Letters From the Labyrinth 312

It’s 5 AM on a cold Saturday morning. Fog rises off the Susquehanna River, and steam rises from the Sumatran coffee in my mug. Brian Keene Radio has just transitioned from YOB’s “Quantum Mystic” to Rush’s “Bravado”. Dallas is asleep in a chair to my immediate right. Stripe is asleep in a dog bed to my immediate left. My peers are worried about A.I. taking our jobs, the recession, the paper shortage, and the purchase of places where we’ve spent years curating an audience — now owned by billionaires who crater whole swaths of it on a possibly Ambien-driven mania. And those are all very real fears. A.I. is already taking our jobs. The recession is already here, judging by my bank account. The paper shortage is a long and complicated global saga, and I’m not even sure that I — the son of a United Paperworker and someone whose livelihood relies heavily on paper — understand it entirely. And social media is indeed cratering, but it’s going to be a long, grim slide, rather than something that happens overnight.

But I’m not thinking about any of these things. (Well, okay, I’m thinking about them, but in other compartments of my brain. They’re not at the forefront).

No, what I’m thinking about is this account from someone who was in a coma.

My last semester at a certain college I was assaulted by a football player… while unconscious on the ground I lived a different life.

I met a wonderful young lady, she made my heart skip and my face red, I pursued her for months and dispatched a few jerk boyfriends before I finally won her over, after two years we got married and almost immediately she bore me a daughter.

I had a great job and my wife didn't have to work outside of the house, when my daughter was two, my wife bore me a son. My son was the joy of my life, I would walk into his room every morning before I left for work and doted on him and my daughter.

One day while sitting on the couch I noticed that the perspective of the lamp was odd, like inverted. It was still in 3D but... just.. wrong. (It was a square lamp base, red with gold trim on 4 legs and a white square shade). I was transfixed, I couldn't look away from it. I stayed up all night staring at it, the next morning I didn't go to work, something was just not right about that lamp.

I stopped eating, I left the couch only to use the bathroom at first, soon I stopped that too as I wasn't eating or drinking. I stared at the lamp for 3 days before my wife got really worried, she had someone come and try to talk to me, by this time my cognizance was breaking up and my wife was freaking out. She took the kids to her mother's house just before I had my epiphany.... the lamp is not real.... the house is not real, my wife, my kids... none of that is real... the last 10 years of my life are not real!

The lamp started to grow wider and deeper, it was still inverted dimensions, it took up my entire perspective and all I could see was red, I heard voices, screams, all kinds of weird noises and I became aware of pain.... a ton of pain... the first words I said were "I'm missing teeth" and opened my eyes. I was laying on my back on the sidewalk surrounded by people that I didn't know, lots were freaking out, I was completely confused…

I went through about 3 years of horrid depression, I was grieving the loss of my wife and children and dealing with the knowledge that they never existed, I was scared that I was going insane as I would cry myself to sleep hoping I would see her in my dreams. I never have, but sometimes I see my son, usually just a glimpse out of my peripheral vision, he is perpetually 5 years old and I can never hear what he says.

Good morning. I’m Brian Keene and this is the 312th issue of Letters From the Labyrinth, a weekly newsletter for friends, family and fans of my work. It is not written by an A.I., you don’t need paper to read it, it’s free so you can pay other bills instead, and it’s full of hopeful, happy, life-affirming missives like the one above.

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Happy Holidays from Tony Genova

Christmas is right around the corner, so here’s a free Christmas movie. Longtime fans have seen it, of course, and might even own it on DVD, but for new readers — THE NAUGHTY LIST is a short film directed by Paul Campion and based on my short story “The Siqqusim Who Stole Christmas”. You can watch it absolutely free right here.

I’m often asked about forthcoming adaptations of my work. Currently, THE CAGE is in development, but still no definite green light (much of that comes down to investment funding, which has gotten tougher as the economy continues to contract). A screenplay exists for URBAN GOTHIC. I’m way behind on reading it, and intend to do that this coming week. And there has been recent (last six months) interest from studios/producers in THE RISING, CLICKERS and SCRATCH but no options or anything official.

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This Week’s Blog:

An Open Letter To Pete Kahle of Bloodshot Books

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I was allowed to open one of my Christmas presents early — a combined gift from Mary, my mother, and my ex-wife — an Eton Elite 750 radio with SSB that pulls in all bands, including Shortwave, Airwave, AM, FM, and more. Anyone who really knows me knows what a perfect gift this is. I’ve had a lifelong love of radio. One of my favorite toys as a kid was a CB Radio. I was a Radioman in the Navy. I’ve worked at several radio stations, both as on-air talent and various support sectors, including advertising. And of course I have my own pirate radio station. Plus, I’m something of a prepper, so it’s nice to know that should 2023 begin with a nuclear war, my loved ones and I can still know what — if anything — is happening in the rest of the world.

I’ve been playing with it in the evenings, after I’m so tired from work that I can no longer see straight and my hands resemble claws. I’ve listened to a radio station in Cuba, a talk show in Puerto Rico, a preacher in Mexico, airplanes landing and taking off from our local airports, a lady talking about her experiences with angels and demons, a group of old men who meet up on their ham radios every day and discuss the news of the world together, several still-active numbers stations, and what I’m pretty sure was a navigation beacon.

I also got a 500 ohm antennae that I ran out the window alongside the antennae for my satellite radio, so reception has been fantastic. (Although running an antennae up a sloping, freezing rain-slicked third-story roof was a lot easier at 35 or 45 than it is at 55).

(Also, Mary didn’t know I did that until now, because I waited until she was napping).

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Currently Watching: Survivor (Paramount+), Tulsa King (Paramount+), Mandrake (Shudder), The Stranger (Netflix)

Currently Reading: Marchers of Valhalla by Robert E. Howard and Iroquois Supernatural by Mason Winfield and Michael Bastine

Season 43 of Survivor started off as sort of a dud, but boy did it get great there at the end. One of the best finales I’ve seen on the show in many years, and lots of seismic, game-changing moves.

Mandrake is an excellent, brooding bit of folk horror. Definitely worth a watch, if you have Shudder.

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The Hole

by Brian Keene

Emma Frank found the hole at the back of her closet while she was looking for her favorite stuffed animal -- a tiny elephant small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Having just turned nine years old, Emma wasn't as attached to her stuffed animals as she had once been. She no longer surrounded herself with them in the bed at night, and their days of having tea parties had long since passed. The vast majority of them now sat in a jumbled pile atop her dresser, but the elephant -- who she'd named Mr. Tinkles for reasons she could no longer remember -- was still special. 

Her mother's cat, Snowball, often played with Mr. Tinkles, carrying the toy all around the house. Emma hated Snowball. Her parents referred to the cat as if it belonged to the entire family, but Emma refused to think of it as hers. She felt the same way about Paul. Her parents said that Paul was her baby brother, but Emma felt no connection to the squalling little brat. In the five year since he'd joined their household, Paul had been nothing but trouble, as far as Emma was concerned.  

The hole was located in the far back corner of her bedroom closet, barely an inch above the floor. It was wide enough for a person to crawl through. Emma was certain it hadn't been there before. If so, she would have noticed it. Emma forgot all about looking for Mr. Tinkles and focused on this new discovery instead. It was pitch black inside. Frowning, she crawled closer. Air wafted out of the hole. It was warmer than the interior of the closet, and it smelled like rain. Emma held her breath, listening. She heard birds and insects.

And then something roared.

Frightened, she scurried backward on her hands and knees, and reemerged into the safety of her bedroom. Emma's first instinct was to call out for her mother, but then she decided to wait. She watched the hole, but nothing came out of it. She wondered what could have made that noise. It sounded like a dinosaur from a movie. 

Snowball padded into her bedroom, carrying Mr. Tinkles in his mouth, and plopped down beside her, purring.

"Stupid cat. That's mine!"

Emma stood up, crept to the bedroom door, and closed it. Then she knelt down by Snowball again. After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled. Then, she snatched up the toy and dangled it in front of the cat.

"Here, Snowball. here you go! You want Mr. Tinkles, don't you?"

The cat excitedly sprang to his feet, indicating that yes, he did indeed want the toy elephant. 

Grinning, Emma tossed the stuffed animal into the hole. Snowball rushed after it and leaped. Both disappeared into the darkness. There was a long moment of silence, and then Snowball yowled in fright. The cries were muted, as if coming from a long distance away, but still audible. 

Then they stopped.

And the chewing sounds began.

Still smiling, Emma decided to go get one of Paul's toys. No doubt, he'd do the same thing Snowball had just done. And her mother?

Well, she might not go in to retrieve a toy, but she'd certainly go in after Paul.

It was going to be a fun afternoon.

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This newsletter is free, as are a lot of other things I offer (including the story above). Folks occasionally ask about how they can support me outside of buying books and Patreon. Here is my PayPal Tip Jar if you’d like to do that. You’re under no obligation, and I’m not asking. I just put the link out there on occasion because people inquire.

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And that does it for this week. I hope you are all doing well. Thanks for reading! I’ll hopefully see you back here next Sunday. Bring a friend.

— Brian Keene