Lately I’ve been thinking about heaven
Image by Mathias Krumbholz by way of a Creative Commons license. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Leviathan1983
Lately I have been thinking about heaven.
In heaven, I am 10 years old again. I live in a small town, surrounded by farms and forests.
It is summer.
I burst from my house at sunup. I cut across Mrs. Disten’s yard , careful to dodge her beds of hollyhock and zinnia and marigold because the last time I didn’t and she yelled at me and Mom gave me a lickin’ when I snuck in that afternoon.
I wear cutoff shorts and a pair of ratty old sneakers that fit my feet perfectly and nothing else.
The streets are lined with shade trees tall as monuments. Within their dark canopies, birds and squirrels and the Hampton Street Boogeyman create tiny rustling sounds.
I have two best friends, one slightly better than the other. Which one is which depends on who will do what with me when. One celebrates dreams, while the other celebrates the here-and-now. Usually it’s all three of us, our allegiances shifting with the pull of the earth.
We take off down a two-lane road that leads to the fields and woods. Behind us, the town awakens slowly.
The gas station opens first, Old Man Tucker wheeling out his whitewalls and cans of Sinclair motor oil. Then, in rapid succession, it is the post office, the drug store and Mr. Hendree’s barber shop. Not until nighttime will the VFW post, the grange hall and the movie theater throw back their doors.
We cut across fields of waist-high weeds. Before us, grasshoppers go tearing into the gathering heat. Ladybugs hover near clusters of Queen Ann’s Lace. Butterflies jitterbug from black-eyed Susan to thistle to dandelion.
We make for a row of trees that shelters a creek we call Oper’s. That’s “old person’s” because the creek flows very slowly. A rock fall as created a silent pool. It is home to a monster trout seen by many and hooked by none. We fish with our calves rubbing smooth stones furred by moss.
As morning gives way to afternoon, the heat becomes liquid, fueling big thunderheads that purple the horizon. We see faces billowing out of the stacks – presidents and movie actresses and that damned Sunday school teacher who makes us sing “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child.”
By late afternoon it is time to go home. We pass the wrecked crop duster, the elm struck by lightning because a witch is buried there, the copse of trees where the Privettes squeeze their ’shine. We go three ways with a promise to reunite after supper.
The shadows grow long. The air cools. The trees along Hampton Street come alive with noises as the Boogeyman awakens from his day-long slumber.
Then it is night and we are out again, chasing the spectral fireflies that float amongst the branches. Folks are lining up at the theater, and the VFW is jumping with badly played clarinets and trumpets.
Out in the fields, away from the trees, the sky unfolds before us. The ghostly tails of comets blend with clouds of stars that stretch into forever.
It is there, staring into God’s cool, infinite eye, that I recognize heaven for what it is: an innocence and purity and truth.
But more than that it is an acknowledgement that the world and our lives form a wonderful mystery we will never solve.
The night is strange and immense and beautiful.
I am in heaven.
This column was originally published in the April 2, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of flickr user Cweyant by way of a Creative Commons license. https://www.flickr.com/people/80267980@N00
The power of pennies: Squirreled away inside Aunt Wendy’s recent gift of chocolate chip cookies was a container of pennies.
I think everyone must have a container of pennies sitting around the house. Mine is in the kitchen, next to the microwave.
Now, Aunt Wendy’s was too.
Typically I let the penny jar fill until it’s overflowing. With the addition of Aunt Wendy’s donation, which I’d estimate to be $10 to $15, the jar was approaching that point. Still, I did not want to start rolling pennies. It’s so much work for so little return.
Or so I thought.
One day recently, my wallet turned up devoid of money. Not an unusual occurrence. But this time, instead of raiding the ATM machine, I had another option.
I rolled up $5 in pennies to buy gas. Then, I needed to mail a book to a store owner. I rolled up $2 in pennies for the postage. I needed $10 to pay my bowling league fees for the week. I started rolling.
