Blanket, Pardon?

Boy, I must be really hard up for content on here.  I mean, how many times have I woken up over the years and seen a sinister figure standing at the foot of the bed or in the doorway, only to realize it was something benign like a hanging jacket or a microphone stand or a bookshelf or Pop superstar Michael Jackson?  And I've never blogged about that, have I?

But here I am with an even lamer story.  You're welcome, I suppose.

I don't get up to go to the bathroom every night, but I often do--and when I do, it's usually right around the time the sun is starting to rise (yes, exactly the time you are starting your day).  This was one of those times.  

What I saw.

I stepped into the hall, glancing across to the living room . . . and I saw what appeared to be--only for a moment, but hey, a moment's enough--a shroud-wrapped person peering at me from the couch.  I froze in my tracks, wondering if maybe my sister had fallen asleep there . . . or if that woman I left for dead on the side of the road back in Tuscaloosa had finally found me.*

I switched on the hall light, and oh, okay, it was just a blanket, nothing more.  I could barely even make out how my brain could've seen a human shape there.

With the light on.

But then I went to my room to get my camera, hoping to be able to recapture what I saw . . . to no avail.  It's hard to recreate something that was never really there to begin with (though it might be fun to try to write a story about it).

What I saw, in that instant before coming fully alert, reminded me of an illustration from 1904 that accompanied "Oh Whistle and I'll Come To You My Lad" by M.R. James (in his book "Ghost Stories of an Antiquary"), that has always stayed with me.  Okay, "always" as in, for the six or seven years since I discovered it.

So, it was nothing.  I recognize that.  But before I went back to bed, I grabbed my phone and took the above two pictures, hoping that they'd convey what a thousand words wouldn't.  I guess I was wrong. 

*Yes, I know I should've checked on her, at least checked for breath on a mirror or something, but I was already late for Big Head Todd and didn't want to miss Broken Hearted Savior.

Podcast That Dares 69: The Cold Equations

Rish presents one of the most famous Science Fiction stories of the 20th Century, 1954's "The Cold Equations" by Tom Godwin.

Afterward, Rish talks about the story at length. How big a shock is the reveal of the stowaway, and what does that say about the reader? What was the hardest part of performing it? If Rish were editing the story now, how much would he cut out?

Note: This is one of the longest episodes I've produced. If you stick around long enough, you'll hear my impression of a YouTuber playing Minecraft. Was it worth it?

If you wish to download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

If you wish to support me on Patreon, click HERE.

Podcast logo by Gino "The Mold Equations" Moretto.

I Saw Him Standing There

I have a bank of cameras in front of me most of the time at work--even now, when I'm typing this, there are twenty-five screens going on the monitor to my left--and usually, if I see quick movement (a car going too fast, someone running in or out of the building, the length of a smile from Emily the Librarian), it will draw my eye.  This case was the opposite, though.

I glanced at the downstairs hallway and saw someone in black standing right in front of the doors.  I paid it no mind, but the next time I glanced at it, there he still was.  Often, that means the connection from the camera feed has been broken and I need to reconnect it.  

But that wasn't the situation here.  I hit Refresh, and the image didn't change.  The guy was just standing there, not moving.  For, like, a full minute.  Was he looking at his phone?  Did he have  a book he was reading?  Was he another pesky ghost?*  Maybe he was soiling himself--which yeah, sometimes happens.

Regardless of the answer, the second I caught a screengrab of the dude in the downstairs hall, he started moving again.  As if he knew.

Once again, this was not really worth blogging about, but I got the image, and rather than making it go to waste, I figured . . .  See, now you've got me second-guessing myself.  Thanks a lot.

*My last shift, there was a manager who was staying overnight, but who thought she heard a man shouting in the building (I'm pretty sure I know who it was--maybe I'll do a recording about it, if I remember to), so I went through both floors of the library, watching and listening.  When I explained that there was nobody, she told me to go on home.  I said, "Are you sure?  You gonna be alright here by yourself?" and she immediately said, "You mean with the ghosts?  I don't know that I believe those stories."  That wasn't what I had been referring to--I would think that a woman alone would be more afraid of running into a man in the dark than a ghost . . . or a bear, if you get my reference.

