Montana UFOs and Extraterrestrials, by Joan Bird

This is a very informative and nicely presented book featuring both Montana and United States UFO history.  I reviewed it for my motion picture blog because its contents include the Nicholas Mariana UFO film and its inclusion in the 1956 United Artists release, "U.F.O."  For the full review and a look at the back cover, click on the link:

http://ufothemovie.blogspot.com/2013/11/montana-ufos-and-extraterrestrials.html

Captain Obama and his Ship of Fools

Illustration:  Misc. from the Web.  An appropriate alternative to Obamacare ?

 

It seemed as though the movie, Groundhog Day returned to theaters last week when some among the more daring news sources dug out an old sound bite of Hillary Clinton discussing "Hillarycare," the ancestor to "Obamacare."  And what did the queen-by-association of Benghazi promise years ago?  If you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor.  If you like your insurance company, you can keep your insurance company.  Deja vu for you

There can be little doubt that thousands of pages of health care legislation began their journey decades ago, scripted in a single version for the progressive Democrat-of-the-moment.  Hillary then, Obama now.  Next?  Republican progressives?

Initially, major insurance companies lapped Obamacare up like mother’s milk, planning on millions of customers and mega-millions of dollars.  Not happening at the moment.  Sign-ups are successful, however – well, if signing up for state taxpayer-funded Medicaid can be considered a success.

You young folk who still cling to the cool, youthful, he's just like me image of Obama -- while the "Common Core" agenda-driven education system infiltrates and progressively alters the thinking brain cells of your brothers and sisters, with more than a little help from financial "contributions" from Microsoft and etc. -- need to experience a wake-up shock and realize that you're the poor bastards expected to pay big time for the mess currently known as Obamacare.  But now that this power-grabbing calamity is breaking apart upon the rocks of common sense, clearer minds can only hope that the health care system becomes funded instead by intensive American competition across state lines.  The way this country is supposed to function.  Of course, help those who need help, but let the rest pay reasonable insurance rates and not the monster prices lurking just over Obama's increasingly troubled horizon.

Somehow predictable, it seems, to now find Senator John McCain calling for repeal of  Obamacare, when he was among the first just a few weeks ago to condemn with some very unkind words Senator Ted Cruz's plea and filibuster intended to de-fund this mess.  Six words for you in 2016, Republicans:  Ted Cruz, Mike Lee, Rand Paul.  More than likely, however, the GOP will strive to choose another losing candidate, and uninformed voters with nothing better to do than relieve the boredom of their lives by diverting their attention to polling places, just to get out of the house, clueless about anything but familiar names on the ballot, will continue to return the worst of the worst to Congress.

Meanwhile, House Democrats in interesting numbers appear to be abandoning the hard-line Obamacare love boat like -- we'll be kind and say lemmings -- deserting a sinking ship.  Isn't that fascinating, considering that House votes for this obvious Hindenberg disaster plan were 100 percent Democrat, period, end of story?

Meningitis at Princeton U.  A rare form, you say, Meningitis-B?  May I suggest -- isn't globalization wonderful?  We bring in or, worse, carelessly allow in more Third World people than ever and wonder why unusual diseases just pop up out of nowhere.  It should be abundantly clear by now that this government has aided in littering a once-spectacular nation with immigrants, legal and illegal, who have no intention of becoming true Americans and giving up the horrible lives from which they supposedly escaped in other countries.  Used to be when you came to America you wanted to assimilate and become an American.  No more.  Just look around at the cesspool, as community after community begins to look more like the United Nations gone wild.  The "melting pot" thermostat is set on boil and legal immigrants who truly love the United States continue to rise up little by little, often anonymously and sometimes in fear, and warn that our nation is becoming many of the bad and oppressive things they abandoned and ran from in lands far away.  And the border-jumping criminal aliens from just about any place on the globe?  Common sense dictates that we thank them for disease and illness previously unknown in the U.S.   Did this particular bacteria travel across borders?  We may or may never know, but its very existence and proliferation is frightening nonetheless.  Assume the worst as a precaution.

Trouble is, when you're young you often tend to feel like a superhero, invulnerable to attack from anything, especially perilous diseases or Obamacare, either of which can infect some part of your body or your bank account before you even know it.

So, youse intellectually deprived or deceived folks doing all that Ivy League learnin' at Princeton -- remember to stay progressively liberal so's you can anticipate more of the same, next time.  We wish a good and speedy recovery for the ill, but ya gotta remember that the importation or utter disregard of invasive Third World politics and hitchhiking organisms can be dangerous to one's health.  It's a freakin' small world after all -- and you need to fear it with your very life.