Get this: I needed $3 to buy more penny rolls. Guess how I paid for them?
In the process of rolling all those pennies, I discovered $10 in quarters, $8 in dimes and $2 in nickels which had also found their way into the penny jar. Wow! That paid for dinner at Cuco’s in Pensacola, soft drinks for the ride to the Bush concert and a fab cookie at Books-A-Million.
I guess the moral of this story is: Good things come in one-cent packages.
Cool movie of the week: Tonight, AMC will broadcast the cinematic rendition of Edward Albee’s drama, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
I remember watching this movie as a young teen. While my tastes in cinema leaned to monster movies, science fiction, war stores and shoot-’em ups, I was mesmerized by the powerful interplay of emotions between Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor, George Segal and Sandy Dennis.
Don’t miss this landmark film, at 7:30 tonight on Channel 33.
A lunch bunch in need: The folks at OASIS are looking for a few good individuals, church groups and/or service organizations to provide and prepare a regular Thursday luncheon.
These luncheons benefit OASIS clients, caregivers, volunteers and board members who are able to attend, and they help maintain the support network that keeps OASIS clients and helpers going.
Donations are welcome. Meantime, if you’ve got questions, give Carol Boughton a call at 897-2687.
Redneck computer terms: “Hard drive,” as in trying to climb a steep, muddy hill with three flat tires and pulling a trailer load of fertilizer.
This week’s wire weirdness: BANGKOK, Thailand (AP) – A spooked elephant killed an Australian man at a tourist show in northern Thailand a day after two villagers were stomped to death elsewhere by rogue elephants.
Words that should be words: This week’s word is “lysdexic,” for people who hear it one way and repeat it backward. This word is courtesy of Daily News Staff Writer Jeff Newell, an admitted lysdexic.
This column was originally published in the Northwest Florida Daily News on March 26, 1997 and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Flickr user Gloria Manna by way of a Creative Commons license. https://www.flickr.com/photos/gloriamanna/
It’s a question of quality: The Hap-Hap-Happy News at the top of Friday’s Daily News left me with a lump in my throat.
“Economist: Emerald Coast to grow for next 15 years.”
I managed not to throw up as I read this epitaph.
It was delivered by Orlando-based economist Henry Fishkind, who predicted the Northwest Florida area would experience continued development well into the next century.
Oh joy, oh rapture.
Judging by what passes for “development” in this area, we can expect a plethora of strip shopping centers, gas/convenience stores, and fast food outlets.
This is good news – if you’re a developer, a construction worker or a taco/burger/pizza flipper. Life here along the Asphalt Coast will be splendid. The rich will get richer, and the poor will get trucked in like galley slaves to do the scutwork. Sound familiar, Destin and South Walton?
While the tiny minority that profits from this rapacious consumption clinks cocktail glasses behind the walls of “gated communities” (another word for “fortress”) the rest of us will be living in an ugly, polluted and congested hog swill that we once called “paradise.”
Somebody will surely say tome, “You got yours, and now you want to slam the door on anybody else coming here.”
Absolutely right. Truth is, you can’t put 100 people in a room that only holds 50. The 50 who got there first have every right to complain when the door isn’t shut.
The destruction of the Emerald Coast and the rise of the Asphalt Coast is a refrain heard all over this country, yet we refuse to learn that prosperity need not be a function of “growth.” Many cultures prospered without laying waste to everything around them.
What is the point of life without loveliness?
Heaven or hell? It would be nice if somebody with a sense of humor responded to our heaven-and-hell write-in being sponsored by the Lifestyle department. So far, we’ve gotten mostly Old Testament pronouncements of doom, and a couple of really bizarre letters from some nutcase in Andalusia.
C’mon, folks. We want this to be fun!
A tragedy that should have been averted: Recently four girls in New York were killed when a tree fell on their school bus.
Soon after, the Daily News received a press release from the National Arborist Association, which read:
“The recent tragedy in Laurelton, Queens, N.Y., where four girls died when a tree fell on their school bus was an accident that could have been averted had the tree received the professional care of an arborist.” The press release went on to describe all the marvelous things arborists do for people with trees.