The Way Of Pain(Quil)

I didn't quite remember the quote from FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING, to start out this little post (I knew it was something like, "So, you have chosen the way of pain," when it was actually, "I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, but you have elected the way of pain"), but every once in a while, I see or hear something that amuses me and want to do a post about it.*

A few months ago, I was walking through the Health & Beauty section of Walmart when I saw a display that had new, fun flavors of NyQuil, the medicine you take to make you sleep when you're sick.**  And one of them struck me as extremely funny--instead of just NyQuil and DayQuil, there was a new red bottle marked PainQuil.

It also comes in purple, for the sleepy kind.

Now, I fully imagine you don't find the name "PainQuil" to be funny (if you did, we'd be closer than we are by quite a bit).  But I find it inexplicably amusing.  PainQuil, a brand name that is uncomfortably close to the word "painful."  Or maybe it's not, maybe it's just me.

Hey, I can't explain why I laughed when I saw it, and brought it up nigh unto incessantly when my cousin and I would go to Walmart.

And then, one day, the PainQuil was gone from the display, never to be brought up again . . . and I regretted never having tried it.  I've never tried a lot of things.***

But hey, the other day, I was walking through the department, minding my business (mankind is my business, the common welfare is my business.  Charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, all are my business), when I passed by the Procter & Gamble-sponsored display . . . and it was back. A whole rack of PainQuil, in all its red-bottled glory.  Oh happy day!

Did I buy any?  What do you think?

No.  No, I didn't.

And then, around the time I thought of making this blogpost, I took my mother to Walmart for grocery shopping and I said, "Ma, if we see a PainQuil display, will you take a picture of me holding a bottle of it?"  She said she would, but assured me that it wouldn't be the least bit funny . . . and I was disappointed to discover that the display had already been taken down.  Or maybe they had just sold so many bottles of delicious pain-sapping elixir (it's ten percent alcohol, by the way!) that they had to replace it with Q-Tips or rubbing alcohol or adult diapers.

But then, last night, my sister complained that the lightbulbs in her refrigerator went out, so I volunteered to get her replacements, and in the Walmart in her town . . . they had PainQuil--it turns out it comes in Cherry flavor and also Honey.  So, I got my picture.

Was I right?  Or was it my mother as usual?

*See also "Don't follow me, creepy creeper."

**As a child, the ad went, "The nighttime coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so you can rest medicine."

***A buddy of mine in Los Angeles had a child and handed out cigars to everybody at work.  I had never smoked, but I told myself, "Well, if I ever do, at least I'll have this fancy cigar at my disposal."  But alas, when a certain hygiene product in my apartment complex started breaking into my place when I was gone (douche--I was calling him a douche there), besides my DVDs, X-box, self-inflating love doll, and coin collection (also in a ceramic container in the shape of a love doll), one of the things he stole was that cigar Kevin had given me.  Sigh.

Rish Outcast 328: My Friend of Misery 2

In the second section of "My Friend of Misery," little brother Brent has a new friend, and Brielle Montrose is starting to suspect it's not a great idea to spend time with the boogeyman.

Afterward, Rish talks about who Brielle is, killing off parents in a story like this, and a ton about child actors.

To download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support my daft efforts on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "My Fiend of Misery" Moretto.

My Voice on "Fallen Angel" by Campfire Radio Theater

I have been known to complain when a particular podcast makes its (according to me) irritatingly unreasonable demands on me, but one podcast I've never been unhappy to work on is Campfire Radio Theater.  John Ballentine's audio dramas are, no exaggeration, the highest-quality productions I get to be a part of.*

When an online investigative journalist is approached about a mysterious object being kept under wraps by the government, she is surprised to find something truly otherworldly, not to mention dangerous.  For her.

I voice General Randall (Character Voice 2 in my list of three), but maybe one day, I'll get to be the lead in one of these again.  Vegas odds say no, though.

Check it out HERE.

*Perhaps that's why they never come to me anymore.  There may be folks out there who can do a dozen voices and accents, instead of my usual three.

Delusions of Grandeur 107: The New Galaxy's Edge

Hey, the Delusions of Grandeur show is back!

Rish makes Marshal watch the new promos for Disneyland, featuring fake-Han Solo and faux-Princess Leia, briefly calls Big Anklevich a baby, and tries to counter the many, many complaints about this new change.  Does anybody remember the Galactic Starcruiser?  Don't people have a way to tap into their inner child?  Wanna hear the story again about the first Spider-man movie?  And how is Anaheim, California like Berlin, Germany?

Check it out HERE!

Rish Outcast 327: My Friend of Misery 1

After a very long introduction, Rish presents the first section of his novella "My Friend of Misery." Teenager Brielle Montrose hears a voice coming from her little brother Brent's room in the middle of the night. And it sure ain't Bluey.

Afterward, Rish tells (in excruciating detail) the inspiration for this story, wonders about the genders of the characters, and proposes an assignment for a Writing class.

Download the file directly by Right-Clicking HERE.

Support me on Patreon HERE!

Logo by Gino "My Fiend" Moretto.

A Case of Silver Screen Syndrome

One of the podcast anthologies that asks me to do narrations for them--the last one being the unfortunately-located "The Cat That Went To Uranus"--is Cast of Wonders.

Recently, they had me narrate "Silver Screen Syndrome" by Mia Xuan.  The father of the narrator is suffering from an uncommon mental (or physical?) disorder wherein he only comes alive and alert when cameras are on him, to increasingly diminishing results.

It's one of those Science Fiction stories that is clearly about Something Else, but cloaked in the fantastic so as to make the subject more palatable to a 1950s audience.  Having to be around someone you love when their mind is deteriorating has got to be difficult, and I can imagine the writer of this story dealing with that by creating a malady that's distant from reality, yet just as baffling and/or frustrating as the real thing.

The story is extremely short, and yet it had half a dozen words in it I did not know how to pronounce, which is pretty rare nowadays.  I did the best I could with it*, but whether my performance is affective (or affecting) or not really depends on the listener.  Find out for yourself HERE.

*And that ain't nothin.  But still.

Creepy Creeper

A while ago, I observed an exchange that, while thoroughly uninteresting for the rest of you, I keep replaying in my head.*

A typical college girl--not a beauty, but not particularly unattractive--was walking into the library, right in front of my desk, and a typical dorky guy--scrawny and inexperienced due to fate and religious upbringing--followed her through the entrance (which is narrow enough our blind patron hits into it two or three times a week--at least), and I suppose he got too close to this paragon of womanhood, because she stopped, glared at him, and said, "Don't follow me, creepy creeper."

The guy gave out a stammering apology, which you would, and stood there while the girl continued on her way.

And that was it--the whole exchange.  I wrote it down in February (02-02-26--the day my buddy Marshal turned forty), and I still think of it, enough to someday want to write a post about it.

"Creepy creeper."  That's what the girl said.  It's such an odd thing to say, almost musical in its rhythm.  But it's also insanely uncreative and trite, almost the sort of thing a pre-K child would say.  So, perhaps it's from a show, something like Spongebob or Paw Patrol or Velma.

But it was also so shamelessly rude**, and spoken loud enough that a middle-aged stranger could hear it, that I can't help but wonder if maybe the two of them were friends (or at least "friends") and this was a term of endearment.  And if I lived in a different community, I could even speculate that they are in a relationship, and this was part of a game they play, where she is the dominant one, always keeping her submissive pet in check, and had simply left the leash and ballgag home that night.

But what if it they didn't know each other, what if it was just what it appeared to be, a brief interaction between strangers, one of whom called the other a creepy creeper?

How does being accused of, um, inappropriate intimacy or stalking not make you feel bad, make you even more socially inhibited than before?  Is this guy going to go walking into an ocean or swimming pool, or worse, to the nearest guns and ammo store (which this town has three)?

I fully realize that it was probably not something I should have given a second thought to.  I know we're not supposed to care, but... I still did.  I still do.

Creepy.

*Almost as though it had been said to me.  You know how when you have an argument with someone and months--even years--later, you keep thinking, "Why didn't I say this at the time?"  The French even have a word for that--l'esprit de l'escalier (meaning, the thought that comes to you once you've reached the stairs)--which, although I can't pronounce it, I can certainly understand it.

**The French have a word for that as well--Cuntish.

Rish Outcast 326: In Security 9 (The Thing Wrapped In The Blanket)

Rish tells a lengthy (interminable?) story about a patron with a wrapped-up object. "Incompetence is about to strike." Also, he encounters The Man In The Stall.

Note: I really ought to go back and retroactively retitle all these episodes with lurid titles like this one.

If you'd like to download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

Come support me on Patreon HERE.

Logo by Gino "Out, Security!" Moretto.