to make it public record which cemetery this is due to the fact that it’s vandalized enough as it is without some dumb ass kids looking for something to do on summer vacation and coming by and knocking over some headstones. I wouldn’t want adults going out there getting in trouble by the law either. I am the man…I have special privileges lol. If you really must know though…you can always beg me…) For seven long years, in between the countless other investigations that we’ve conducted, we’ve gone to this special place repeatedly with different team members in the hopes of flushing out this mythical figure. I discovered quickly that it wasn’t an urban legend because no one else I asked had ever heard of it before. These three people might’ve actually had a strange experience! We had to know. Investigation after investigation occurred there year after year with some of them producing little results and other’s causing head injuries. (For details…read Chad Miller’s ‘A Ghost Hunter’s Journal’ and ‘We Believe You…A Ghost Hunter’s Journal Continues’ – shameless plug) We never saw anything that resembled a cowboy…just headstones in the darkness and an occasional demonic shadow chasing you step for step. I wish I was kidding. Shortly after my six month absence due to nuptials…My new wife, an investigator in training by the name of Jake, and I journeyed towards the setting sun and an approaching storm to spend some quality time with an imaginary cowboy that has rudely never walked up to any of us and introduced himself. From the time we entered the cemetery gates, the three of us stumbled crazily like drunken pirates due to the fact that our equilibrium was unexplainably being affected. Was it the storm that was coming…or was something legitimately wrong with this place? After an hour had passed and the millionth lightning strike had struck…the three of us walked simultaneously towards a familiar grove of trees in the spacious cemetery fighting monotony. From about fifty yards away, my loving bride noticed the flicker of a match or lighter in the distance illuminating the dark of the gathered trees. Jokingly, I asked what the possibilities of it being the legendary cowboy was….especially since individuals had followed us there in the past wearing sheets with eye holes cut out. Oddly enough, we all almost witnessed a real ghost that day because I rarely travel into dark and creepy places without a .357 on my side. Call me funny…but it would’ve been convenient to kill one of my friends in the middle of a cemetery. Think before you do, ladies and gentlemen…think before you do. Granted, it was funny after about an hour had passed but I had never been so angry in my life. This time, no one knew we were coming and unfortunately I had left the gun at home. As we drew closer, the three of us stopped dead in our tracks in unison. I didn’t even have to ask if they saw it also. I could tell that they did by the quickened breathing. In the midst of the shadowed trees stood a figure in the darkness sporting the brim of a cowboy hat where its head should’ve been. Six feet tall at least, we stood at the ready for anything…not daring to cross the threshold of the trees. Immediately, the electromagnetic frequency detector in my hand began to react violently proving that a paranormal event was indeed at hand…or the shadowy figure in the darkness had a powerful cell phone. (Before anyone says anything…our cell phones were off. This wasn’t our first rodeo.) Tired of the standoff…I moved in for the kill, so to speak, and the figure immediately darted into the darkness. With the feeling now back to my legs and our blood pumping madly, I gave chase to the next set of trees in hopes of viewing the phenomenon again. Unbeknownst to me…my darling bride that had stayed behind had been overwhelmed by a feeling of unseen force and her body slumped to the ground. Sitting there in a daze, a figure hovered over her victoriously at his deception but vanished once again at the approach of our trainee. After everything was over, she described the feeling to me as being that of ultimate sadness and hopelessness. For the first time in ages, she was legitimately frightened. Honestly, so was I. Unprepared from our absence of investigating and without the majority of our equipment to record the scenario…we exited the cemetery for safety reasons in order to regroup and research. Back in the comfort of home, with only our own ‘well known inside and out’ ghost to bother us, I thought to myself that there was no way whatsoever that I would’ve made it through an entire year without putting myself or someone I care about in a precarious or dangerous situation and been able to live with myself. This is who we are and what we do. Why deny ourselves what we consider to be normalcy? Just because the ones that persecute and point fingers at us can’t fathom the opportunity of being in the presence of something amazing doesn’t agree with what we do isn’t a good enough reason to be someone that I’m not. Actually, the majority of them do wish for these feelings…they just give it another name to make themselves feel better and be viewed as ‘normal’ through the eyes of the judging public. I’m sure that soon, every single one of them will venture out to experience the grandeur of the Great White Buffalo that was born just outside of my hometown that is supposed to signal the beginning of the end of days. Guess what, ladies and gentlemen? That IS a paranormal experience by true definition of the word…whether you like it or not. Hell…our smoking cowboy doesn’t even have a movie deal yet and the damn buffalo has two of them! From now on…you be ‘you’ and I’ll be ‘me’. Give me ghosts any day. Ghost shit is much easier to clean than buffalo. I’m sure of it.

Sealed Fates...

Being a paranormal investigator can sometimes become tedious and repetitive to the point that you would love to do nothing more than hang up your EMF meter and never look back. On very rare occasions however, you come across those little investigations where your discoveries are enough to keep you in the game a bit longer and initiating a hunger, a proverbial fuel to the fire, that makes you quest for more. Sometimes the hidden and unknown histories behind the investigation itself can be more intriguing than the actual findings.

If by strange occurrence one day you find yourself heading east of Dallas on a mission to explore the inbreeding capitols of the country, you will come to a town called Greenville. Now, at this point my advice to you, the uninformed reader, is that you roll up your windows and lock your doors for the fear of being sucked in and trapped by the invisible force field that has held me captive here for as long as I can possibly remember. I’ve made it as far west as Los Angeles and was still somehow sucked back into its bloody claws of despair and mediocrity. If that chance should occur, playing the role of the weary traveler, that you become a slave to the needs of the human body known as extreme fatigue or hunger this place looks as though it could be a welcomed beacon in the endless night that is Interstate 30. Don’t let it fool you.

As our tiny group of rag tag paranormal investigators began to grow in popularity and recognition, we were approached by the owners of a small bed and breakfast on the outskirts of this prison of despair that some call a town. It was no longer open to the public and was serving as nothing more than a home for the couple, providing a human being’s necessary requirement for sanctuary and shelter with rooms that had not so much as been slept in for countless years. They told us that they had ghosts in the old home and who were we to deny them the services that we so graciously had wanted to supply to this community since my co-founder and I first concocted this crazy idea of being ghost hunters. In all reality of the situation, the majority of this community fears and hates anything that isn’t represented within the walls of one of it’s hundreds of churches that are contained inside the city limits and it was highly difficult back then to find an investigation. There’s no way we would’ve said ‘no’!
At that particular time in this otherworldly hobby, we didn’t want to know any details about the places we were investigating for fear that it would influence our decisions and results. We entered the house blindly and walked the floors of this home with no agenda, snapping numerous photographs of the countless dust covered antiques and asking questions into the unknown aimed at entities that we knew absolutely nothing about. The owner’s stayed outdoors and gave us total reign of the inside. They were already well aware of what they had there and were just waiting for us to exit the home to fill us in on what they already knew. After a few hours of recorded audio and video data had been collected and we could no longer walk in the same footsteps again for fear of the burnout effect, we packed up our belongings and headed in their direction. This is the story of the “Iron Skillet Inn”.

Way back in the days when the North Texas cotton barons ruled this part of the state, was a young girl that resided here whose lover was one of the founder’s of a very popular soft drink company...which shall remain nameless for the sake of law suits and finger pointing. I will say that this particular beverage is bold enough to carry a prefix at the beginning of it’s title so at least you’ll have the general idea of what I’m talking about while leaving myself a back door clause in case the before mentioned fingers happen to ever find me. The two were eventually married and they lived happily ever after, or so the general public and the local history books would like to have you believe. Not unlike the marriages of today but totally unheard of in the early decades of the 1900’s, the relationship came to a screeching halt when the soda entrepreneur discovered that a young, Jewish business man had bumped him unexpectedly out of the relationship. In an effort to express his undying love for this young woman, the Jewish man built an extravagant home for her, for those times, and everything was kosher, no pun intended. This is where the story gets interesting.

Before small town high society could even blink, the soda heir and the young bride were an item again and the young business man who had built the house was nowhere to be found. To this very day, not a soul is aware of his whereabouts. Passed down from owner to owner over the years, it’s rumored that he was forever quieted by the construction of a fireplace in the home that is made out of materials that are newer in date than the materials used to construct the home itself. The fireplace is grand in its appearance and way too big to be used for a source of heat in the tiny room that it’s contained in. Even today, no fire has ever been built in this room of the house. During the days of the great depression, things were not built that were unnecessary and, in my opinion, an extravagant fireplace in a room that size fits into that category. Years later, in one of the upstairs bedrooms, the young girl was found dead due to a drug overdose. Over the years, the house changed hands time and again and stories were passed from generation to generation regarding the fates of all the people involved since its construction. The current owner’s have never bothered to remove a single brick from the rumored tomb of the young business man for fear of what they might find or unleash. I don’t blame them. With our heads full of buzzing information, we headed for our makeshift HQ to review the photos and analyze the audio we had taken. Sure enough, in the background of the audio taken inside of the room containing the overkill fireplace, a highly unpleasant and insisting voice tells us to “get out”. In my personal experience, this is the way that my father in law would treat me if I were to enter his private sanctuaries and he, too, is Jewish. As we continued to pick apart the audio the word “fate” could be heard being spoken by a female voice in the upstairs bedroom where her life had been taken from her so many years ago. To sum this all up, the word ‘fate’ is definitely the key to this entire occurrence. The young business man built the house in an attempt to trap the heart of a certain young woman and, in turn, he could possibly be trapped behind the walls of the house itself.

The young woman, who insisted on freely partaking the secret sauces of society which eventually led to her premature demise, could also be trapped eternally inside the home itself that was once her coveted and scandalous trophy amidst the shanty’s and cotton fields that once filled this area.

Several decades later, it seems that her body was stolen from an above ground crypt by a drunken group of demented teenagers and made a fixture at a party that was being thrown in the honor of a certain ghost hunter’s high school graduation. Imagine the surprise and horror I felt almost twenty years ago watching the stumbling bunch introduce a dead body to the festivities that were originally meant as a form of celebration and rite of passage for a young man that was about to introduce himself into the slavery that is known as the rest of my life. They were caught, sentenced, and incarcerated but those images are wedged into a place in my mind that can never be erased regardless of how many times I have unsuccessfully tried. Was it ‘fate’ that I ended up in the former bedroom of the deceased party guest in an attempt to discover tangible proof of life after death all these years later? That’s another story completely. Until then…Keep Believing

Homecoming...