Excuse me, but does anybody else find this press release to be a ghoulish and tasteless exploitation of an accident? Sort of like a tire manufacturer videotaping fatal accidents and saying, “They should’ve been using OUR steel-belted radials.”
Words that should be words: “Disconfect,” as in: To sterilize the piece of candy you dropped on the floor by blowing on it, assuming this will somehow “remove” all the germs.
This column was originally published in the March 19, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons user Kroelleboelle.
We were talking about memorable commercials when I began quoting all the jingles I could remember. Problem was, they were all from the ’60s and ’70s.
In 1965, for instance, when the Ford Mustang first appeared, there was a radio ad that went: “Margie, Margie, Margie got a Mustang!”
If memory serves me correctly, the Sonny and Cher song “The Beat Goes On” was originally a jingle for a Pontiac TV commercial.
Coca-Cola commercials always featured catchy songs or slogans: “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing” was one; “Things go better with Coke,” was another, as was “Have a Coke and a smile.”
It seems inconceivable now, but cigarettes were heavily advertised on TV. I remember one that went, “A silly millimeter longer, 101!” for a brand of cigarettes that were 101 millimeters in length.
Most notorious was a Winston commercial that went: “Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should.” Grammarians howled over that one, asserting the slogan should have been, “Winston tastes good, AS a cigarette should.” We kids finished the verse thusly: “No filter, no flavor, just cotton-picking paper.”
Then there was The Swinger, an inexpensive Polaroid instant camera. Its jingle went something like this: “It’s the Swinger, Polaroid Swinger. It’s only a camera. It’s almost alive; it’s only nineteen dollars, and ninety-five. Pick it up. It says ‘yes.’ Take the shot. Pull it out. Peel it off.” The Swinger was a huge improvement over my Kodak box camera.
In North Dakota we frequently saw TV commercials for Hamms beer, with a jingle sung by cartoon Indians that would flunk today’s PC tests: “From the land of sky blue water. Hamms (is) the beer, the refreshingest.”
Most laughable by today’s standards were the coffee commercials. They followed a script as predictable as a soap opera: Husband tastes wife’s coffee and scowls. Then husband makes snarky remark. Wife feels deep shame, humiliation. Wife switches to a new brand of coffee. Husband tries new coffee, smiles. Wife basks in husband’s approval. A variation was that the husband would taste some OTHER woman’s coffee and prefer it over his wife’s, who would then beat feet to the grocery store to buy the same brand lest she lose her husband.
The latest wire weirdness: From the Associated Press: A heifer got loose at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo and ran kicking into a group of schoolchildren on a field trip Friday, injuring 10 youngsters and an adult.
Can you say “Detroit Iron”? This Saturday will find my camera and me at the American Business Women’s Association’s Coastal Classic Car Show at Manufacturer’s Outlet Center at the foot of Brooks Bridge. Do these old battle cruisers bring back memories: Mom and Dad’s ’59 Mercury that was vandalized by trick-or-treaters, and the ’65 Mustang with “four on the floor.” Come see what horsepower was all about.
Words that should be words: This week’s suggestion is “buzzacks,” as in: People in phone marts who walk around picking up display phones and listening to dial tones even when the know the phones are not connected.
This column was originally published in the Feb. 26, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Raw Pixel.
When I walk into my living room these days, I no longer see the Big Empty. I see a proper home.
I own the same cat-ripped furniture, the same TV from the Permian, the same Salvation Army coffee table.
But there, swirling lazily from the ceiling is a spanking new Hunter fan.
Ah, what a miracle it is to own a ceiling fan. How did I live all these years without one? I’ll tell you: I didn’t. A ceiling fan is the line that separates life from mere existence.
It took the guys only a few minutes to do the installation, a job that would have dragged on for years had I tried it – plus I would have blown up the entire townhouse complex, or hooked up the fan to the garbage disposal, or had it flying around south Fort Walton Beach like a prop from a Japanese UFO movie.