Fantastic plastic:   Whenever NY Senator Charles Schumer runs to the forefront to ban something, you just know much of the time that he's spoiling somebody's day across the nation.  This time it's plastic guns, easily produced via those 3-D printers currently exploding in popularity.  For one thing, plastic guns -- as deadly and frequently illegal as the "real" device -- are supposed to contain a metal portion so they can be screened by airport x-ray machines or the like, but apparently those in the know remove all metal in advance, thus rendering the weapon invisible to multi-million dollar technology (that is, Pac-Man's  digital offspring are foiled again). 

What this means in the United States, like it or not, is that at last everybody down to a three-year-old can now enjoy every thread of the Second Amendment and possess a handgun (and more) in full violation of progressive laws across the land.  The plastic genie is now fully out of the lamp, and public servants (that is, people who wish for the public to serve their whims) such as Schumer are in a tizzy, scribbling out proposed legislation faster than Chicken Little warning that the sky is falling. 

The plastic weapons issue is a nightmare, no doubt, but we've really reached the point where penning legislation to halt technology in its tracks is simply a waste of time, every bit as wasteful as continuing to keep Congress in Washington -- subject to continuous lobbyist payoffs -- when all representatives could easily remain in their home states and telecommute, thus saving taxpayers some real money.  But Schumer, obviously unhappy unless involved in a photo-op or regulating American lives with his progressive buddies, perseveres like the battery bunny.  Unfortunately for the regulation-minded among us, gun production instructions have already been downloaded from the Internet in great volume, and that's no accident.  To paraphrase from the military -- shoot 'em if you got 'em.

Just sitting here, wondering if I've forgotten anything today.  Oh, yeah. . .

Impeach, impeach, impeach, then prison.  Guess that's it for today. . .

Bits and Pieces for November 2013

(Illustration from the Web, posted here because it reminds me of appropriate greetings for a certain president and his wife, once the public finally realizes the extent of their negative contributions and the cost of their extravagant vacations to the nation.  Remember kids, as you and your currently powerless and defeated teachers suffer through "Common Core" foolishness in public school, that  Marxists, socialists and other frauds are people, too.)

Forget about endless repetitions of, "If you like your. . .blah, blah, blah. . .you can keep it."  Yes, our president lied his face off, but what's new?  Just imagine his team's work behind the scenes, fundamentally transforming our rights like diseased rats chewing up electrical wires and infrastructure behind a wall. 

A growing number of Americans realize the national decay we're infected with until the 2016 elections offer at least a minimal cure.  But don't forget about 2014, because congressional elections demand a different mantra -- making sure every voter in the country understands the significance of the fact that each and every vote in favor of "Obamacare" in the House of (alleged) Representatives was cast by a Democrat.   "Mooooooo," the herd was rumored to say in response to allegations that there was nothing remotely partisan about this travesty, incorporating leftovers from "Hillary Care" and likely decades of  wish-list medical legislation prepared by progressives and other communist-lovin' special interest groups just waiting for the chance to pounce. 

Meanwhile. . ."self-insured" businesses fight to keep the reasonable self-alternatives, even as Obama's minions strive to destroy this option, attacking like flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz.

Veterans Day with the president.  The very fraud-in-chief whose gang tried to keep World War II vets away from their memorial in D.C. during the government shutdown which was perpetrated by himself, helpful Harry and the Senate appeared as nothing but a giant phony as he spoke and praised vets on Veterans Day.  As a Vietnam Era veteran, allow me to reiterate the obvious and express with no doubts whatsoever that this prez wouldn't know how to appreciate active duty military personnel or veterans if the ability to do so was infused into his breakfast cereal, or whatever he eats in the morning.  Meanwhile, while a growing number of rational heads in the USA consider whether Mr. Obama should be impeached. . .

Egypt wants to put Obama on trial as a terrorist.  Our president's brother is already in deep trouble for supporting and aiding the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, and Egypt blames B.O. himself for interfering in Egypt via his own support of the Muslim B., resulting in terror and death due to the Big Man's support of Morsi & thugs incorporated.  The efforts of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton have done nothing in the Middle East except inflame all sides, so one might be inclined to tell Egypt, whether in person or in absentia, let the Obama trials begin.  Maybe the Egyptians can get what we can't get here in our own courts.