For six long years…I lived in a world of darkness. I was never sure if it was something that was triggered by my brutal divorce of if years of repression by worrying so much about outward appearances in the community brought it on…but I would come home every day to a home reminiscent of Dracula’s and love every minute of it. Perhaps it was having my eyes opened to the actual existence of the supernatural from my first unexplainable paranormal experience…who knows. Shortly after the PRINT organization was formed, my wife and I spent every waking moment searching for more darkness. Our free weekends took place in suspected haunted houses and old, country cemeteries during the night. The tingle of fear that occurred while your eyes were trying to adjust to nothingness and not knowing what could possibly be lurking behind the next tree became like a drug that I absolutely had to have or I would go insane. Hell, I even remember one year where we realized in June that we still had a few Halloween decorations up in the home. Very few people outside of our relationship could grasp the concept or even begin to try and understand our views on happiness and the world around us. The closest explanation would rank somewhere up there with watching every episode of the Addams Family back to back on an endless loop. We had very few friends and visitors in our lives…and we liked it that way. Complete strangers would walk the other direction almost as though they could sense the unusualness that was coming their way. It was nice to do in a Wal-Mart line from time to time so it really wasn’t all that bad. Shortly after that, we adopted a forgotten cemetery in the middle of nowhere and began restoration work surrounded by the constant reminder of death…and a few dozen venomous snakes here and there for variety and to keep you on your toes. Our final journey into darkness came at the hands of our wedding where we tied the knot surrounded by friends and family under a cemetery pavilion during a violent thunderstorm as the sun set. I had never seen her look so beautiful in my entire life…illuminated by only candle light while hundreds of potential ghosts gave us their blessing knowing that our union began in exactly the same spot in which it would end. Suddenly, exactly upon the inevitable ‘I do’…the rain stopped falling and the sun shone blindingly through the trees creating a rainbow that stretched from end to end of the once darkened graveyard. I didn’t exactly notice at the time but it was almost as though it was some type of natural metaphor for an awakening within the both of us. Within weeks, our home and dispositions became brighter than ever before. It was as though the darkness in which our relationship was built had gone away to reveal to those around some type of new and improved couple that was altogether unusual to the both of us. Without so much as even a thought towards our achievements regarding the paranormal research field or the non profit work we had accomplished towards the forever residents of the forgotten cemetery, we walked on eggshells hand in hand towards the sun with squinting eyes in the direction to an unknown future. Nature again covered the lonely headstones of Hopewell Cemetery and the PRINT organization sat covered in dust on a book shelf in the form of two published novels below the monument of wedding and honeymoon memorabilia in our now cheery living space. Together, the two of us became simultaneous strangers with nothing much to talk about. In our desperate search for normalcy and illumination, the two of us became nothing more than a symbol of the spirits we had so recently searched for and the historical markers cleared from the hiding spots in a forgotten forest. Technically, we were beginning to die. Why, I now ask myself, did we try so hard to change who we were regardless of the fact that it altered the individualism that the two of us had fell in love with in the first place? In the end, the people we were trying so hard to impress and begging silently for acceptance will end up the inevitable victim of death itself. On a quest for greatness always lies the possibility of endangering your true self at the hands of outsiders. I personally believe that change is the reason why so many marital unions are destined to fail. Most people shoot for bigger things, more money, and social acceptance…forgetting the true reasons why they fell in love in the first place because they’re blinded by the ultimate goal of perfection. In our case, the unusualness of our lives and the darkness that surrounded us was the true attraction towards one another and the adhesive that bonded us together. Ultimately, what does it matter if anyone else in this crazy world ‘gets you’? As long as the one that loves you understands where you’re coming from…who cares what the neighbors think…or your extended families or the general public for that matter? They’re not the ones you lie in bed with, cuddled up for protection against the cold night, or the ones that will sit with you on summer evenings in recollection of youth on a porch swing swapping false teeth and wondering why your children can’t stand to be around you. With this epiphany in mind, we knocked the cob webs off of the equipment and accepted an investigation. A day later, we were fighting the elements so that one more misplaced soul’s marker could again see sunlight and reveal it to a world that had long forgotten them. A darting shadow in a creepy room and a few dodged copperheads later, a sense of normalcy began to sink into my welcoming soul once more. I love my life, my wife, and the future that lies before me…even though it may be in ways that most people could never imagine. My advice to anyone who would listen is to never deny who you truly are regardless of how many attempt to convince you that you’re denying yourself of what you could be. The destination that they’re speaking of is through their eyes only. Your own eyes are what matters. Not everyone is suited to live in the light or be journeying towards it. Sometimes, you yourself may be the illumination in the darkness that is so feared by those that shun and persecute you. Right about now…some of you may be saying to yourself that you don’t understand where I’m heading with this or where I came from to begin with. That’s okay. You’re not supposed to. Now…if you’ll excuse me…it’s May…and my wife and I have some Halloween decorations to dig out of storage. It’s beginning to feel a lot like home again. Our home…

Contrary To Popular Belief...

I remember fondly one summer night in my youth, at the ripe age of thirteen, being left alone in the family home with one of my step father’s packs of cigarettes. I recall staring at it longingly for nearly an hour before I unfortunately decided to reach out and grab one. After all, everyone (and I do mean everyone…with the exception of one or two) in my family were avid smokers and I had to figure out what the calling was to this horrendously aromatic habit. Looking out the doorway for any sign of a parental presence and listening into the wind for the slightest hint of their vehicle’s return, I popped one into my mouth and put a flame to it with the precision of someone that had been doing it for years. After five minutes or so had passed…and I was able to pull my shoes out of my mouth from coughing them up through my ass…I realized that I was officially one of the ‘cool kids’! You know the ones I’m speaking of! The ones that hung out in the junior high school bathroom in between classes and behind the gym during lunch hiding out from educational authority like they were on a black ops mission in which there was little chance of returning…just to get a few drags off of a cigarette. Of course, these guys had failed the eighth grade a few times over and already possessed their own driver’s license in order to drive themselves to school…but they had really cool hair! It was a damn good thing that I wasn’t interested in any type of athletic prowess or the chance to be an Olympic runner of any sort because there was no way whatsoever that I was going to be able to pull off those activities and smoke at the same time. Hooked. Throughout the years that followed, my family warmed up to the fact, at least to my face, that I was a teenage smoker and there was nothing they could say or do that would be able to stop me. Even if they tried, there was no way they could be around me twenty four hours a day to prevent me from partaking in my daily poison. There are times now that I wished they could’ve invented something to make me stop. For years after, I dodged the kings of high school curriculum every chance I got for a miniscule taste of smoke between periods…and I never got caught. I was the cigarette smoking master. Years later, once I landed in Fort Jackson South Carolina, I began to realize that those fiery sticks were demonic in nature and no longer a friend of mine. Running mile after mile and coughing up lung after lung in the name of Uncle Sam…every ounce of nicotine that ever existed within my body was pouring out in the form of sweat before the sun would ever raise its lazy head above the horizon. Eight long weeks without smoking behind me…I graduated a minion of lady liberty and did the one thing that I was not allowed to do nor had any access to during my boot camp. I bought a pack of cigarettes the first chance I got. People say that crack cocaine is hard to quit but two months later…I still couldn’t wait to have that first cigarette. In 2006, I watched my step father die quickly and painfully from lung cancer and it had no affect whatsoever on my plans to make tobacco companies richer than what they already were. As a matter of fact, mere seconds after he took his final breath, I was outside smoking a cigarette as I cried. Evil is alive and well in this world and it comes twenty to a pack. Even in some pagan literature and Wicca texts, tobacco is referred to as a demon. Don’t ask me how I know that but in a strange sort of way…according to some closed minded people’s points of view…that would be like calling the cauldron ‘black’…no witchcraft puns intended. It’s been twenty four years since I stuck the first one in my mouth as a kid and I am finally on a successful mission to quit for good. Not because my wife begged me or my children expressed concern over my health…but because I want to. All those failed attempts throughout my life were from the requests of others instead of me. It’s been a week now…and the multiple voices in my head that usually formulate these little rants of mine are all speaking at once without the slightest hint that they’re going to shut up. I’m not even sure how I’ve gotten this far into the rant without giving up honestly. Food that I have been eating and loving for more than half of my life now is tasty beyond belief…but some of it is downright disgusting. I’m not sure if I remember if it tasted that bad before or if my tongue is simply confused but cream of chicken soup is the cousin of Satan and I’m trying to convince the president that it’s responsible for acts of terrorism and we need to kill it, not take any pictures, and dump it in the ocean before anyone can film it. I used to love it. My sense of smell has begun to return also and that, my friends and enemies, is the purpose and point of this entire rant to begin with. To the middle aged, over weight ladies of this world that are convinced and under the false impression that perfume is an even substitute for bathing…you’re dead wrong. Chances are…your hoo-ha has been wafting up from your lap for so long that your own nose is used to it and has come to accept the fact that you’re not even going to remotely lift that lump of fat out of your lap to give it a good scrubbing. I know it would be heartbreaking to disturb whatever it is you’ve got going on down there whether it be the remnants of a small, furry animal or a collection of chicken bones from years of KFC consumption…but come on…do us, the non smoking public, a big favor and run the fire hose down there from time to time. Honestly…I don’t know who I should put more blame on…the person carrying around the stink pouch and stirring up funk the likes of which I’ve only smelled on prison field trips or the husband/boyfriend that puts up with it and fails to notify them that the crotch brew is boiling over and it might be time to remove the flames. Now, it’s obvious that some of you are going to be offended by this little bit of information and even a little upset that I’m stirring your lunch ever so slightly at the mere thought of people smuggling catfish across the border of their granny panties and may believe that I’m full of myself and my shit doesn’t stink. I beg to differ. It stinks terribly and almost makes me want to start smoking again so I don’t have to experience it. The only difference is…I don’t bring it to the noses of the general public unless you were that unfortunate guy in the stall next to me today who’s ‘Wings To Go’ were trying to leave in a violent and loud fashion…earning their namesake. In an odd sort of way though…perhaps the cigarette companies were trying to help humanity with their product. They were well aware that it dulled the delicate senses to the stinky, nasty tasting world around us and just wanted to lend a hand to make it a little more enjoyable and tolerable. After all, according to them, there is nothing more enjoyable than a hole in the throat that makes you have to speak through one of those hilarious microphone things. Imagine the fun you could have at a drive thru window with one of those. On the bright side…at least you wouldn’t be forced to smell stinky crotch unless it was by choice. That particular choice is a different rant altogether…

And Now...Something Completely Different...