Now, with the flick of a switch, I have “Casablanca.”
Another advantage: It scares the hell out of the cats.
They think it’s a pterodactyl about to scoop them up for dinner. They slink around the edges of the room, staring balefully at those big, walnut-colored paddles, growling low in the throat, with malevolent Dr. Ceiling Fan’s Inviso Electro Rays standing their fur on end. It’s pretty hilarious.
But I expect my true appreciation of the fan will bloom this spring, when I delay the annual christening of the AC – and those three-figure power bills. How shall I spend the saving? Probably on cat psychiatry bills.
For now, the fan is a welcome interruption in the Big Empty of the living room ceiling, and a sanctuary from cloying and clawing kitties.
Come to think of it, that upstairs bedroom can get pretty stuffy in the afternoon. …
Happy belated Valentine’s Day: In addition to my “hard-copy” Valentines, I received my first batch of Virtual Valentines off the Internet, which were very cool. More cool than very, they forced me to go looking for, download, and install software that would allow the computer to PLAY MUSIC. The Valentines crooned and we all swooned.
The cyberknowledge curve is lower than dirt around here, but we have our moments.
Even more wire weirdness: This from the Associated Press: “Toymakers at Lego are upset that a Polish artist used their donated building blocks to make model concentration camps, complete with gas chambers and chimneys. Zhignew Libera’s exhibit at a Copenhagen gallery consists of seven box sets bearing the Lego logo and photos of what the famed plastic bricks can build: not model planes or skyscrapers this time, but detention barracks with helmeted guards and skeletons.”
S.O.C.K.S., a no-kill cat shelter headquartered on Racetrack Road, is sponsoring a craft show March 15 at the Niceville Recreation Center from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. All you crafters who want to enter a table should call either Vana Gilliland at 862-4213, or Sara DeMonbrum at 863-1432.
This week’s word that should be a word: “burgacide,” as in: When a hamburger can’t take any more torture and hurls itself through the grill into the coals.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of ph by way of a Creative Commons license.
Odds and ends from here and there:
Universal Bingo is sponsoring S.O.C.K.S. (Save Our Cats and Kittens), a no-kill kitty shelter, on Feb. 22 at 7 p.m. Universal is next to Kinfolks on Racetrack Road.
Get this: It’s 8 o’clock on a Saturday morning. I’m lying in bed, savoring my sleep-in time. The phone rings.
It’s somebody calling for a service group, wanting a donation. They ask me how I am.
“I’m in bed,” I answer tartly. “It’s Saturday. Eight in the morning.”
“Oh, well I’ll be brief,” the lady says and launches into her sales pitch.
Click.
More wire weirdness: The Associated Press reported that a Russian man in the Crimean village of Verkhnesadovoye, believed his neighbor to be a witch, walked next door, whacked her over the head with a hammer (What, no sickle?), dragged her to a nearby vineyard and burned her at the stake. The man was arrested.
After that, who knows? Maybe he ran for the School Board.
What’s with the doofs crying about Bill Campbell’s “Jewish defense contractors” quip?
All he said was the defense budget had so much pork in that Jewish defense contractors felt badly about bidding on contracts.
Hello? Does the world J-O-K-E ring any bells? Sheesh.
I got a letter last week from a woman who said I once referred to the “homosexual lifestyle” as “exotic.” (Actually, I referred to a friend of mine, who was gay, as “exotic.” Plus, I’ve never known what the term “homosexual lifestyle” means. Do all gay people live the same?)
The woman wrote to warn me that the Bible doesn’t approve of homosexuality, and that practitioners are doomed to an eternity as Satan’s Charcoal Briquettes.
Sorry lady.
Your religion may hate gay people, but I’d wager God feels differently. Spare me the venom.
Confidential to the person who spiked all the Alternative Lifestyle books at the Destin Books-A-Million with Bible quotations scribbled on Post-It Notes: Hear that flushing sound? Bye bye, notes.