Good going, not, John Kerry.  So what was that all about, those seedy secret negotiations with Iran, pretty much allowing Iran to procure pretty much whatever nuclear ingredients it desired, giving them the store and the rest of us nothing of consequence?  No wonder Israel went nuts upon learning the details.  Fortunately, France intervened (France?  What the. . .?) and Iran bowed out of an agreement for the moment -- likely because they continue to prop up their nuke war program and lying their butts off.

I know, I know, I know, I know -- but something in me boils when I see U.S. Marines and other members of our military playing cleanup in the Philippines and other places around the world when disasters occur.  Or to be more specific -- these fine men and women did not sign up and take an oath to be international janitors and delivery boys.  Let the damned nearly useless U.N. handle these matters and tell our global president to remember why our Armed Forces exist. . .or what's left of them, under this presidential fraud.  Were I on active duty right now, I think I'd be biting my own foot to maintain control.  I wonder how many military suicides have some, even some small connection, to the White House pretender's gutting of Armed Forces' abilities, rules, cohesiveness and man/woman power?   Less diplomacy and more expert toughness is required in today's world, especially with Chinese communists embracing their military muscle even more.

Thought for the Day:  The Tea Party folks are not the revolutionaries we need to worry about, and, indeed, they could end up taking back the conservative components of the constipated and ineffectual Republican Party.  The radical and/or mentally unstable revolutionaries surrounding our president are the demons which truly comprise the eye of a very current and nightmarish national hurricane.

Impeachment festival?  Efforts are underway in the House to impeach attorney general Eric Holder over several issues.  This isn’t likely to go anywhere when it reaches the Senate, Inc., but as long as the mood is impeachment, don’t stop with Holder.  There are plenty of fish to fry in the sea of corruption.

As the usual gang of power brokers and corrupt politicians forge ahead with immigration "reform," and I'm thinking that prison terms may be called for here among those folks, it's not out of the question to expect that terrorist elements within our borders can hardly wait for the day when "legal" becomes license to operate more openly and with less interference from law enforcement. 

Why is it?  Why is it that physicians and other health care workers face some troubled times under the Affordable Care Act, yet the legislative lawyers at various levels who helped draft this mess and put it into effect get off scot free?  Where is tort reform?  Where is the Affordable Attorney Act? 

If "Obamacare" has taught us anything, it is yet another indication that powerful forces are hell bent on enslaving our privacy to the nanny computer.  At this point, how do you wake the kids up and convince them that the wonderment and ease of digital technology is a friend destined to become their enemy?  It's just a matter of time, with big government's help.

A final word:  If the escalating costs of enrollment in Obamacare -- either to participants or to taxpayers who eventually have to shoulder state-based Medicaid costs -- aren't enough, just wait until Obama's "green" regulations on domestic energy production go into effect.  Coal plants and any other energy source deemed un-green by this clueless intellectual maniac are already on notice, and Obama's efforts can only result in expensive energy price spikes.  The president who promised that energy prices must "necessarily skyrocket" aims to fulfill his prophecy -- or maybe the word is commandment.  The eleventh.

"Twilight Zone" Preferable to Lie-Right Zone

As Washington runs amuck with spending gone berserk and undeserving bureaucrats anchored like potted plants with roots of steel, one wonders, one begs to know how to convince a sleeping populace to wake up and smell the corruption.  It sure isn't happening as long as the mainstream media keeps folks' ocular function attached to TV screens with eye candy superglue administered from the progressive left and the progressive right.

How authoritarian has the government become?  If you don't know by now, you may never know.  If -- the truly -- conservative politicians and radio talk show hosts can warn us all for years about the Affordable Care Act's hidden dangers and impending damages to constitutional rights, yet few in society care enough to educate themselves about the implications to our society, then some among us deserve what they get.  Bon voyage, Obamacare, bon voyage, Titanic. . .

Gotta admit, even the twists, turns and quirks in TV's "The Twilight Zone" at least made sense in some far-out manner.  Now we just get The Lie-Right Zone from those in power, as the middle class continues a dive destined to leave only the powerful and the not-so standing.

Meanwhile, this weekend Senator Charles much-too-long-in-office Schumer of NY was out there pitching the ghost of Hillary Clinton for president.  I say ghost because the Hillary he touts seems like pure political ectoplasm, with  little relationship to the Hillary we really know.  In recent days folks have had to hold their noses when told about Hillary Clinton's exceptional accomplishments as Secretary of State, when we all know she and Obama did little in the Middle East but blunder along and help light the fires of radical Islam for our true enemies.  The tragic albatross of Benghazi, Libya should perch firmly on her shoulders forever, certainly promising no ascension to the presidential throne.