Ahhhh...the joys of small town living! Sure, we can still smell the hustle and bustle of Dallas from where we hail but it all gets lost in the translation between the city limits signs. You’d think that the nerve and ability that it takes to deal with those from another realm of reality would be amazing enough to win over the most hard core of skeptics but for some reason or another, population seems to reflect intelligence. We are paranormal investigators…and we are outcasts.
When I had my first paranormal experience with my co founder and now wife, I was under the false impression that the populous would be more than ecstatic to get behind us and show support for the burden that we were about to undertake. What’s not to get excited about? A group of people that have the nerve to hang out in moonlit country cemeteries and old, abandoned houses and actually search for the things that keep most people awake at night, dreading to make the darkened journey to the bathroom for fear of what possibly lurks beyond the shower curtain. Sounds exciting, right? They hate us. They fear us.
The two of us founded P.R.I.N.T., Paranormal Research and Investigations of North Texas seven years ago not only in the attempt to answer some of the questions that were swimming frantically in our own minds, but to offer these same services to the general public in order to ease their fears and create awareness that there are things out there that none of us totally understand. Basically what we were told was that ghosts cease to exist within the city limits of small town Texas.
As we investigated and were successful in producing evidence, the internet community welcomed us with open arms. Paranormal groups that have been doing this sort of thing for decades accepted us into their family to share our successes, our failures, and our feelings. In the real world, we were cursed, ridiculed, or just ignored all together. That’s ok, cruel world, we still love and want to help you understand. Perhaps if you knew our story…
It was early one morning as I was suiting up for the monotony of my day job when I suggested to my partner in crime that maybe we needed to get a move onto starting this little hobby we’d been discussing.
It was spontaneous but I knew that we’d never be able to accomplish our goal without that first step out the door, regardless of how unprepared and uneducated we were. With a micro cassette recorder and a borrowed digital camera, we headed to a darkened graveyard with the intention of pulling the B.S. card on all of the paranormal shows that were being televised. Sure, we were hard core believers, but was it really that easy to obtain physical evidence of the paranormal?
On a chilly, late October night we traversed the knee high grass and headstones of a cemetery, filling the sky with brilliant flashes of light from the camera and asking questions into the darkness. The friend that loaned us the camera decided to tag along but was under the impression that we were a few giggles shy of a full laugh. In the back of my mind, I was agreeing. Not once since we’d been out there had I seen the eerie form of a shadow across the graves or a voice calling to us from the land of the dead. It was cold, it was dark, and it was creepy. After two hours of walking the same paths over and over again (because there’s only so many times you can read the same weathered headstones) we packed up and headed for home. With our ghost hunting cherries officially popped, I looked forward to the discovery of absolutely nothing. No pun intended, I was dead wrong.
After listening to about an hours worth of the recording, we were about to cut it short and head off to bed, not even remotely disappointed of our lack of findings. I was swearing never to watch another episode of paranormal anything when the tape revealed something that was entirely different. We both froze dead in our tracks, our spines tingling, and stared blankly at one another. We ran the tape back, over and over again, listening attentively to the voice of an unidentified male repeat the word ‘Carla’. I didn’t know who Carla was and at this exact moment, I didn’t really care. Knowing good and well that I was the only male that was in the cemetery earlier in the evening, I came to grips that we had officially
captured our first EVP. Not much, just a name, but our first EVP! Maybe these over hyped celebrity ghost hunters were on to something after all. The kicker of it all was that the tape wasn’t complete with revealing its mysteries yet.
As we listened attentively to the rest of the recording, we were overjoyed yet again when a female voice explained to us the most obvious of explanations. She said, as plain as a ghost can possibly speak on an ancient micro cassette recorder, ‘We’re Under Here’! All of a sudden, this was all real. Over the next couple of weeks, we feasted on all the paranormal information that the internet and the bookstores had to offer. We couldn’t wait to get back out there again. A lot of time has passed since that fateful night. We’ve since exited the cemeteries and moved on to greener pastures such as Six Flags and Texas A&M University. What a ride it’s been…
I first began to notice the separation caused by the opinions of the existence of the paranormal when I took the recorder to my job to share with co workers. There were a few that really dug what we were doing, but many more believed that I had completely lost my mind, no matter how many times they heard the disembodied voices on the tape. Some people actually got up and left because it scared them. What was wrong? Is this not the coolest thing since…well, since anything? Either way, it didn’t matter. We wanted more and we were going to go out and get it.
We continued to schedule and create our own investigations and the evidence began to stack up. I would write online about our findings and investigations and our internet following began to grow quickly. Soon after, others began to contact us with their paranormal concerns seeking advice and the chance for us to come and investigate their homes and businesses. Two years later, ‘A Ghost Hunter’s Journal’ was published, ‘We Believe You’ a year later, and have been claimed as the influence for a couple of new paranormal groups that had been created in our area. Granted…they didn’t last that long…but we were their influence nonetheless. I know ghosts exist without question. They’ve spoken to us, both in recordings and in real time but I guess the main question that keeps me puzzled is…where’s the love?
Sure, you could blame the religious affiliations of small town life but if you ponder that excuse, you come to the realization that the Bible is filled with paranormal events from cover to cover. Why would religious fanatics hate and fear us? It’s not that the existence of paranormal events came to a screeching halt when the book was completed; it’s just that they quit writing the book! We’re not conjuring demons at midnight and sacrificing small farm animals in the name of the unknown, we’re just trying to uncover the well hidden truth!
The fact of the matter is, I was misinformed (because ‘lied to’ is too strong of a phrase) over the years by my teachers, preachers, and parents by being told that there wasn’t a monster in my closet. We’re ghost hunters, small town Texas, and we’re not going anywhere. Sure, we could move to the heart of the biggest city in the area and leave you all behind to participate in your hoe downs and flea markets but the ghosts will still remain. We’re not asking you to join us. We’re not even asking you to believe in the existence of the supernatural. All we want is the chance to do what we do without slamming into a brick wall of closed mindedness at every corner. Yes, you may not want to know what’s really out there and live inside your quiet, safe heads but there are some who eagerly await the discovery of the truth. That’s where we come in.
If you still don’t want to love and accept us, I guess we can live with that. Even without your love and support, the number of the people involved in this field grows by giant leaps everyday. With so many people attempting to accomplish a similar goal, we get closer and closer to truth and understanding regardless of how much you preach and condemn us. Why can’t you stop us, you ask? How is it that we keep going? I have learned to feed off of you. If you tell me I’m un-Godly, I tell you that it’s un – Godly to point fingers. If you tell me that I’m alone in my quest, I tell you to type the words ‘paranormal investigator’ into an internet search engine. You like to avoid people like me all together? I’ll get a T-shirt printed with our group’s logo and wear it proudly so I can be recognized from a distance and you don’t even have to risk eye contact. (I actually did this! I never got through a Wal-Mart check out line so fast in my life!)
So fear not and don’t get discouraged, young seekers of truths. I am on your side. Keep the faith and never question what you stand for. Keep on dreaming because, in a field such as this, the possibilities are endless. Most importantly, today and forever, keep believing. Join P.R.I.N.T.’s Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/paranormalnorthtexas to support the ongoing adventure…

Anyone Need A Ride?

Anyone Need A Ride?

In the past few weeks, I’ve touched briefly on gay bashing, racial stereotyping, and several other things that just really rub me the wrong way. Now that I mention it, there aren’t may things out there today that rub me the right way…unless you count my lovely wife or my cat when he’s sitting on top of a blanket I happen to be under and he’s not too sure of his rubbing trajectory. This week, and I’ve been holding this one back, is going to be on the most famous subject that our tiny town has to offer. No, it’s not how to make methamphetamine…its religion. Just to give you a little bit of background on where I’m coming from with it…I was raised in a small local church that always had something bad to say about someone. According to this tiny congregation, the ones that possess their personal beliefs are the only ones going to have joy in the afterlife. The Catholics, Baptists, Methodists, Jews, Pagans, Taoists, Buddhists, Muslims etc (yeah, I failed to mention one particular belief which makes it easy to figure out the ones I’m speaking of) are all going to burn in hell…but they're not going to do it alone. The other people of this particular religion talk smack on the others within their religion that doesn’t belong to their particular building. So basically, 80 people in this world are going to heaven and they’re all from North Texas. Lovely. The rest of the world is destined to be pissed off when they find this little tidbit of information out! Anyway, back to the story at hand, I grew up in this church against my will, forced to go there every day the doors were open like Black Friday at Macy’s, where I was also baptized against my will…just because everyone else my age was doing it. I should’ve caught on to this quickly because I was given the whole ‘if everyone else is doing it’ explanation on several different occasions when it came to my friends doing stupid stuff growing up. Why was this situation any different? Regardless, I continued to attend on a regular basis throughout life…until I moved away to experience the world through innocent eyes. A military career and a move to Los Angeles later, my eyes were miraculously altered forever and I returned home to a rude awakening. My views and beliefs were no longer as narrow as those that congregated around me in worship. Enduring a divorce and rescuing a dear friend from a violent marriage, I figured the last thing I needed in my life was to be a hypocrite in a room full of people that were trying to do good by their beliefs. Why drag the rest of them down, right? That was right about the time that I received my invitation to oblivion in the mailbox. It reads as follows…
To: Chad Miller

From: Brethren of the ____________

Subject: Withdrawal of fellowship and delivery to the Devil

Brother Miller, we know that you understand that your manner of living is not in

accordance with the teachings of the New Testament. Several brethren have discussed

these things with you and you have refused to repent.

Adultery is condemned in Galatians 5 as a work of the flesh and those who

commit such will not inherit the kingdom of God. You need to understand this and

repent of your sinful and shameful life.

You are not a proper father to your children and refuse to provide for them. You

only seem interested in your own lust. You are commanded to bring them up in the

nurture and admonition of the Lord (Eph 6:4) and are an utter and total failure in this

area.
We have called on you to repent. You have not done so. We then are

commanded to withdraw from you (2 Thess 3:6), deliver you to Satan 1 Corr 5:5) and

mark you and have no fellowship with you (Rom 16:17-18).

We call on you to repent (Acts 8:22; 1 Jm 1:9; James 5:16) and admonish you to

return to the Lord and His church and right living.

The purpose of this withdrawal is to show our love for the Lord and His

commandments to us. Also, to show our love and concern for your soul. These things

have a two-fold purpose:

To cause you to realize the seriousness of your condition (please read 2 Pet 2:20-22);

To keep the church pure (read 1 Cor 5)

And to keep your ungodly influence from others who are members of this local church

(read 1 Cor 5:6)

As of this time the Church withdraws fellowship from you and

has delivered you unto Satan.

Translation: My meth addict ex wife dropped my children off at my parent’s house after she promised she was keeping our home. I had already moved out of the home and into my van…and then a small apartment shortly after. Greenville TX isn’t the money making Mecca that some people believe it is. My best friend was being beaten on a daily basis by her husband (I still have the wads of hair that had been yanked from her head to prove it) and I allowed her to move in with me for her protection. Granted, we’re now married and yes, the relationship began after she moved in…but no one ever bothered to ask…they just presumed that I was doing the horizontal mambo because she was of the female persuasion. She and I had been closer than close for 15 years and hadn’t been involved sexually all that time. Yes...it can be done. As if I didn’t doubt my beliefs before…this was indeed the final straw. Since those days that seem like an eternity ago…3 published novels later, a better job, a couple of successful non profit groups, a larger home with room for my children, and a wife that is addicted to me rather than illegal substances…I’ve finally came to the conclusion that I’m a Naturalist. I have friends and family members that have various different religious beliefs and we all live together harmoniously. I married a Catholic, have a father in law that is Jewish, and have several friends that are firm believers in Paganism, Taoism, Atheism, and more belief systems than you can shake a collection plate at! I also have a lot of Christian friends as well. How do we remain friends without starting a thousand year war? We keep it to ourselves and refuse to discuss it. In my opinion, and using the lessons I have learned from the various tragedies and wars we have been involved in for centuries, religion is something that is meant to be personal. Granted…I love it when people celebrate their religion for the entire world to see because they feel enlightened. Congratulations to you and yours that you believe in absolutely anything in this day and age of media horror being force fed down our throats along with our TV. dinners nightly. My problem is when people belonging to a certain faith bash and condemn others for theirs. Aren’t we all supposed to get along and not point fingers? If it is a sin to do so…then maybe there are only going to be 80 people in heaven when it’s all said and done…but I doubt it will be the ones I formerly worshipped with because they never have anything nice to say about anyone else’s beliefs either. Perhaps a few will make it. Who knows? Metaphorically, maybe they were right on the money. Perhaps the way our world has become as of late is the hell that they have condemned me to? I wish I could feel the power of absolute trust and belief in an all knowing entity but according to the local church I belonged to as a child, I am condemned to spend an eternity below now…all on speculation. Actually, they didn’t send it to my mailbox certified with a return receipt like the IRS so I might be alright. Time will tell. In the meantime, anyone that ever tells you to ‘go to hell’…have no fear. I have a letter in my possession proving that I am heading in that general direction and I’ll be more than happy to give you a ride…if indeed you were simply worried about the transportation issue. We’ll have to go in halfsies on gas though. That stuff is a hell all it's own.

