I say this story was written in 1988 but I wouldn’t quote me on that.
It was written in the 1980s, I’m sure. It has the tone of my ’80s fiction – bleak sketches usually set in a rural back road or bar. I worked the night shift at our local newspaper and afterwards, we night-shifters would venture out in search of a cheap watering hole or, if not a bar, a convenience store with cold beer, and off we’d go, into the hinterlands, because it was there a beer-drinker was not likely to be pulled over by the boys with the blue-and-red lights on their cars.
Out there in the rural dark – the real dark folks don’t see these days because cities are too lit up these days – I found a mysterious tint to the world, what Yeats might have called that rosy afterglow of the realm which lies beside this one, visible only to young children who have not had their senses dulled by maturity and experience. Except this glow was of a darker variety, and I wonder if Yeats could have appreciated that, given his musings about the nature of the new messiah.
To me, there were mysteries to be discovered in the unyielding dark of the countryside, mysteries to be glimpsed not articulated but sensed in the way you know to stay out of that abandoned house in the woods, the one that looks something terrible might have happened there years ago, resulting in it being scorned by humanity. Your ability to sense hidden dangers depended on your willingness to believe.
Which is what this story is about.
When I was a kid there were mysteries in the world, things we did not understand and places we had not seen. But we wondered about them. There might be jungles and dinosaurs on Venus, or spindly, water-starved creatures struggling to survive on Mars. Who knew what lay in that jungle heart of darkness, or the deep ocean trench? Were flying saucers winging overhead, always when we’d left the camera sitting on the table by the front door?
But as time went by and we learned more, the world began to grow smaller and the mystery fade, replaced with cold facts (or hot facts in the case of Venus, a roasting hell hole of carbon dioxide). Poor Mars became an icy desert with air so thin you could not reasonably call it air. Flying saucers became swamp gas and ocean trenches were filled with nothing but silt and a scattering of weird, glow-in-the-dark shrimp.
Think “Excaliber,” and the world of magic giving way to a world of men.
I liked life better when I didn’t know so much about it, just as I liked my friends better when their thoughts weren’t paraded across a panoply of social media. Didn’t we all get along better before we found out so-and-so voted for that evil bastard Trump?
The lack of knowing every stinking detail about every stinking thing – and the curious imaginings that filled those gaps – made life magically delicious, to borrow a breakfast cereal jingle. And that’s what this story is about, in a darkly roundabout way.
Maybe there’s still a bit of mystery – and magic – left in this world.
Lord, I hope so.
“Animal” is available only on Amazon’s Kindle, but remember: You don’t need a Kindle device to read a Kindle book. Download the free Kindle app to your phone or tablet.
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(Cover image courtesy of ph.)
Animal: Revised, updated and enhanced with additional content, “Animal” asks the question, “If larks, and katydids, can dream, then can I?”
Billy Stafford would rather be home, in his bed, grabbing a few winks because tomorrow will bring a special challenge at his job and he’ll need his wits about him and. …
And here he is, at Earl’s Tavern and Package Store, listening to Bob Decker go on and on in a drunken stupor about crazy things – monsters in a lake, or Bigfoot, or UFOs. Worse, he’s forcing Billy to get drunk with him, which means tomorrow Billy will wake up with a headachy brain fog and everything will be for s**t.
Across the bar, two men are teasing the lady bartender about something they’ve got in their Jeep, something they shot out in the woods that day, something that nobody has ever seen before. Billy thinks Bob should be talking to them, not him. It’s all a crock of you-know-what and truth be told, Billy just wants to go home and sleep.
He finally disentangles himself from Bob and heads out the door, and the night should have ended there. But it doesn’t.
Because he sees something.
In the Jeep.
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
About this book:
“Animal” is a 3,555-word short story and was written in 1988. It has never been published. Copyright © 2022, Del Stone Jr.
The book’s total length is 5,691 words.
Image courtesy of Magnet.
“Monsters” Starring Scoot McNairy and Whitney Able. Directed by Gareth Edwards. 94 minutes. Rated R.
Late in the movie “Monsters” there comes a moment a literary book reviewer might call “luminous.” Ever notice how literary book reviewers always bring the word “luminous” into play, as if to excuse the lack of plot, the unfolding of dreary characterization and the trendy massacre of clearly wrought prose? You will never hear a Larry Bond novel called “luminous.”
This illuminating moment takes place when our two protagonists, Andrew (Scoot McNairy) and Samantha (Whitney Able), witness two 300-foot tall walking squids engage in making out, foreplay, maybe actual intercourse – with all the flailing tentacles, bioluminescent pulsing and noble whale song-like groaning it’s hard to tell what’s going on. Andrew and Samantha watch in awe as these two leviathans perform the vertical bop and you expect them to whisper, “Beautiful” as they gaze adoringly at each other.
I was whispering “Will somebody please BLOW THESE THINGS UP?”
To paraphrase my friend Kari: “Monsters” is what happens when an indie filmmaker, the cinema equivalent of a literary writer, tells himself, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself … and monsters.”
“Monsters” isn’t about monsters, that’s for sure. The monsters are metaphors for Andrew and Samantha, or illegal immigration, or existential angst. But it is more about the message getting lost in a stew of competing thematic imperatives.
The story goes like this: NASA discovers evidence of life elsewhere in our solar system and dispatches a probe to recover a sample. The probe crashes somewhere in Mexico and shortly thereafter weird creatures begin disrupting the flow of cocaine to America. Andrew, a jaded photojournalist, goes into the “infected zone” to document the mayhem. But he somehow becomes responsible for escorting his publisher’s daughter, who has been in the area, back to the States. They try by land, sea and air but due to a series of setbacks, mostly caused by their own stupidity, they fail and must travel directly through the infected zone to reach the gigantic wall America has constructed along its border with Mexico. Along the way Andrew, who has a kid but not a wife, and Samantha, who is to marry a fellow she doesn’t love, discover a growing affinity for each other. Can you guess how this is going to end?
I will give Edwards credit: “Monsters” is ambitious. It is not another “Godzilla,” “The Mist” or “Cloverfield.” What I didn’t like about it, however, was the plodding pace, the incompetence of the characters and their forced transformations, which did not encourage me to suspend my disbelief.
Characterization is shaky. We are expected to dislike Andrew at first because of his cynicism, then bond to him as he realizes there’s more to life than shooting a prize-winning photo. In reality Andrew is a scummy opportunist who shacks up with prostitutes when Samantha won’t sleep with him, something he pursues with such diligence that Samantha could have had him arrested for sexual harassment. And Samantha, as the poor little rich girl, is a cipher with no real purpose for existence other than serving as an object of desire for Andrew.
At every critical juncture in their journey they pause, undecided, then embark on some irrelevant and unrealistic conflict that jeopardizes their success. For instance, at one point they must get off a boat and travel overland under the watchful eye of armed guards – except Andrew doesn’t want to because the guards are carrying guns. Um, excuse me, but what part of “armed” did he not understand? And in a land occupied by 300 foot-tall squids who like to squash human beings, would you rather your guards be armed with Nerf Frisbees?
And once they reach the wall, well. It’s every Tea Partier’s dream, a cement monolith designed to keep out “illegal aliens.” Except the aliens, as we see in the scene I referenced above, are nothing more than noble, benighted creatures who want nothing more out of life than a brief interlude of happiness amidst an uncaring world. Except they are 300 feet tall and like to squash humans. I say, “Will somebody please BLOW THESE THINGS UP?”
“Monsters” is an interesting movie but it has problems. On a scale of A to F I would rate it a C+.
Let’s start with a list.
They’re 300-foot-tall walking octopi, or is it octopuses? Get your mollusks straight, Del.
They do get blown up, you savage, it’s just not witnessed, and,
“Monsters” the movie has one of loveliest, mournfully serene soundtracks ever pasted to celluloid.
For me, the best way to characterize “Monsters” is this: The movie is deeply satisfying, but superficially disappointing.
It took me about 20 minutes to realize that the film was unlike a Godzilla smashfest, “Cloverfield,” or “The Mist.”
After that, I shed the expectation of carnage and allowed the movie to chart its own course. The story is about man’s inhumanity to man and our reckless belief that we can corral nature.
Samantha and Andrew are likable tools used to teach us a lesson. They do a good job leading us through the Infected Zone, where the alien creatures have established a sanctuary after being brought to Earth by a NASA probe that crashed.
Once in the zone, the duo exists to draw attention to the look of civilization as it’s consumed by its own folly.
Vines overtake hotels built for tourists.
An F-15 emerges from the depths of a river, playfully pulled through the black water by one of the tentacled beasts. It never bothers Samantha, Andrew, or the crew of the longboat hired at an exploitative price to help get the Americans back to America.
When the couple finally reaches the U.S.-Mexico border, it discovers that the zigzagging walled fortress separating one country from the other has been abandoned. The aliens had breached its ramparts. The fight has come to the Homeland.
Agreed, there’s some hokey symbolism in “Monsters.” Del already gave examples, but you have to give the director of the film credit for trying to create something original.
“Monsters” is an artsy film with a liberal message, which ain’t gonna play too good in these parts.
Sit back and enjoy the film, paying attention to events and scenes framing the relationship between Samantha and Andrew because that’s the movie’s strength.
Mladen Rudman is a former journalist and technical editor. Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and author.