Because Congress, and most assuredly the presidency, are all locked up with special interest groups and, too often, public frivolity, we logically ask -- who remains to speak for us, we the people?  Whistle blowers, apparently.  Looks like the NSA (remember just a few years ago when nobody would even admit to its existence, in the spirit of the "invisible" Area 51?) is far less popular than Snowden now, thanks to its own policy.

When you think of a government out of control, remember the name, Audrey Hudson.  Read about her ordeal online, but the pertinent information involves the feds, with other law enforcement assistance, entering this journalist's home one fine morning and, among other matters, absconding with her personal notes regarding, it seems, embarrassing (or worse) details about air marshals and Homeland Security.  There were several implied layers to this incident, but this additional example of big government tracking down members of the press and keeping tabs on their contacts should chill every American to the bone.  Who will save us?  Technology?  Hell, no, digital technology imprisons the human spirit more each day, not because it's inherently evil, but because big government is inherently evil and has virtually endless means to harness technology and use it against the rest of us. 

So here we are, and how did we get here?  If one is a journalist now, I guess you have to hide your notes at some nameless and unknown friend's house, as if you were hiding Anne Frank herself from humans gone wild.  If one has firearms, seems you're better off securing undocumented guns and ammo someplace where "they" will never think to look -- but, of course, technology's wonders allow few such locations or options.  What to do?  Shake your fist to the sky and blame The Cloud?  Clouds of the digital realm always maintain the electronic right to bring storms.

Hey China, nice map of places, lots of places, in the United States where those commie comedians promise  they can take us out with nuclear bombs.  But who cares about that when primarily leftist legislators across the country are focused upon crushing the Second Amendment whilst King Obama himself continues to purge the U.S. military of generals and the like who apparently just don't measure up -- make that down -- to his political views.

But, to quote Hillary's all-purpose excuse, what difference does it make?  Obama.  And Marx?  Marxist?  What's that?  You mean Groucho, the high school and college kids ask?  Yeah, that's right, Groucho Marx.  Funny man, wasn't he?  And remember Zeppo and Harpo?  I wonder if Common Core teaches kids that these were the Marxists?   Wouldn't expect anything less.

Horror at LAX.  Another day, another shooting, another death.  Another wish on my part that the airport terminal had been crawling with enough personal and legal civilian firepower  to mow this freak down before he could get to the trigger.  Instead, we're likely due for more blather from the media and leftist governors who hate guns and therefore hate you for having guns, period.

About that Affordable Care Act -- Admit it, now some of your unaware friends "get" Ted Cruz's little filibuster over Obamacare's terrors, don't they?  While damned nearly every national TV "news" outlet worked hard to dismiss Cruz by showing only that little blurb of him reading from Green Eggs and Ham, they ignored hours and hours of his brilliant observations and commentary on a host of issues, just to keep us off track.  Strange how some in the media wear a different face now -- undoubtedly a temporary condition, as they and the Obama gang strive to reconnect and reconstruct a brave Obama-friendly face for News at Eleven.

Scientists suggest that our Milky Way alone contains 8.8 billion suns, many with planetary systems similar to ours.  Source of UFOs?  Maybe.  And more than likely class action lawyers, annoying neighbors, infinite political campaigns and employed creatures who neglect to wash their tentacles after using toilet facilities at galactic restaurants.  And dog poop, everywhere, dog poop.

The Justin Bieber latest:  Sorry, I just can't let Bieber news alone, mainly because I keep counting down the hours until the world tires of his flash-in-the-pan existence in the world of celebrity and moves on to another tingling sensation of the moment.  This time around, Bieber was observed and photographed leaving a foreign brothel with, allegedly, a couple of the establishment's ladies.  Let's see. . .hmm. . .that would make three of a kind, wouldn't it?  Anyway, if Canada had installed its own brothels throughout the country, perhaps JB would have remained in Canada and never sung a note or endangered lives by speeding in the USA as he instead "toured" his own nation.  Five years from now, his music will be looked upon as something equally laughable with Obama's If you like (fill in the blank) you can keep it.