This Is Going To Hurt A Little...

This is going to hurt a little…

I hesitated repeatedly this week in writing a rant because I couldn’t quite put my finger on a subject. There were way too many to choose from. This has been one of the worst couple of weeks for my lovely wife and me in recent memory and, in just the period of those few days, I gained enough rant material to last for the next six months easily. Why focus on the negative though? Why let this stuff fester and build inside of me? Negativity begets negativity. It’s true on the physical plane as well as the mental. If you don’t believe me…check out The Secret. Does it work? Who knows…but the ones that initiated it into society are now multi billionaires and there’s nothing at all negative about that. To surprise the few that have adopted it’s principals without fully researching it…welcome to the world of witchcraft! Positive reinforcement and mental visualization to effect change on the physical level has been an every day practice in the Pagan belief system since the dawn of mankind! Gotta love marketing. I dare you to run off and tell your preacher that 'The Secret' works for you! Please tell me when you do so I can be present to watch him burn you at the stake!
The negative streak of no return started a couple of weeks ago when a friend of mine attempted to take her own life and was nearly successful. Before this…I had always preached to the masses that would listen about being the master of your own destiny and how people should be allowed to end it all if they so chose to. It’s your life, right? Shouldn’t you be able to do with it as you will as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else in the process? It’s funny how your belief system seems to break down in the face of someone you care about personally and I was very glad that a well timed friend intervened at the last minute and saved her life. This all occurred because she chooses to live a different lifestyle and views the world around her through alternative eyes compared to the local population. I guess there is only so much you can take and only so trapped you can feel before you begin searching for a quick escape from the persecution. Damn you, bullies of the world, for not only refusing to think outside of your meager boxes, but for stabbing every other box in the heart that lands nearest your perimeter. In our house are many boxes...and her’s is now safely hidden within it. You failed.
On the opposite side of the spectrum of popularity, another friend’s sixteen year old daughter was ejected from her vehicle after rolling over nearly a dozen times and was taken from our lives before she was ever allowed to recognize her potential or leave her mark upon this unforgiving world. She was heavily accepted by most, was a cheerleader, and played for her high school soft ball team…or at least that’s what the television news reported. Obviously, death knows no social boundaries but the media feeds off of them like sharks at a beachside Tampax commercial filming. Not that my ‘unpopular to the power’s that be’ friend would’ve accepted any media attention for her life being saved…but she was never offered. Don’t drink…don’t smoke…don’t do drugs…eat right…be heterosexual…go to church every Sunday…and die anyway. The angel of death cares not…but Fox News will love you for it. Where does it all end and who can you really trust? Your family? Definitely not. Your friends? Sometimes. The doctor? Hell no! Riding on the heels of the second weekly tragedy came a phone call from one of my wife’s life long friends that informed us she’d been misdiagnosed her entire life by doctors convincing her that she was a walking mental issue with a person wrapped around it and had now discovered the cause of her issues to be a fatal disease with the consequences (or blessing…depending on if you’re one of those ‘glass is half full’ kind of people) being only a few more months to enjoy what remains of our lovely planet. Thanks to the medical community for all of their hard work and hours of university classes for not being able to figure that one out. We have pills that can make an old man’s dick hard but can’t tell the difference between Lupus and a mental disorder. Now of course, at the time, these weren’t the only issues plaguing our minds. There was the pleasure of some vehicular problems that began with tires and ended nine separate parts later. There was also the tsunami in Japan and the ever growing threat of radiation poisoning that could possibly reach our family on the west coast from a few nuclear reactors gone crazy in the Pacific. Is it 2012 yet? Can I go now? I have a hall pass…
The last straw came when my first roommate after my divorce left this world and our hearts for greener carpets. His name was Gram and he was a ferret.(named as in Possession of a controlled substance, penalty group one, less than one gram…don’t ask me…my wife’s ex husband probably named him and he’s very knowledgeable in the way’s of the gram. Neat guy. If you subscribe to the local newspaper…you’re helping pay his salary. Thank you for supporting your local drug traffickers) For ten years (three past his life expectancy) he hopped around, played with us, killed our Love Bird, brought us joy, endured cancer, left little ‘gram mines’ on the carpets, terrorized our cats, but most importantly…made us laugh and smile more than most human beings we know. After two weeks of being surrounded by nearly self inflicted death, accidental death, and looming death…I chose to cause death in the eyes of suffering. Now you may be asking yourself right about now…”Chad…you’ve been investigating the paranormal for seven years now…doesn’t that make you a little ‘preoccupied’ with death?” Yes, I answer you…yes it does…but at my discretion. I have the ability to choose when and where to surround myself with it and when to shake it off of my shoulders. When it’s forced upon you though, I believe that your shoulder’s are only so broad and some well deserved light needs to peek in ever so slightly through the darkness to remind you that life is precious. With war and natural disasters running amok on the face of the planet…I’m glad I still have my friend, I wish that I could comfort an aching mother by bringing her daughter back, I wish that our friend’s disease could’ve been treated properly in a phase that could’ve prolonged her life, and I wish that I was still accidentally stepping in tiny piles of ferret crap that I couldn’t detect in the middle of the night because the cute little guy took pride in strategically placing them just outside of my bedroom door. If ever I needed any dark influence to finish writing the ‘A Taste of Home’ sequel…I think I have it. I know this rant is all over the place and nowhere near the best one I’ve ever written…but I needed an outlet for a few minutes to get some things ejected from my soul. Did it work? Not at all. I need a hug…or a wall to punch holes in…whichever I come in contact with first. Don’t worry, honey, I promise I won’t confuse the two. Summing it all up…Screw people that hate other’s because they’re different…screw the state government for not upping the driver’s license age…screw doctors that look for an easy way out and prescribe medications because they get a cut back from pharmaceutical companies…screw automobile companies for being greedy bastards…screw Japanese engineers for killing our environment and placing deadly sources of energy on the banks of the most powerful and unpredictable force that resides on our planet aka the ocean…and screw pet store’s for selling cute little pieces of joy. Now, I'm sure it's plain to see why I waited so long to post this rant. It takes quite a while to accomplish this much 'screwing'...not to mention the chaffing that accompanies it. Until next time...spread light to all you find in darkness. You never know when the person found hiding there is someone you love or care about.

Tell Bruce Willis That He’s On In Five Minutes…And Get Aerosmith To Write The Soundtrack

Tell Bruce Willis That He’s On In Five Minutes…And Get Aerosmith To Write The Soundtrack:
Ladies and Gentlemen of the world and children of all ages…welcome to the circus that we call Earth! Boy…the media has really stirred up a good one this time! Hitch hiking on the heels of everyone’s X-files wet dream of the world coming to an abrupt end in the year 2012…it would appear that the moon is going to be closer to our glorious planet than it has in almost twenty years and, this time, it’s going to be a full one! According to astrologers…this could increase seismic activity as well as volcanic and oceanic tragedies. Of course, the earthquake in Japan that caused the big waves to swing through the Pacific didn’t help things much either. Right now, people are shaking in their sandals on the West Coast of the United States according to our beloved new programs. I beg to differ. I used to live in California. The reality of it is that there are hundreds of stoned surfers in Santa Monica waiting for them to hit! Now why, you may be asking yourself, isn’t Chad Miller scared to death about the happenings all over the world and the possibilities of it getting worse? First of all…astrology is a theoretically based science…just like paranormal investigation. In the past seven years, I have yet to blow the minds of the scientific community so I’m not going to let a lot of guys who spend their lives looking at the stars with permanent cricks in their necks dazzle me with their theories of things that could possibly happen on the surface of our planet. Second, the recorded and proven rises in activity regarding seismic, oceanic, and volcanic activity during full moons is a whopping 1% and that’s not quite enough to convince me that it’s time to start carrying around a spare pair of boxer shorts…just in case the devastation becomes so horrible that you accidentally soil a pair. Third, and the most important part that everyone seems to be overlooking, is that the media keeps repeatedly using the word ‘recorded’ when they speak of earthquakes. It’s the 5th most powerful earthquake in ‘recorded’ history. We’ve only been ‘recording’ these events for the past one hundred years and, whether or not you subscribe to the scientific findings of the world being billions of years old…or the church’s faith that it’s only about four thousand, one hundred years is only a drop in the bucket compared to the grand scheme of things. So, if interpreted correctly, these events are only the worst to happen to the world in a hundred years! Now…feels a little insignificant…doesn’t it? Anyone remember Pompeii? Finally, you have to take into account that these types of events have been happening all over our beloved Mother Earth since the first day the sun rose upon its beloved surface. The only difference between then and now is that we have only just recently invented the technology to measure, record, and communicate with the rest of the world instantly these so called ‘recent’ findings. Now, before you reply to this and start calling me up about being cold hearted and put yourself under the false impression that I’m trying to lessen the devastation and loss of human life along the Japanese coast, please understand that this rant is not intended to do that. I feel nothing but sadness for the families that lost loved ones during this event. What you have to keep in mind is the fact that the Earth is a living thing regardless of how our governments and big businesses insist on treating it like it’s just some rock floating out in space. Comparing her to a dog, which is only used for the purposes of this example, she will just shake us off like fleas when she is damned good and ready. If you don’t believe me…ask the dinosaurs. She got pissed off one day, tired of them leaving large piles of dino-crap all over her beautiful face, and paid a rogue comet fifty bucks to take care of them. Comets…the do-anything-for-money crack heads of the universe! If we keep drilling in her skin, ruining her oceans, and polluting her air…we’re next. She’s giving us subtle hints here and there that she is beginning to get a little irritated with us…but the majority of the population just chooses to overlook it. Now, keep in mind that I’m just philosophizing…which is the same thing that the astrologers and Armageddon fanatics are doing…and the choice is completely up to you on whether or not you carry around that extra pair of underwear we discussed earlier. If push comes to shove, my wife just got a really awesome camera and would be willing to take all of our photographs as we either burn, drown, or fall to our deaths inside of giant cracks forming suddenly underneath our feet. Wallet size will cost extra, though. Maybe it might not be a bad idea to ask Bruce Willis to keep his cell phone handy (and his emergency tightie-whities) just in case. Fleas have to be prepared!