I have in my hot little hands the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook “73 Years of All-Time Favorites.” As editor of the Food section I expect to put it to use.
We don’t have a “food” editor per se, a person who knows a lot about cooking. I’ve joked in the past I could burn water.
But with this book, even I might create something worthy of eating. And not by the royal food-taster!
Jerome and Norma Capusan called with a question: How do you cook those pear-like fruits that grow on the prickly pear cactus? Give ’em a call at 651-6903. Call me too. We Food editors need to know this stuff.
Here’s this week’s installment of words that should be words: “aqualibrium,” the point where the stream of drinking fountain water is at its perfect height, thus relieving the drinker from (a) having to suck the nozzle, and (b) squirting herself in the eye.
This column was originally published in the Feb. 12, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of the Look and Learn History Picture Archive by way of a Creative Commons search.
JAKARTA, Indonesia (AP) – Thousands of Muslims ransacked churches, banks, shops and cars Thursday after a Chinese Christian trader reportedly insulted Islam by complaining about loud evening prayers, police and witnesses said.
I have never understood why people kill for God.
The ransacking I can understand. Ransacking can be fun, AND profitable, unless you’re the ransackee – most definitely if you didn’t attach the special “ransacking” rider to your insurance policy.
But do people really think God gets his feelings hurt over snarky remarks about the Pepsi Clear in the baptismal? Maybe the tough love God of the Old Testament, who destroyed worlds if you looked at him cross-eyed. But not today’s kinder, gentler God.
Besides, mostly it’s not God who gets skewered, but religion. You know – that thing invented by man. And one man’s Mass is another man’s goat sacrifice – but try explaining that to God’s assassins.
I should talk. My own religious training can best be described as “uncertain.”
We went to church on occasion, not as infrequently as I would have liked. I remember sitting in the pew as a tiny kid, my spine pressed against the hard, cold wood as the minister droned about sin, knowing that soon the candles would ignite all those fancy tablecloths spread across the furniture and then we would have some fun!
Later, Mom and Dad went us to summer church school, where the teachers served us warm Kool-Aid, soft ginger snaps and incomprehensible Bible stories with “lessons” that were totally lost on us kids. What I remember was the white shirt I wore to those sessions. It was starched into a kind of tool of submission. If I dared make a sudden move, it would cut me. Putting on the shirt was an act of contrition. I was sorry every time I did it.
I went many years after that without setting foot in a church, convinced if I did I would spontaneously combust. But the notion of heaven and hell persisted.
Televangelists came and went, endless theistic battles wore on, and while I did not consign religion to the cynical “opiate of the masses” I had little use for it. But now I am more tolerant, and I take that as a sign of growing up. I see religion as a foundation of faith, one I choose not to partake of, myself.
But I remain puzzled by fanatics who kill for God. Can’t God do his own killing? Don’t these people realize that by killing for God, they admit God isn’t as powerful as, say, that god over there? They are falling behind in the God race.
Another thing: I don’t think God cares which football team wins.
Here’s another pseudo-word that ought to be a word: “aquadextrous,” as in possessing the ability to turn the bathtub faucet on and off with your toes.
This column was originally published in the Wednesday, Feb. 5, 1997 Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
This is the author's first computer, an IBM PS-1, along with an Okidata dot-matrix printer and, inexplicably, a Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
Lately I have been shopping for a new computer, which is like saying, “Lately I have been trying to answer the question: If God is omnipotent, could he create a rock he couldn’t lift?”
All computer questions are paradoxes. Paradox! Whatever. They all have the same answer. The answer is: “He could but he wouldn’t want to.”
If you’re going to co-opt this entire column by answering the easy questions I’ll change the subject to something even more metaphysically baffling, like: “Why did Hillary Clinton wear THAT hat to the inauguration?”