Indeterminate -- A Delightful Halloween Story

Yes, it's the Halloween season again, and I feel peculiarly obligated to do something about it.  Here's a little story of charm and male bonding (well, in a manner of speaking) to give you goose bumps, or maybe just an irritating itch somewhere among your private parts.  The trouble with writing fiction fit for the season these days is the sad fact that world events are more terrifying than much in the universe of storytelling.  By the way, I remind you that I'm really not any good at writing fiction in any form, so should you decide to read this and you hate it and it absolutely sucks, it's your own fault.  You've been warned.  Or is that warmed?

 

INDETERMINATE 

(Never Waste Words)

(A Delightful Halloween Story)

by Robert Barrow

 

 

Copyright 2013 (fiction) by Robert Barrow

 

(Any resemblance to persons living, dead or undead rises far beyond my ability to fabricate an unusual name that might actually belong to somebody.)

 

Brutally active winter storms should have yielded to the first idyllic hints of spring weeks ago, but the unforgiving north winds continued unappreciated mountain visits, transporting an unrelenting cascade of oppressively wet, heavy snow. 

Few understood the situation's gravity better than Dalton Fentweather, a local handyman who resembled a slightly older version of country singer Hunter Hayes, a heartthrob observation which delighted many young women of the sparsely populated rural area.  Though living alone in a small cabin in the woods, just a few yards off a logging road, he was never lonesome for female companionship -- generally acquired in a revolving door manner, with feminine faces arriving and departing with some regularity.

But romance was the last thing on Dalton Fentweather's mind during this snowbound afternoon.  Despite the raging snows, mounting more than an inch in depth per hour, when Dalton peeked out a window and looked toward the logging road he could barely make out the shape of something  -- or somebody? -- thrashing about in a snowbank. 

Of course, he hesitated before investigating.  Who wouldn't?  What if the snowy lump was an enraged bear, somehow awakened from hibernation?  Or some rabid animal? 

After a few minutes of careful thought, Dalton donned a parka, grabbed his shotgun and carefully opened the cabin door, being careful not to allow winter winds to blow in any more white than necessary.  Cautiously, he walked to the road, aware that the lump's movement had ceased.

As he approached the indefinite shape, its identity thoroughly masked by the blizzard's effects, Dalton proceeded even more slowly, until he ultimately stood just a couple of feet from it.  Extending the shotgun, he gingerly nudged the figure with its barrel for a possible response.

"Ow!" shouted a human voice, as the figure of a tall man recoiled, arose and then stood almost upright.  Dalton fell backwards in surprise, his fall broken sufficiently by the snow's depth on the ground.  The stranger spoke, timidly:, as he reached out, gesturing with his left hand toward Dalton. "Help me. . .please, help me. . .I. . ."  The man then collapsed onto a snowbank, motionless once more.

Footprints from way down the road could barely be seen as wind-driven snows obliterated every trace of their existence.

 

*****

With considerable difficulty Dalton dragged the man into his cabin and lifted him onto a sofa, and the combination of height and weight provided no easy chore.  Apparently sleeping or unconscious, the man dressed only in jeans and a torn black t-shirt would offer no resistance as Dalton looked him over.  While no tattoos or other markings were evident on his arms, his wrists clearly displayed circumferential red marks -- as if they had been tied very tightly to a pole or tree, or perhaps handcuffed.  Now Dalton allowed himself a measured degree of worry and fear.

He picked up the landline phone to call the sheriff, but its connection was dead.  That wasn't unusual when the snow grew deep and winds took down poles.  Like this week's snow.

Suddenly enlightened, Dalton whipped around to turn on a lamp switch and discovered that the electricity was also out.  Same damned pole, he rightly presumed.  He needn't have bothered with his cell phone, for that was out of energy and hadn't been charged for weeks, but he tried it anyway just to impress upon himself the hopelessness of summoning help.

Great, now what do I do about you? Dalton wondered, staring at the stranger on his sofa.  Approaching the sofa, he knew he must, at least, try to determine an identity, so he took the liberty of exploring the pockets of the stranger's jeans.  To his surprise, there was no wallet, no keys, nor pocket change -- but the left front pocket revealed a short strand of a material appearing to be from a thick white polyester cord .  Again, Dalton focused his eyes upon the painful-looking red marks on his guest's wrists.  Maybe an escaped prisoner?  Maybe somebody abducted and tied him to a tree?  Did some jealous husband or boyfriend do this?  Of course Dalton Fentweather would conjure up a husband or boyfriend, for he suffered his own occasional encounters with jealous significant others who discovered his affairs with their supposedly faithful ladies.

"Uhhhhhh. . ." muttered the stranger, apparently awakening.  Dalton stepped cautiously to his side.

"Are you . . .can you hear me?" asked Dalton.

The bearded stranger glanced about, ultimately fixing his gaze upon Dalton.  "Where. . .what is this?"

"I pulled you from the road -- you were huddled in the snow.  The storm, you know."

"The. . . storm. . ."

"Yes.  How did you -- where did you come from?  What happened to your wrists?" Dalton inquired gently.  The stranger seemed startled and sat bolt-upright on the couch.  Dalton took a timid step back, but then stepped forward and guided the mysterious man to a horizontal position once again.  He appeared remarkably weakened from some ordeal, or perhaps simply exhausted from his journey through the snowstorm.

"You. . .need to get. . . away. . .go. . .away," the stranger said, his voice almost inaudible now.  Dalton strained to hear him speak.  "You. . .you. . ."

"Who are you?  What can I do to help?"

"I. . .am. . ."  he said, his voice trailing off, but Dalton heard a part of one more word or sentence. 

"What?  Did you say rope?  Did somebody tie you with a rope?"  The stranger shook his head no and then passed out.  There was something uttered before what sounded like rope, but words seemed to break up.

Dalton retrieved a jar of tea from the refrigerator, taking care to close the door quickly in order to keep precious cold air from escaping.  The afternoon grew later and, despite the strange predicament before him, Dalton was grateful for a wood stove in the corner which kept the small cabin pleasantly warm.  Having poured a small cup of cold tea for his guest, he gently shook the man, hoping to awaken him and force down a drink.  Maybe then the man could speak more easily.  His eyelids twitched and the lids opened.

"Wha. . .oh. . .I remember. . ."

"Here, drink a little of this, it's tea," Dalton offered.  The stranger drank a bit and then swallowed more and more until the cup had emptied.  "What's your name?"

The man needed to think, but replied, "They. . . call me. . . Austin."

"Austin.  And my name is Dalton.  Now, I gotta ask you, man, where are you from and how the hell did you get this far?"

Austin seemed puzzled, and a bit embarrassed.  "I don't. . .don't. . .look. . . you got to. . . run away from me.  You aren't safe here!"  Austin was becoming rather frantic.

"What do you mean?  Are you a convict?  Did you escape from  prison?!"

"Get away, get away!"  The stranger slumped back onto the sofa, again with words drifting off as he mumbled, seeming to say  ". . .can. . .rope. . ."

"Can rope?  Are you from a rodeo?  Is that it?  Did you fall off a rodeo bus or, or a circus train or something?"  But Dalton's words went nowhere.  Austin was clearly asleep once again.  Dalton grew frustrated -- immensely curious, but frustrated.

 

*****

 

Afternoon slowly gave way to evening's curtain, sweeping away the snowstorm as a bonus.  Unfortunately, the phone and electricity remained out of service, and there seemed no reason to anticipate any repairs -- or visitors -- until tomorrow at the earliest, for Dalton Fentweather resided in a very secluded area.  But he entertained other concerns as he rocked forward and backward in his long-deceased grandmother's favorite wooden rocking chair, creating creaking sounds as he moved.  What else would tomorrow bring?  What should he do about his unexpected guest?  When could he phone the sheriff?  Or should an ambulance be summoned when circumstances allowed a call?  Who is this guy?  Sick?  Crazy?  Dangerous?  Amnesia?  Is he faking anything?  Is his name even Austin?  Is he listening to every squeak of the rocking chair right now, only pretending to be asleep?

Suddenly, the rocking chair ceased rocking.  Dalton detected motion on the sofa where mysterious Austin slept.  Rising from the chair, Dalton walked to a small closet in the room and retrieved a battery-operated lantern.  He switched it on, bathing the one-room cabin in the cold, unpleasant glow of small fluorescent bulbs.  He threw another log in the stove, then walked over to the sofa.

"Awake?" Dalton inquired.

"Where am I?  I. . .oh. . ."  Austin's tense words seemed a little more difficult to understand, almost as if he had cotton in his mouth.  But he didn't.  Austin, as if suddenly remembering something important, directed attention to his wrists.  He held them in the air and examined the substantial red impression around each.  "Ties. . .gone. . .got away. . .my bonds did this. . ."

Bonds did that? pondered Dalton to himself.  Who would tie up a -- who is this guy?  Dalton decided to let that revelation go without questions because Austin's anxiety already hovered near the explosive realm.