A Trip Down The Tattered Dirt Road That Is...High School Memory Lane

A trip down the tattered dirt road that is…high school memory lane:
High School. Enough said. Sure I could talk forever about how I barely made it out alive with my Billy Ray Cirus mullet and ripped blue jeans…or even be as dark to go into detail about the teacher, now a principal, that used to have sex with one of my friends when she’d baby sit his children…but who said that all rants have to be negative? Today…I went on a scavenger hunt with my middle daughter, the high school cheerleader, to come up with an awards plate for her senior sponsor at the GHS Cheer Banquet. As we were running around like decapitated chickens, trying to find certain little tokens of appreciation that would best describe her mentor, I came in contact with a girl I graduated with that was a cheerleader from my 8th grade year until graduation. She seemed like she was happy to see me and talked up a storm as though we have never spoken before. In all actuality…we hadn’t. Save for a few stray sentences here and there while growing up just for the sake of basic communication, we barely acknowledged each other’s presence back then. She was one of the girl’s that ran with that typical ‘cheer’ crowd while I was the long haired, metal head that cared nothing more for scholastic achievement other than the location of a great place to smoke during classes and not get caught. As I smiled graciously during our reunion, attempting desperately in my mind to figure out why in the world this girl was recognizing my presence after decades of silence, I bid farewell to our meeting and began to walk away. Suddenly, she mentioned my newest book and stated that she had heard good things about it. Bingo. My quickest, most accurate retort was as follows: “Yeah…who would’ve thought that I would be writing books?” Expecting a gentle laugh from the ecstatic young lady, I slowly turned away once more to go about my business. Again, the barely familiar voice came from behind me exhibiting two words that I had purposely erased from my memory, or repressed them via teenage trauma, that sent me reeling to this very moment. ‘Mrs. Feezil’. Feezil? She was my freshman English teacher that had me convinced I was the anti-Christ! She never had anything nice to say about me, my beautiful hair, my faded blue jean jacket that proudly displayed the cover of Def Leppard’s Pyromania album, or my talents…or lack thereof… as a writer! Was it all a front? Did she indeed recognize my talents back then under the false impression that sending me to the principal every other week would jar something loose and turn me into who I am today? My only regret is that her tactics didn’t have the effect she had intended and my dreams of becoming an author didn’t come to be until I was in my early thirties. Thinking on it honestly though…I’m glad she failed. Without the hard life I’ve lived and the horrific nightmares of my military career…not to mention the heartache of two divorces and the joy of being a father…I would never have gained a life full of emotional extremes that I pour into my writing. If I would’ve given up on the rock n roll lifestyle…I would’ve never been introduced to Guns N Roses and never discovered the writing of Del James (Axl Rose’s roommate, the influence for the November Rain video, and the author that wrote the introduction to my second novel ‘We Believe You’) which influenced me to begin writing in the first place. As the night progressed and I arrived at the cheer banquet, still thinking of former English teaching nemesis, may she rest in peace, I was approached and spoken to by a few other’s that also had a tendency to shun me in my high school days due to my choice of lifestyle and failure to adapt to theirs. Now…no one said that they lined up to shake my hand vigorously and accept me into the ‘Kool Kid’s Klub’ (funny…the KKK. Isn’t it ironic…don’t you think?) but I accomplished something in my life that is worthy of recognition other than the tragedies I previously thought were destined to be such as prison or dead in a ditch. With my fifteen minutes of fame brushed aside, I finally focused on the events of the evening at hand that meant the most. As I watched my gorgeous daughter walk across the stage to present her award to the mentor that both drove and pampered her all year, I realized that children who don’t strive to be like their parents isn’t such a bad thing. I think of all the missed opportunities growing up due to my pride as a young hoodlum and thank the powers-that-be graciously for allowing them to be a lot smarter than I was. They strive to be the best they can be and now are the cheerleaders and sports stars that I avoided like the plague in my youth. There’s been so much attention in the media lately paid to hazing and bullying with celebrities and other public figures suggesting that it all needs to come to an end. In reality, it’s a crossroads. You can choose to let it all get to you, buckle under the pressure, and even take your own life as a result…or you can take those experiences, remain who you really are without conforming, and use those experiences to mold your life into something successful that will one day make them all remember who you were and how they treated you…turning those individuals into better people as a result. Yes, as I said before, not all rants and emotional outlets have to be of a negative nature. Sometimes they can teach a valuable lesson and give glimpses of hope to those that seek it desperately. Just so I don’t step out of character and confuse some of you though…I was the only person there representing the class of 1992 that still exhibited a head full of beautiful, flowing hair…Take that bullies! Enjoy your baldness!

Hit me again Ike...and put some stank on it...

Hit me again Ike…and put some stank on it: So here we go…the rant of the week. This past Saturday, I was almost certain that I was going to go off on Soccer moms and piss poor planned sports parks. I even took my trusty digital voice recorder to the soccer fields to take notes in order to capture every single detail of the Old Navy fashion show that is Saturday morning soccer. Suddenly…things happen, I get emotional and pissed off, and the change occurs. This week, I’m going to dive into the personal lives of my wife and I and set something straight once and for all. First of all…I need to take you back twenty glorious years to the late eighties to explain where we’re coming from. Next to the fountain in our beloved indoor flea market aka the Crossroads Mall…I met a young girl that blew my mind. Granted, she was too young for there to be any kind of love interest but she was cool nonetheless. For years after that, we were almost inseparable as friends. Suddenly, life happened, we both lost track of each other, and the two of us married other people. No big deal, right? After all…there were no feelings involved…or were there? A couple of years later, we ran into each other unexpectedly and, ironically, I was going through a divorce. I confessed my undying love for the girl…and it went absolutely nowhere. She was in a relationship and I was two steps behind. A few months later, I left for the military and was almost certain that the two of us were something that was never meant to be. I knew I loved her with all of my heart but accepted the fact that I was never meant to be with the girl of my dreams. I don’t want to bore you with the details of the next few years so I’ll allow you to fill in the blanks. After that however, with another divorce looming on the horizon, we became a part of each other’s lives once again by chance and the friendship of our youth was rekindled…with one minor detail standing in the way. She had recently gotten married again. Accepting the truth that this was definitely something that was never meant to be, as though all the other signs throughout the years wasn’t enough, I accepted the fact that any type of romantic involvement was totally out of the question and, instead, just enjoyed the comfort and company of my long lost friend again. Then…things turned horribly sour and certain truths came out. She began showing up to my place battered, bruised, and scared out of her mind because the douche she was tied to turned out to be a dope dealing woman beater with a computer full of kiddy porn that was way more important than the beautiful woman that sat before me in confession. A couple of violent instances later, I barged through his front door in an angry rage informing him that my best friend no longer lived with him. He didn’t even put up a fight…although he takes great pride in convincing total strangers that he almost decapitated me screaming towards the heavens ‘There can be only one!’ Long story short, rescue, recovery, romance and now here we are happily married with those bad experiences being nothing more but an occasional nightmare in the deep, dark night. The reason that I chose to rant on this subject is that someone else I know has gotten involved in a relationship with the guy…regardless of the times that she has heard the story of my wife’s near death experiences as well as the guys next wife’s near death experiences plus all the girlfriends in between. First question to the masses…was I wrong in interrupting my wife’s marriage in order to keep her from possibly dying? In my defense, she was my best friend that followed me throughout my worldly travels in my heart and soul and I couldn’t stand to sit back and watch horrible things happen to her. Second question…would you have done the same thing or just sat back and let things play out? Finally…is it just me or do some women just enjoy putting themselves in danger on purpose? Honestly…I guess I just don’t care anymore what happens to this guy or anyone else he’s involved with. Sometimes, pain is the best teacher of them all…otherwise some of us wouldn’t spank our children when we were attempting to teach them a lesson. I stood face to face with this demon and won my prize hands down…although it wasn’t an easy task. There are aspects of her personality that will be fractured forever due to the abuse she took and there’s no amount of support in the world that will ever make them truly whole again. Also, when I think back on all the time I’ve spent over the past few years contemplating this guy’s demise…I wonder how else I could’ve used that time for constructive things? To add insult to injury…the dope dealing, wife beating, child porn king extraordinaire works for the newspaper that I so desperately wish to write for but I guess I can’t let that bother me either. Those are traits that you just don’t want added to your resume. What I’ve slowly realized over the years is that I’ve let this guy become my personal demon, driving anger deep within my soul that will probably be nearly impossible to extract and drive out. It was a close call but I saved the one that really mattered to me. Just as I’ve told my children…the pathway has been laid before us and we’re the ones that have to choose the direction we will walk. You can’t save the world, Chad…you can’t save the world. It’s time to stop trying. Besides…if I could…we’d have no one to watch on Springer, Wilkos, and Maury. Was this truly a rant…or was it a confession from the remnants of my tattered soul? Evil is real and it walks among us…putting our newspapers together while we sleep in our comfortable beds awaiting its morning message. When you’re done reading it with darkened fingers…is it the ink rubbing off…or the blackness of his soul seeping out of his body reaching out to each and every one of us? I release you, demon, to haunt me no more. And people wonder why I only read the online version of the paper…

He said...she said...but it's not polite to talk with your mouth full...

There are some groups of individuals out there that swear human beings evolved from animals. If this is indeed the case, then there are some of us that have forgotten our roots altogether. If you watch animals closely…and no, I don’t mean in a perverted type of way where some guy goes to the zoo in a trench coat and you can never quite see where his hands are when he visits the primate house…they never seem to go to the bathroom anywhere near where they eat. Now, there are exceptions to the rule such as when you place them in a habitat that is too small and they have no choice…but as long as you afford them the space they deserve, they absolutely never do an outtake where an intake is performed. Using this analogy…you can compare it to your workplace easily. Never crap where you consume…and never get your mistress where you make your money. I’ve told people this time and time again but they never seem to listen to me. Once…and only once in my lifetime full of adventures…I decided to pick a girlfriend at the same place I worked. At first, it was absolutely wonderful but it later appeared that I had made several enemies for stepping in before any of them had the courage to approach her. Excuse me for having the courage/stupidity to be able to speak to women without fear! After I left for the military, it wasn’t long before I received the inevitable ‘Dear John’ letter due to the fact that all of my enemies had decided to approach her and take turns being ‘me’. I’m sure they never quite stepped up to the task…but the fact of the matter is that they all tried. When my military days were over and I returned to work…imagine the awkwardness for them and the pleasure for me during the confrontation. Luckily…it was an aerospace plant and there are tons of places to hide. I guess, in all honesty, it comes with time and experience. Wisdom over knowledge. In my current employment, I have been accused over the years for being stuck up and unsociable by all the young people that seem to come and go like the White Star cruise ships in a field of icebergs. Ironically along the lines of Titanic…everyone seems to want to draw everyone else naked with a big honking diamond around their neck! Some people accuse my success as a published author as the culprit but in all reality…it’s my ability to stay strong in a sea of stupid. Seven long years have placed me near the top of the seniority food chain…but it wasn’t easy. I’ve seen them come and I’ve seen them go. Most times, I don’t even bother learning their names. When you work in a place like I do there is an extremely high turnover rate. The reasoning for most of it is that some people can’t see and deal with the things that an officer experiences daily without going home and drinking themselves into a coma. Most of them, however, go buck wild with power when they pin the badge upon their chest and think that they’re untouchable. Parties turn to orgies and girlfriends get distributed amongst the guys like a Sunday morning collection plate. As of late, I decided that I was tired of the ‘holier than thou’ accusations and began to socialize a bit with a few of the newer officers…perhaps even thinking for a microsecond that my acquired wisdom would somehow rub off on them. Unfortunately, wisdom wasn’t what these people were in the business of rubbing and I soon found myself caught up in the rumor mill and ‘in the know’ of a world that I was certain I’d left many years ago. The next thing I know, I’m being called to the carpet in front of the three floating people from the Bill and Ted movies…and my air guitar impressions weren’t beginning to distract them. They wanted answers. One of the main rats on the sinking ship of justice was dunking everyone else involved under the water in an attempt to build a makeshift raft out of their drowning carcasses…and decided to drop the one name that threw them all for a loop upon its utterance. Mine. Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, I filled them in on a world of nastiness that I had never seen with my own eyes and only heard about through random breaks in the monotony of the daily grind. Why do they always come to me to die? I owed no one any loyalty whatsoever but, in the end, it’s going to make for some tension amongst some of the people I work with. It’s also not the best of ideas to stab a writer in the back just to save your own skin…because he’ll post your dilemma all over the internet to where every grandma and their dog can see what a nasty prostitute you’ve been. Wait a sec…retraction…prostitutes make a profit on their extracurricular activities. If you give it away like fortune cookies at a Chinese restaurant…it’s called ‘whoring around’. In the end…and not to quote Fred Durst because he’s any type of intelligent saint…it was all about the he said/she said BS and we all went about our daily lives as if nothing happened. Like the life lessons with animals…these people also forgot one of the first rules we learn as human beings also. He might have said this…and she might have said that…but it’s not polite to speak with your mouth full. Never defecate where you devour. Imagine the consequences if you confuse the two substances…

Feb 15th 2011

To begin things off, I’d like to tell a little story about why I’m doing this. Once upon a time, there was an editor of a newspaper that saw potential in a young writer. With three novels under his belt and his own monthly column in a magazine, he though he’d be perfect for a weekly rant column in the local publication. As luck would have it however, the editor left the organization and a new one took his place. Still riding on the promise from the previous editor, the young writer contacted the new editor with the hopes that he would keep the former editor’s promise. The response the writer got was ‘You’ll have to learn to write about something other than ghosts.’ And so I shall. Unfortunately for a lot of you, this week’s edition is of a local nature…so anyone who was hoping like crazy that I would go off on the President or something along those lines is going to be highly disappointed. Besides, that job comes open every four years and all citizens are more than welcomed to apply. The man is doing the best job he can do with the tools provided…which aren’t the sharpest ones in the shed. No, this weeks rant will be stuffed full of feelings for my local community and those that were elected to keep it safe. It would appear as though a certain individual no longer employed by our beloved law enforcement agency still has some sensitive feelings about his former employer. So, rather than just swallow his thorny pride and use it as a learning experience, he chooses to use his influence in the media to twist and turn certain events into scandalous wrongdoings. A group of men came to the aid of a coworker in dire need of assistance and somehow it was chewed up, swallowed, and then regurgitated into a story of abused manpower. When that didn’t work to his advantage, he chose to file suit against his former employer about being terminated for advertising the characteristics of a shady character amongst illuminated individuals. Now what you, my beloved reader, have to keep in mind is that there are always two, sometimes three, sides to every story and you have to take what is read here with a grain of salt and make up your own minds for yourselves. The one fact in this entire scenario is that there were accusations made against someone. Hint of the day children: If you don’t want to be accused of certain things…don’t put yourself in precarious situations where those certain things can be tied to you. Pretty easy, huh? What you don’t do is try to be a superman, keep things to yourself, and use the information for personal gain because you have a personal vendetta against the accused. Now…when this falls through, and it more than likely will, what’s next? Are we going to see stories in the media of the man in charge taking your bicycle as a child or stealing your girlfriend at the high school prom? Where do we draw the line and stop listening to you ‘cry wolf’…for lack of better terminology? Why can’t you come clean and be honest? Why don’t you admit that you have political aspirations within this county and you want a head start on the mud slinging? Oh…wait…you revealed to us two years ago that you had political aspirations within this county…and the people showed you in one giant voice that they didn’t so much as want you operating an ice cream truck. So…what do you do now? You find other people that were battered and bruised in the last election, band together, and back another potential candidate! We’ve got it all figured out so…the time for lies and deceit and under the table backstabbing are over. Be honest…or do we have to wait for the campaign signs? I hate cliffhangers! Better yet…why don’t you disguise your voice, call the media, claim that you were abducted by aliens and…when everyone is looking ‘up’…you can run off to Canada! Granted…it’s not the best of exit strategies but it seems to work for possible murder suspects. Kill a man, have someone contact the media stating that the suspect killed himself, and run away as fast as you can while everyone is searching for your body! Brilliance at it’s finest and I plan on using it myself someday. Until then…I shall end this on the coat tails of a dirty limerick…since this week’s subject is definitely not worthy of my finest poetry.
There once was a guy named _ _ _ _ _
He was constantly moaning and cryin’
Advertising his knob
He’s now lost his job
But you can’t blame the poor guy for tryin’

“Advertising his knob” is sophisticated talk for “being a dick”. FYI

Until next time…keep believing – Hometown Outcasts
There…was that un-ghostly enough for you?

A Taste of Home Reviews

Far From Home - Chapter 1 - First Draft

I'm sure it will go through a ton of changes between now and publishing, but here is the first draft of the first chapter to 'A Taste of Home's" sequel titled 'Far From Home'. I know this is a tease...but it will kind of give you an idea of where the story is heading. Enjoy








1.
The falling December snow blanketed the tiny North Texas town of Twin Oaks in a manner which only a few of its residents had experienced before. Occasional streaks of the evening sunlight nestled securely behind the slow moving clouds briefly illuminated the accumulating mounds of precipitation to reveal a feeling of purity that was rare to these parts. It wasn’t an everyday winter occurrence that the children of this community got to don their cold weather clothing and venture out into what resembled a Norman Rockwell painting come to life or the adults a day off from their jobs at Ellen Air Base without it feeling like they were participating in some massive act of absence. This wasn’t the first situation outside the bounds of normalcy for this small community in recent times, though. To be more precise, nothing had been the same for any of its citizens over the past five years.

For most of them, it was easy to think back to the days when their town had been beaten to its knees by the tyrannical Sheriff Jessie McGee. What had begun as an innocent take over of the county offices upon his election soon turned out to be a living nightmare of fear, greed, and corruption. Before long, it was unsafe to roam the streets after dark due to the skeletal drug traffickers that policed their once quiet neighborhoods. Citizens who stood against McGee were silently disappearing at an alarming rate and rumors swept throughout the community on frightened lips regarding the Sheriff’s involvement in it all. Their futures seemed hopeless with no end to the chaos in sight. That was before the infamous Liberman family incident…

Toby Liberman had been a man that was no different than any other you’d pass on the Twin Oaks main drag while the average citizen went about their daily activities. Middle aged, yet handsome, rarely an eyebrow had been raised in his general direction over the years that would cause someone to distinguish him from any other man in town. He had grown up in this tiny community, played for the high school football team in his youth, and slaved away after graduation as a drone worker for the town’s only local employer. Like many of his fellow classmates and coworkers…he’d barely crossed beyond the borders of the city limits signs with the exception of a few military years that he never seemed to speak of. In all meaning of the word, he was the epitome of ‘local’.

His best friend and eventually brother in law Johnny Haynes was an inseparable part of Toby’s life from school, Army, and workforce. At times, it appeared as though the two of them were somehow attached to one another because it was a unique occasion when one was seen without the other. Johnny had been more of the leader of the relationship with a tongue like sharpened steel and an attitude to match. He had protected Toby for the majority of his life and it was a surprise to no one when the local preacher announced to the world for the first time that Toby and the lovely Jessica Haynes were joined in holy matrimony. The town would never be the same...

Fast forwarding throughout the years, the typical observer would notice a child born into the Liberman family and a picturesque portrait of small town Texas life unfolding for all to see. In Twin Oaks…it was almost expected. By day, it was witnessed by all that the young family would go about their daily lives in an orderly and typical fashion concerning work and home like any other. It was by night, however, that things in the Liberman home were not exactly as they seemed to their friends, neighbors, and the occasional nosey passer by. As most marriages do, a dozen or so years had taken their toll on the relationship and the more exciting and dark aspects of the tiny town were shaping into something that Jessica Liberman was becoming more and more attracted to with each passing argument. Of course, it didn’t help much that a certain Sheriff and had been trying desperately for the majority of his life to win her heart and steal her away from Toby by any means necessary. This also meant that the Sheriff Jessie McGee was definitely not Mr. Liberman’s number one fan and supporter. Without a doubt, regardless of a clean record as far as the law was concerned, Toby was the Sheriff’s mortal enemy. It wasn’t long before the rumors began to fly.

Night after night, Toby was left to his own devices to raise and care for their daughter, Katie, with Johnny to assist him with filling in the blanks here and there when his inexperienced fatherly advice just wasn’t enough. As luck would have it, as it often does when it comes to broken marriages and infidelities, a town drunk by the name of Archie Weldon let slip the rumor of the heated meetings between Jessica Liberman and Jessie McGee and a confrontation that would change everyone’s life in Twin Oaks, both directly involved and innocent bystander, took place. This particular incident was indeed the initial domino that caused the entire parlor trick to go awry and the numbers displayed regarding the population on the city limits signs to dwindle…

On a rain soaked October morning, before the sleepy townsfolk could barely rub the muck from their eyes and partake in their morning coffee ritual, the local media had released a statement that shocked them all beyond belief. Toby Liberman had been discovered unconscious in a field of blood and surrounded by the remains of three other unfortunate locals. Although the details were sketchy at first, it turned out to be the bodies of a local young teenager and two ambulance technicians that were supposedly on scene to help in an unknown situation. He was arrested on sight by the Sheriff Jessie McGee and taken into custody to the Myrtle County jail awaiting arraignment. Before the rumors altering and twisting the situation could even fall upon the ears of the unknowing, however, that situation was changed drastically also.

The morning after, the citizens of Twin Oaks were updated to the facts that Toby had somehow escaped the confines of the jail and was now at large and hiding out somewhere deep in the wooded areas just outside the town. His long time best friend and family member Johnny Haynes was reported to be murdered at the hands of the fugitive and a county wide manhunt was organized. Soon after, Toby’s wife Jessica would fall victim to her husband’s wrath also and all law enforcement and committed townspeople involved in the search remained clueless to his whereabouts. The young Katie Liberman was nowhere to be found and was suspected to be a victim of kidnapping by the twisted father.

A few mornings later, while the citizens of the small town quaked in fear of what could possibly lay in store for each of them, news reports and video footage flooded their senses revealing that Sheriff McGee had been responsible for all the macabre happenings by his own confession and Toby Liberman, now reunited with his missing teenage daughter, was an innocent man once again…with one small difference to his once mediocre existence. The video footage being shown on the local news stations revealed the Sheriff to be some kind of monster, a werewolf in all mythical sense of the word, and he had been defeated at the hands of a similar looking Toby Liberman. Confused as to whether or not their eyes were deceiving them all, they eventually embraced what remained of the Liberman family for all they were worth. Celebrity status helped a little…which eventually led to his election as Myrtle County’s Sheriff with no opposition whatsoever and taking the place of his former arch nemesis. The town now fully believed in his supernatural existence and embraced their new mascot, so to speak, as he used his new found powers for good instead of the evil intentions that the murderous movie monsters they’d grown to fear from the minds of active imaginations and Hollywood makeup artists. All had become normal once again regardless of the changes submitted by the citizens of Twin Oaks on how the definition of normalcy needed to be altered.