Computers are revenge. It’s seventh grade. I see a buck-toothed pencil-neck with glasses so thick you could burn ants with them. Skag McKill, the school bully, is dunking this kid head-first into the toilet, and the kid is yelping, “I’ll get you!”
That kid grows up, gets a job at IBM and finishes the rest of us. He is laughing now. Evil, evil laughter.
Where is Skag McKill when you need him?
You may not need a computer but feel compelled to own one; I actually need one of the soul-suckers and take no pleasure in spending perfectly good liposuction money for what I consider to be the instrument of my spiritual doom. I said the same thing about the buggy whip. I defy you to claim the world is a better place since cars arrived.
Step 1 in buying a computer is deciding whether to buy a prepackaged computer or one that has been “frankensteined” from different components. My advice is you consult all the various experts – every single one of whom will tell you, “He could but he wouldn’t want to” – then rush out on the spur of the moment and buy that sectional sofa you saw in Tuesday’s sale flier.
Next decide which brand to buy. Not all brands are created equal. In fact, no two computers – even of the same brand – are created equal, so just buy any brand and pray to God it isn’t the one they built on the Monday after the company picnic at the Old Granddad Distillery.
Now choose which features it will have. The computer wig-wags will blabber about hard drives, CD-ROMs, modems – pay no attention to that. Here’s what you look for:
Ergonomics – Does it have a flat surface you can set lots of stuff on, like all those computer manuals written in Mandarin Ebonics?
Aesthetics – What color is it? Gray computers are down a lot because they’re depressing. Think camo. Or totally transparent so you can see the actual circuits frying as the lightning bolt zooms through.
Fashion – Has it been on Oprah?
Portability – How far can you throw it when it locks up as you’re finishing the last chapter of your thousand-page doctoral thesis titled, “Metabolic Energy-Conservation Mechanisms in Ascaris lumbricoides.”
My brain swoons at all this, which is how they break you. Numbers, acronyms, and more bells and whistles than Obedience School for Sparky the Fire Dog. In the eyes of that pencil-neck who was dunked in the toilet, we are all Manchurian Candidates and he’s in permanent flashback. Do you hear the evil laughter?
They could make it easy but they won’t.
This comes from my Virginia Connection: Words that should exist.
The word for this week is “accordionated,” as in: being able to drive and refold a road map at the same time.
This column was published in the January 29, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Pix4Free by way of a Creative Commons license.
When I was 12 years old I got hit on the head with a rock.
Explains a lot, doesn’t it?
My pal Mark and I were playing “fighter pilot.” We climbed aboard our Spyder bikes, worked up a head of steam, raced by Mark’s brothers, Scott and Dale, who had taken cover behind a piece of plywood propped against a tree, and we hurled rocks at them. They in turn hurled rocks at us. It was great fun.
Dale hurled the fateful rock that struck me square in the forehead. I saw stars. My bike coasted halfway around the block. Blood covered my face.
When Mom saw me she nearly dropped dead of fright. I was thrown into the car and whisked to the hospital, where a nurse stitched me up.
We got home, and Mark’s mom immediately dropped by to make sure I lived. I hear Dale had gotten a licking.
While the moms stayed inside to conduct that conspiracy of parenthood that kept our neighborhoods safe back then, Mark and I went out to look for the rock. I wanted the rock as a souvenir of my first injury that required stitches.
I was relating this story to my friend Connie, whose daughter is worried about leaving her child with a babysitter. We decided a scenario like the rock-throwing incident could never unfold today the way it did in 1967.
First, the kids wouldn’t be playing “fighter pilot” outside on their bicycles. Traffic is too heavy now, and people drive too fast. We’re so obsessed with the convenience of our cars, and so fixated with getting places quickly, that we’ve sacrificed our children’s play – adults’, too.
No, the kids would be inside, playing “fighter pilot” on their computers or their video game machines. Virtual reality is much alluring than real reality.
But let’s say the rock-throwing DID happen. Here’s how it would unfold today:
Mom would race me to the hospital, where she would spend the next three hours filling out insurance and release-of-liability forms.