"Dude, you said something about roping, that you could rope?"  Austin appeared puzzled.

"No, I don't rope, don't know where you. . ."  Then a mental light bulb switched on in Austin's head.  "You didn't hear. . .everything I. . .said. . .you. . .missed. . .I. . .miss. . ."  Words were becoming hard for Austin to select.

"You worked with a rodeo or a circus.  I know it, I just know it!" insisted Dalton. 

"I DON'T!" shouted the bearded man, his voice reverberating throughout the cabin.  He was becoming more excited, causing his words to make less sense.  "No!  I. . .lie. . .lie. . ."

"What's a lie?  Are you lying to me?"

"Not lie. . .not a lie. . .I. . .you. . .miss and. . .rope. . .tha. . .tha. . .lie. . .the rope. . .missed word and. . .the. . .rope" said Austin, frantic in his inability to say exactly what he meant.  His eyes grew wide in the lamplight.  "Run!  Run!"  Ru. . ."  Austin collapsed again, seeming to pass out.

What the hell?  Dalton questioned out loud.  He felt his own heart pounding in his chest as the stranger's breaths grew labored and frequent.  Missed word and -- the rope?  Or did he mean miss or even miz. or -- or?  Dalton remembered a word he heard on TV now and then, not often, but enough so he remembered it.  He grabbed a dusty dictionary off a shelf.  Dalton never used a dictionary, but it had been a gift and he kept it around just so folks wouldn't think he wasn't smart.

He thumbed slowly through the book's pages, for word searches were never his thing.  Finally he came to the M section.  But how to spell the word?  With considerable effort and eye strain, Dalton at last stumbled upon what he thought the stranger might be attempting to say.  The word was misanthrope.  "Hmm," Dalton said as slumped over the dictionary, "it means somebody who dislikes other people.  Miss-an-tharope."  Dalton turned his head and looked at Austin's tall form, lying unconscious on the sofa, and then returned his attention to the dictionary.  Well, that word certainly seemed to fit him, unless he meant somebody else who doesn't like people, thought Dalton.

*****

 

"GET OUT!" Austin yelled, and a dozing Dalton Fentweather fell out of the rocking chair, landing on his knees.  He stood, focusing upon Austin, who now sat straight up on the sofa, his legs planted on the floor.

"Oh. . .um, Austin -- calm down.  You're so. . ."

"You must go. . .quick. . .I. . .the headaches. . .I. . ."

"Were you telling me," Dalton began, gingerly broaching the subject, "that you're a mis. . .a misanthrope?"

Austin's dark eyes widened as, for a change, he was the one looking upon the other as possibly crazy.  "What?"

"A miss-ann-tha-rope," repeated Dalton, slowly this time.

Austin's head cocked sideways.  Then he spoke again, his words even more difficult to understand than previously.  His words seemed so jumbled and uncertain.  "Lie. . .you missed. . .lie. . .I. . .can. . .the. . .rope."

Dalton shook his head in discouragement.  "Sorry dude, I don't understand."  Austin pounded a fist on the sofa, frustrated in his lingual disability.  To make matters worse, the lamplight started to flicker, its batteries obviously failing.  Dalton glanced at a wall clock and noted the time was nearing nine o'clock.  He threw another log in the stove so at least warmth would get him through the night.  And his guest, of course.  "I have a gas range, so at least I can fix us a can of soup," Dalton explained.  Austin said nothing, and his silhouette showed him running thin fingers through his hair. 

Dalton turned his attention to a cupboard filled with soup cans.  Though the lamplight was almost extinguished, he was grateful for light from the full moon, just rising over the eastern horizon, its welcome beams shining through tree limbs outside and deep through the windows on that side of the cabin.

"Well, I don't know what you like to eat, but I can do chicken noodle or vegetables and beef, or clam chowder.  Anything there appeal to you?"  Austin remained silent, just sitting motionlessly.  Dalton focused upon a few other cans.  "If not, I have corn chowder or onion soup, or maybe beans and bacon, and I have. . .what was that you said?"  Dalton heard something in a low tone, but couldn't make out any words.  By now, he was used to that kind of response from his strange guest.  He received no reply.  "Um, okay, well we have to choose something.  I mean, you have to eat, you know.  I'm sorry about the power failure and the phone -- and, goes without saying, the food available.  Okay, let's go for something simple -- chicken noodle.  Just have to find a can opener."

Dalton fumbled through a drawer in the moonlight, finally locating the necessary instrument.  He began opening the can, though the process was slow.  But he heard a noise and stopped cold.  It was the sound of something, something like the ripping of fabric over by the sofa.  "Oh," Dalton responded, "I never thought to get you out of those wet clothes, though I didn't think they were all that wet.  But go ahead and shed 'em if you want, I'll get you a robe or something."  Dalton continued opening the can.  Again, he paused.  "What are you doing?  No, really, what?"

In the moonlight, Dalton saw his dictionary lifted into the air by a tall figure, standing, that of Austin himself.  As Austin began thumbing through pages, Dalton thought he detected considerably more hair covering his guest's face, and deep guttural sounds seemed to emanate from Austin's throat.

"This. . .this. . .lie. . .can. . .the. . " Austin ripped a page from the dictionary and propelled it toward Dalton, who picked it up from the floor.  "Now. . .read. . .read!" Austin seemed to growl in demand.  The page was from the L section.  Dalton wasn't quite sure what to look for.  "Lie. . .lie. . .lie with a why. . ."

Lie with a why?  Oh, this guy has to be nuts, thought Dalton, holding the page in the moonlight, running his finger slowly down the entries:  "Lycaenidae. . .lycaenid butterfly. . .Lycaeon. . .lycanthrope. . .ly. . .wait, lycanthrope?  Lycanthrope?  Is that the word?  Austin?"  Dalton assumed he found the right word, because Austin had ripped a little tear just above and below the word. 

Heavy breathing sounds reverberated throughout the cabin, but suddenly Dalton wasn't sure of the exact direction.  "What is that?  Wait, let me see what it means.  It says, a monster who changes from human to wolf, particularly when the moon is full.  Well, that's crazy, isn't it?  Why would you tell me. . .hey, where are you?"

As if in response, a huge, furry shape rose from a crouched position, blocking the moonlight, growling and swinging thick, canine-like upper extremities as it howled with a sound creepy and emboldened enough to wake the dead -- or even enough to wake those among the living who were usually consumed and entranced by electronic games, unaware of their physical surroundings.

Shocked, Dalton dropped the dictionary page, momentarily mesmerized by the hulking animal-like figure just feet away and slowly approaching in a menacing fashion.  He suddenly longed for his shotgun, forgotten somewhere in the darkness, and surely out of reach..  Helped by the occasional flicker of the nearly useless lamp, Dalton retrieved the can of chicken noodle soup and flung its contents at something called Austin, covering the creature with what the can's label described as home-cooked style soup to please the whole family.  In a lightning-fast follow-up, Dalton shoved the sharp-edged can into a mouth containing large, white teeth reflected in the moonlight, and instantly recalled that he paid handsomely for that soup -- but then, regaining his wits as the creature screamed in pain, he rushed to the door, flung it open, slammed it shut and ran off into the woods, leaving Austin's fundamentally transformed self  trapped in the cabin. 

The deceptively serene moonlit evening evoked a terrible chill, but Dalton didn't care as he leaped and stumbled his way through deep snowdrifts, attired only in a flannel shirt, jeans and sneakers.  The night seemed so still, aside from distant howls and the sounds of breaking glass.  Dalton's fearful and racing thoughts included, rightfully, assumptions that tomorrow would bring no trace of Austin, but one heck of a cleanup challenge at the cabin after he notified the sheriff of, frankly, his unbelievable story.

Unfortunately for Dalton, however, though he didn't notice at first, in his haste to get away, his tomorrow would never arrive, for he was running right into the path of something horrible coming his way, an unrestrained, frenzied werewolf twice as large as Austin.  As the terrifying, deeply fur-coated creature leapt, knocking Dalton Fentweather to the ground, all business as it prepared to sink its long, yellowed fangs into his chest cavity, the last things Dalton would ever see were portions of a heavy white nylon rope wrapped around the monster's front legs, dangling in the snow and ready to fall off.  It momentarily, tragically, occurred to the young man that the missing rope segments may also have confined Austin until he broke free, along with his companion, leaving those red marks on his wrists.  Indeed, the lycanthropic beasts had probably been trapped in their bonds by some unknown captor, and he, she or they who confined the two -- if only two -- likely lay dead, somewhere far away. 

Dalton attempted to scream, but before he could produce more than just a gurgle, the full moon above was briefly traversed by a spray, a bloom really, of reddish mist, accompanied only by the sounds of teeth crunching through ribs, and distant wolfish howls.

-- THE END --