It had again become a picturesque portrait of small town America where families could live and grow again like they could before the dark times of Jessie McGee. It was a way of life only spoke about on the tongues of the older individuals who had remembered fondly the ancient way of life. Occasionally, a howl of terror would be emitted from somewhere in town deep in the darkness of the night that still frightened some of them to the bone…but ultimately they knew all was well. Sheriff Liberman was doing all he could to ensure their safety and well being…by any means necessary. Sometimes…a werewolf just has to feed.

As the years rolled slowly by and Toby was elected yet again to the office of Sheriff for a second term unopposed, the majority of the townspeople soon forgot of his ‘specialty’ and he was viewed once again as just a normal guy with a badge. This was exactly how Toby wanted it. He had taken a new bride and his daughter, blossoming into a beautiful yet unusually aggressive young lady, had moved away to college. Life was peaceful. Granted, there was a time in his life that he had learned to cherish his extraordinary gift due to the fear it brought those that would come to Twin Oaks in order to do harm to it’s sanctity or it’s residents…but those instances had now become far, few, and in between in the eyes of the town’s citizens. Word of mouth travels fast and goes great distances when it comes to the lifestyle of criminals and the locations in which they’re not welcomed. As far as Toby Liberman was concerned, this was all that any of them needed to know. The majority of the town’s battles had actually been fought privately and in complete secrecy from the population. Knowing from the beginning that he wasn’t the only creature of the night lurking the world, he felt that it would be best for such tales to go untold. Today, however, that choice was no longer his to make and a few of Twin Oak’s most well known citizens were about to learn the hard way that…just because you don’t go looking for trouble…doesn’t always mean that it won’t get bored and seek you out instead.

Mitchell Sanderson had been the head barkeeper at the Twin Oaks American Legion for well over thirty years. Since his return from Vietnam in 1973 with both his mind and body being far from completely intact, he had been offered the job as a way to still serve his country and his fellow veterans…even if it only meant serving them one beer at a time. In all fairness though, he really didn’t mind all that much being stuck in the presence of alcohol from dawn until dusk day in and day out. In a way, it reminded him of those friends that were long gone and forgotten in those far away jungles of his youth. Sometimes, deep in the night when he’d had more than a few…the images of those old buddies and the instant replay of their demise that had been burned into his brain for all eternity came back to haunt him. After a few more, they’d be quieted again for the remainder of the evening, but the quiet sometimes frightened him more.

He had been present on that fateful day that Toby Liberman and Johnny Haynes confronted Archie Weldon in his bar. Granted, he had to remove Haynes from the establishment on more than one occasion and several of those times had been initiated long before Haynes lips had even enjoyed the first sip of his Blue Moon beer. That guy had a way with words that would either make you double over in laughter instantly or despise him to the point of coming to blows without regard to life or limb. In all honesty…he missed him fondly. Toby had left the bar in hysterics that rainy October evening and nothing had been much the same since. The changes had taken a lot of getting used to but eventually, after finding out the shocking truth behind all of the former Sheriff’s lies, he gladly cast his vote later that year that would land Toby Liberman into the seat of Myrtle County’s number one protector. Needless to say, he was a huge fan of the Sheriff and he made damn sure that he never paid his hard earned money for another beer. It was the least he could do to give back to the community.

The bar itself, once decorated with war photos and military memorabilia from around the world, was now a shrine to their local legend come to life with framed posters displaying every werewolf movie ever made…complete with a vintage pinball machine that proudly boasted the hair covered face of the great Lon Chaney shadowed by a blindingly bright full moon. He never quite understood why the Sheriff would repeatedly attempt to explain to him that his fantastic gift was not really a gift at all. It was a curse straight from the bowels of hell or possibly lower. Mitchell didn’t care. He thought it was fascinating.

Today was one of those days in which he hoped that the good Sheriff would come in for a drink or two just to alter the tracks of his melancholy mind that was wandering way too much in the silence. The unusually harsh snow storm had driven the majority of his normal patrons back to their homes and families to be protected from the elements gone wild and there’s only so many times you can hear The Eagles belt out Duelin’ Daltons on the juke box before you begin to get a little bit lonely in the darkness. He tried to refrain from drinking while minding the bar but today was the extraordinary exception to the rule and more than a few shots of whiskey was currently warming the empty pits of his stomach. It was taking everything he had not to close up shop and catch a nap by the wood burning stove in the makeshift back room that he called home but the one customer he’d had so far was still sitting in the darkest corner of the bar still banging away shot by shot at the bottle of Jack Daniels he had purchased nearly two hours ago. A bartender’s job is never truly finished as long as the Tennessee boy’s continued to distil and deliver their fine product throughout the world.

Finally, the dim beams of approaching headlights peered underneath the doorway and his brain’s pathway of loneliness and despair on this frigid winter’s day was interrupted with the hopes of conversation and camaraderie. Sure enough, the door to the bar swung open with a blast of frigid wind and falling snow revealing the image of two regulars that would again bring a little normalcy to this most unusual of afternoons. Knocking their boots together on the welcome mat to remove the caked on snow and shaking of the bone chilling cold, Frank Morrison and Benny Johnson slowly strolled to their usual seats at the bar rubbing their exposed hands together in an attempt to warm them from the repeated attacks they’d endured from the falling temperature.
“Hey Franks and Beans” Mitchell welcomed them in his usual fashion “I was wondering when and if you two were going to make a cameo today!”

Frank and Benny were two of the civilian workers on the flight line of Ellen Air Base and, as of right now, they looked to be more miserable than that of recent memory. The majority of the men and women that occupied the work force there were from Dallas and weren’t about to traverse the treacherous roads that separated the big city from Twin Oaks but the locals didn’t possess much of an excuse when it came to the bad weather brewing above their heads. In these types of situations, the average outsider wouldn’t think that there would be much to do when it came to the comings and goings of aircraft but crazy Air Force pilots fear little in the form of bad weather.
“Yeah” Frank spoke first “I didn’t think those fighter jockeys were ever going to stop flying in today. We’ve been fueling them constantly since the sun came up this morning…what little bit of sun there was.”
“You’d think that those guys would’ve wanted to stay on the ground today” Benny added to the conversation “but I guess it’s a pretty big adrenaline rush when you’re kicking afterburners with the wind knocking you around like you’re a paper airplane in a fan factory.”

Mitchell poured them up a couple of their usual drinks and sat out a bowl of fresh pretzels. Clinking their shot glasses against one another in a show of celebration for the simple fact that they’d survived yet another day in the human workforce, they simultaneously poured them down their welcome throats and requested another. Well knowing of the two men’s traditional behavior Mitchell hadn’t even bothered to place the bottle back on the shelf behind him. He obliged without even so much as a hint of hesitation. Leaning in closer to them, he whispered his warning.
“You boys might want to keep your conversations of the local varieties to a minimum today, if you catch my drift…there’s a fellow sitting in the corner back there that’s not from around here.”

Together, they both looked over their shoulder to take a quick glance at the shadowed individual that hadn’t so much as spoken more than two words to Mitchell since he’d entered the bar with the exception of his order. The man just stared straight ahead into nothingness as though he was in some sort of a hypnotic trance and took no notice to the fact that he was being sized up and picked apart by the two curious locals. Slowly, they turned back to their drinks in confusion.
“Who the hell is he?” Benny inquired “I’ve never seen him around here before.”
“I know” Mitchell answered to the best of his abilities “I checked his identification when he came in here because he almost looks too young to even buy a soda pop. His birth date checks out though. He’s got some type of weird Indian name that I’m not even going to attempt to pronounce and the address is from Oklahoma.”
“Oklahoma!” Frank almost announced too loudly “I wonder what the hell brings him here on a day like this? The weather up that way is the same as it is here. His hair is way too long to be military…”
Mitchell just glanced at the two of them blankly, sharing in their enigma.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking also. I was beginning to wonder when he was going to come to life and try to rob the place…that’s why I was giddy with joy when the two of you strolled in here. I feel a little safer now to tell the truth.”

The two men shrugged it off and slammed back their second shot of liquefied courage. There wasn’t much tolerance in their town anymore for individuals that wandered in with unusual or ill willed agendas and, if it was up to Frank and Benny, they weren’t about to allow anything to go on without at least questioning the man’s intentions. As far as they were concerned, his presence there wasn’t making much sense at all. Twin Oaks was nowhere near the interstate and you didn’t end up there on accident on your way to anywhere important. Requesting and finishing yet a third drink, an unspoken understanding of what they must do washed over them as their barstools squealed backwards across the floor in unison.
“You guys be careful…” Mitchell warned them both “The phones are still out from the storm and I don’t have any way to get in touch with Toby if things get crazy in here.”
The two men choked back their laughter with a grin.
“Don’t worry, Mitch…we’ve got this” Benny assured him “Besides…this kid looks like he thought he grew a pubic hair once…until he pissed out of it!”

Slowly and surely, the locals crept towards the unknown figure of the stranger that wasn’t even so much as grimacing at their approach from across the room. Pouring and sipping another round from the whiskey bottle on his table, he wasn’t even bothering to turn his head noticing the movement in the otherwise dark and statuesque surroundings. He just stared straight ahead as though his attention was being occupied elsewhere. The only problem with this situation was…there was absolutely nothing there to get his attention. Clearing their throats again together as though they had practiced this scenario a dozen or so times…they spoke up.
“Hey, last of the Mohicans, can we help you with anything?” Frank initiated the taunting “You’re a little far from the reservation.”
“Yeah” Benny agreed “We don’t see too many of you guys down this way. Did the casinos shut down early or something because of the weather?”

Mitchell began to laugh underneath his breath a little at the humor being spewed forth by the two guys on the attacking end of the conversation. Still, he couldn’t help but be a little nervous towards the situation at hand because the one being attacked still hadn’t so much as even acknowledged their presence. There was something about the quiet man that he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet. Either way, if push came to shove, there was three of them and only one of him. If that still weren’t enough…there was always the twelve gauge shotgun that lay hidden underneath the lip of the bar with a round chambered for just such instances.
“Are you deaf, Tonto?” Frank carried on “Or are you just ignoring us on purpose?”

The dark skinned stranger filled his shot glass one more time and pressed it firmly against his lips. Tilting his head backwards with a purpose, he slammed the burning liquid hard against the back of his throat and slammed it violently against the wooden table causing an eerie thud to echo throughout the quiet room. Cutting his eyes up at them under his coal black hair that draped messily across his stone face, he finally returned fire.
“The reason I’m here has nothing to do with either of you” he growled deeply “If I were in your boots…I’d want to keep it that way.”

Frank and Benny no longer chose to disguise their laughter out of respect for the stranger and let it all out. The young man didn’t appear to be any older than his mid twenties and had the body frame of someone who hadn’t picked up anything heavier than a television remote control during his entire life. If fear was what the man was trying to produce within the souls of the two burly men, then the young brave was failing miserably. Without hesitation, Benny decided to kick the festivities up to the next level.
“You know, young buck…you’d look awfully funny going back to the teepee with that whiskey bottle shoved up your brown ass…”
“Yeah” Frank backed up his friend “You’ve got a lot of damn nerve coming into our place of patronage and throwing threats around like that!”

Scooting back away from the table and standing straight up revealing his height to the men, the stranger glared deep into their souls with sureness and not a drop of fear. Gently, he pulled his hair back from his line of vision revealing more of his youthful face. Standing firm, he offered his challenge.
“Well, if you think you can teach me some kind of life altering lesson to assist me in changing my ways…I would be more than obliged to learn from you.”

Before the words had barely left his lips, Benny lunged forward with a punch that was sure to land its mark. With lightning fast reflexes, the young boy sprung out of the way and grasped the approaching projectile firmly. Twisting it backwards and locking it firmly behind the aggressor’s back, the once sure man screamed in pain from the quick counter attack. The Indian youth slammed him hard against the back of his neck with a powerful swipe of his free hand causing a deafening pop to echo throughout the building. Casually, he dropped the limp body to the floor and kicked him out of the way in the hopes that the next man still contained the desire to be the follow up challenger.
“You’re dead, Tonto!” Frank screamed grabbing a billiards stick from the closest wall “You came into the wrong watering hole today!”

Swinging frantically, the delirious local sent flying glass in all directions as the glass bottle on the young man’s table fractured into tiny shards all around them. Ducking and dodging in an unnaturally fast manner, the new target of his anger flipped backwards out of the line of fire and crouched backwards on the floor beyond with acrobatic grace. Glancing up at him with eyes of fire through his stringy, flowing hair, the young boy lunged forward again in attack without warning. Catching the stick in midair at full swing, he tucked it hard into the crook of his arm…yanking it from its former owner with a violent tug leaving him weaponless. Breaking it hard against his knee, he swung the splintered wood with blurring velocity slapping the frightened, fleeing man on both temples of his forehead with the precision of a trained assassin. Lifeless, Frank crashed into the antique pinball machine causing sparks and flickering lights to blink madly creating a strobe light effect in the far corner of the bar. Flinging what remained of the pool cue carelessly behind him, the once thought harmless young boy now turned his attention on the only conscious individual left in the room.

Fingers fumbling with fear, Mitchell Sanderson reached underneath the bar for the cold steel barrel of the waiting shotgun. Breathing heavily from the scene that had just played out before his very eyes…he flicked the weapon’s safety mechanism and aimed it with shaky precision. Without fear or hesitation for his own safety, the more than capable target approached him slowly through the showering, arching electricity.
“I hope the aim of that weapon is truer than that of your heart’s intentions, old man…I can smell your fear from all the way over here!”
“What the hell do you want from us?” the old bartender screamed in terror “What are you even doing here?”

The young brave snickered and smiled through his evil teeth. Brush his hair back away from his face yet again, he continued his approach towards the angry weapon without so much as a pause. His muscles had grown to recognizable definition more so than they were before the confrontation had been initiated. Finally, he spoke again to reveal his sinister answer.
“I didn’t come here to cause a problem with you, old man…nor did I come here to be harassed by two drunken hillbillies. I came here for Toby Liberman.
“The Sheriff?” Mitchell inquired confused again “What the hell do you want with Toby Liberman?”
“That’s my business, old timer, and if you value your life you’ll continue to keep it my business” the Indian boy barked at him with hatred in his voice “Now, since you decided to interfere with my agenda, I suggest you call him here while you still have the ability to speak!”

The old war veteran began shaking uncontrollably with thoughts of what was to take place in his near future. Not only had this unknown threat just taken down two of the toughest men in Twin Oaks like they were infants, he was courageous or ignorant enough to walk towards a loaded gun in the hands of a Vietnam veteran and was wanting him to summon the one person in town that wouldn’t be the loser in any conflict placed in front of him. To make matters much worse, Mitchell had no way whatsoever to call for assistance which was more than likely not going to cause any type of smile, twisted or otherwise, on the face of the man that now intended harm to befall him. The young Indian spoke again with authority.
“You’ve got exactly ten seconds to pick up that telephone and give me what I want or I’m going to hurt you in ways that are going to make those rice patty nightmares of yours seem like bubblegum and lollipops!”
“I can’t!” Mitchell plead for his life “All the phones are out and I can’t call anyone right now!”

Suddenly and without warning, the boy flung an empty beer glass from one of the vacant tables with sniper precision shattering it against the barrel of the twelve gauge shotgun. With the pain of a dozen tiny stabbing knives penetrating the flesh of his hands, the weapon was forced from Mitchell’s hands as blood began to cover the countertop below him. Approaching again with yellow eyes piercing the darkness between them, the old man said a silent prayer to the powers that be against the pain and misfortune that was destined to soon engulf him.
“I don’t give a damn if you’ve got to set this place on fire with both of us in it” The young man now ordered a mere two inches from the bartender’s troubled face “You get that son of a bitch over here!”

With the chill of a thousand snow storms, the frigid air whipped inside the bar from the open door revealing the silhouette of a man in the doorway exhibiting no fear or sign of retreat at the situation before him. Satisfied, the young Indian boy backed away from his injured prey and stood firm and ready for what awaited him. Slamming the door hard behind him with a scream of the interrupted wind, the individual stepped forward causing the neon lights to reflect a prism of color against the polished tin star upon his chest.
“Do you know how long it took me to track down and restore a Wolfman pinball machine?”

Peering underneath the rim of his hat, Toby Liberman quickly shot his eyes in all directions to assess the oncoming dangers. With the exception of the bartender, his target, and the two unconscious men by what remained of his arcade game, the youthful aggressor was the only enemy to be found. Gently, he removed his head cover and placed it atop the hat rack by the bar’s entrance.
“I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time Mr. Liberman” the boy finally spoke breaking the awkward silence “I’ve prepared for you.”
“As young as you are, puppy, there’s no way that you could’ve prepared yourself enough” Toby spoke surely “Just remember when this is all said and done…you brought this on yourself”

With a gut wrenching and sinister growl, the stranger fell to the floor writhing in pain as bones cracked revealing his true form. Mitchell gawked with an open mouth in both fear and wonder at the grotesque sight of the beast now returning to view. With his head held high, the creature lurched forth a howl of challenge to all who stood before him revealing his weapons of torture at the end of each fingertip. Dropping low into a defensive stance, he motioned for Toby to accept the invitation.
“Mitch…go and find a shady spot and lock the door. You’ll know it’s over when the screaming stops” Toby instructed him.
“No problem, Sheriff” he replied “Good luck…”

As the bartender fled to the back room, locking the door behind him firmly, Toby began to unbutton his uniform shirt and removed it to reveal a plain white cotton undershirt. He’d ruined enough expensive clothing over the years that he nearly had the procedure down to a less than respected art form. Taking a deep cleansing breath to focus his thoughts, he now faced the monstrous terror head on.
“You know…it’s one thing when you guys show up at the house to raise hell…but when you come into a bar…my bar to be exact…and start ripping up the place in front of my citizens who have little or nothing to do with our little conflict…I have a tendency to take that personal.”

Shaking off the oncoming pain with a shrug as he’d done a hundred times before, the Sheriff’s alter ego came to life without so much as a flinch. Before he could blink an eye, the young wolf lunged directly for him with claws exposed in an attempt to tear him to the bone. Effortlessly, Toby dove to his left avoiding the attack and causing the new villain to smash head first into the bar with a dull thud from the impact. Grasping hold of the nearest table, he slammed it hard against the body of the stunned aggressor shattering it into a hundred tiny splinters. This fight was over.

As the hair receded back into the body of the conflict’s victor revealing a more recognized image of the Twin Oaks hero, Toby removed his service weapon from the holster and pulled back firmly on the hammer. There was no point in destroying any more of the bar than had already been done before his arrival. Too weak to change, the young boy glared up at him through weakened animal eyes and prepared for the finale of his failure.
“I’ve told your people ten times or more that I’m sorry I had to kill one of your own…but every time you come here I end up killing one more. Deliver that message to the spirit world and pass it around as much as possible because, honestly, this shit is getting old.”

With the ear piercing crack of the weapon, the monster fell lifeless and the conflict ceased to be. Holstering his weapon once again, he buttoned his shirt and sat down hard atop the closest bar stool with his head held firmly in the palms of his hands. Like a frightened child in the darkness, the bartender slowly opened the door and peered around for any signs of danger. Seeing that all was calm again, he emerged cautiously and headed in the direction of Toby for the details of all that came to be.
“Do me a favor Mitch” Toby spoke first “Give me a bottle of anything and then go outside and call the paramedics from my squad car’s radio so you guys can get some help. I’m going to sit here for a moment or two and pretend like the last ten minutes of my life didn’t happen.”

The bartender glanced at the nerve racked man with sorrow regarding what he just had to do. Granted, he would’ve killed him if the Sheriff hadn’t have intervened and saved him, but all in all he was just a kid and this was no way for a child to die…regardless of where that child’s frame of mind resided. Toby sighed a breath of relief and began to pull the whiskey directly from the bottle. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to interpret the fact that what he’d just done scarred him deeply.
“If I hadn’t done that Mitch…” Toby explained “he would’ve kept going until he killed both you and me. I figured there was no reason to draw it out and destroy the rest of this place. I just finished it as quickly as I could.”
Mitchell placed a comforting hand upon his tense and weathered shoulders.
“Were you serious when you said that he wasn’t the first one to come here for you Toby?
“Yeah” Toby answered him sorrowfully “This was just the first time they ever involved anyone else and they’re usually a lot older than that.”
“Well, you had to do what you had to do” the old bartender attempted to console him “What if that would’ve been Becky in here instead of the ‘Franks and Beans’ twins?”

Toby shuddered to think at the truth behind it all. There were only four individuals in the town of Twin Oaks that new the truth of what happened that stormy night in the Myrtle county fair grounds all those years ago and two of them were no longer among the living. His former best friend and then spiritual advisor Johnny Haynes and his mortal enemy, the cause of all this, Jessie McGee lay six feet underground without the ability to tell anyone his secrets. The other two were his wife Becky Liberman and himself…and the two of them had sworn to take the unspoken understanding to their own graves also. The thirteen year old Katie Liberman, his only daughter, had been the one to deliver the death blow upon the Sheriff that night. If anyone at all knew of the family secret, it would instantly place her in danger also regardless of the fact that she was now far from home. All that anyone needed to know was that Toby was responsible for it all. It kept him in the sights of the Native American werewolf clans of Oklahoma and her out of the path of danger.
“It didn’t matter who was here, Mitch…it’s my job to protect you guys no matter what. This conflict just happens to be a personal one aimed at me. I just hope that they come to an understanding soon that I don’t intend on rolling over without a fight…”

Toby glanced down again at the bleeding boy that had long since returned to his human form on the floor below him. He knew deep down that this conflict was far from over and they’d never stop coming for him to take out their revenge for the loss of Jessie McGee. Regardless of how he’d twisted his power for that of wrong doing and oppression, none of their pack had ever seen it with their own eyes or experienced what it had been like to live in fear of his shadow. He was their brother…and that was all that mattered to any of them. Taking another pull from the emptying bottle, he glared at the mirror on the other side of the bar revealing the face of a man that was no longer easily recognizable.
“I’m just glad that Katie isn’t here to witness any of this. You know how much of a danger magnet she is…”