Once that matter was settled, and assuming I hadn’t bled to death, the doctor would then invest the next three hours trying to convince an insurance company clerk that I truly needed the treatment he’d prescribed.
Upon my departure from the emergency room, a complimentary attorney, maybe even a non-denominational spiritual adviser, would be made available to me should I need ministrations of either a secular or metaphysical nature.
Moments after returning home, Mark’s mom would show up – with Dale’s attorney. Would we be willing to sign an agreement of nonactionability? Mom would say nothing until she had contacted her attorney. The two attorneys would then hold a conference call while Mom and Mark’s mom waited nervously off to the side.
Meanwhile, HRS would be knocking at the door. Their surveillance technicians had informed them child abuse was occurring in the area. They would make note of my stitches, and take a keen interest in the rumor that Dale had received a licking. What did we know about this? Were our papers in order? Did we plan on leaving town anytime soon?
Meanwhile, Mark and I would be outside, dodging the cars of speeding attorneys and caseworkers and insurance clerks. We would be looking for the rock.
But the rock would be gone, already collected as evidence.
A trail date has not been set.
This column was published in the Wednesday, January 22, 1997 Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
As you’ve heard – from your insurance agent probably – I have the home fix-up aptitude of a demolition expert with multiple personality disorder.
What this means is I possess all the tools, some of the desire and none of the skills to do those jobs around the house that require deft use of a hammer in some task not involving mass murder.
Recently I told you about my attempts to install a new light switch. The neighbors listened with keen interest as the smoke alarm gave them hourly updates to my progress.
This job was preceded by my “repair” of the downstairs toilet.
Some people have favorite sweaters, favorite recliner rockers, or favorite husbands.
I have a favorite toilet.
In my house it is the downstairs toilet. It is the scene where my cats and I play “rat volleyball,” which goes like this: They bat the stuffed mouse under the door; I bat it back out. This goes on until one of us “loses,” as in “loses interest.” Pretty exciting, eh? Guess you have to be there.
My favorite toilet began to malfunction. It wouldn’t flush, and it began to emit a rattling sound, as if a diamondback had taken residence in the pipe.
My solution was to “plunge” it out. I did not use one of those sissy plungers. I bought a thyroidal eggplant-shaped monster that would force a snake-strangling gulp of air down the pipe.
It didn’t work. The toilet functioned correctly for days, then plugged again, rattling menacingly. So I decided to go mano y reptile with a plumber’s snake. I disliked this route, having experienced the unique sensation of having my leg hairs rippled out by the roots with this snake.
But I tried and it too failed.
So I called a plumber – twice. And twice they plunged and snaked the toilet, only to have it resume its obstinate ways. The toilet seemed truly demon-haunted to paraphrase the late Carl Sagan.
All the while, I could hear its maddening rattle. It sounded like a child’s toy with a bead, like the small prizes you once got in Cracker Jacks. I theorized a child of a previous tenant had dropped a toy in the toilet and flushed, and here it lurked, years after the fact, haunting the porcelain.
A co-worker recommended a possible solution, a powder that, when mixed with warm water, activates a colony of microorganisms that feed on the gack that collects on pipes. Ah yes, I thought. Biological warfare. In lieu of inserting an atomic bomb down the pipe, this might do.
I tried it once. Twice. Three times.
It did not work. The toilet resisted and rattled.
I tried it three more times, and three more times the commode refused to comply.
Both I and the toilet were rattled.
Then one day I flushed the toilet and heard a loud, clunking sound. Water raced down the pipe. I flushed it again, and it worked. Again and again, it worked.
With absolutely no action on my part, the toilet had begun to operate correctly.
It had fixed itself.
I, my neighbors and the insurance company were overjoyed by this turn of events. I’m not even disappointed that I wasn’t able to do the repair myself, that I had to leave it to fate.
But sometimes I wonder … what the heck WAS that rattling sound?
This column was originally published in the Jan. 15, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .