Another Spooky Tale for Halloween

 

Something terrifying is happening to me right now: my book sales have been flatlining for quite a while. I have no one to blame but myself because I suck in getting them out there. I'm not a fan of advertisements, so I also don't wish to subject others to advertisements about my books, and that earned me virtual smacks from several online acquaintances who tried their best not to yell at me, "How do you sell anything if you never tell anyone?"

Okay, I tell people through this newsletter. I am sorry you are the unlucky lots, but I feel safe hiding here. I almost always put my books down there after you are sick of scrolling unless I have a new book coming up or a promotion, which hardly crossed my mind. Not because I am stingy, but because I am really bad at this marketing stuff.

So here we go; I am trying and sorry for this!

Get In Ora for 0.99 on 1st & 2nd November 2024ZC1RM

Now that we've got it out of the way, in the spirit of October and the actual day of Halloween, as promised, I am here to share another creepy real story. This was told by my dad.

My dad worked in remote, untouched jungles from when he was a teenager until his forties. Yes, he was barely there during my childhood. I remember thinking, 'Hey, this stranger is very nice to me', not registering that he was my dad during one of his rare times at home, but he worked hard to provide for us. He is the best dad, and he has a lot of stories to share about his time in the jungle. While those stories are weird, they are 'normal,' about his work conditions, wild animals they encountered, the exploration of untouched areas, etc. He is a very honest person; I don't remember him telling a lie to me or anyone; he is the kind of person who would rather not answer you instead of lying, even for fun purposes.

So, this one story of his sent a shiver down our spines when he told us. It didn't help that he was also visibly uncomfortable, something I rarely witnessed. You must have heard some permutations of this in movies or fiction before, but this happened to my dad.

It took place in our small town in west Borneo near noon time during his walk (it was normal to walk around, not every place was reachable by public transportation), he came across an acquaintance who was also walking somewhere across the street, so my dad called him up. It was someone he knew quite well, and Dad wanted to check on him, knowing the person (let's call him John) had some ongoing health issue. So, Dad asked if John was feeling better, and John answered something along the lines of "It's fine," although it was not straightforward because he seemed distracted. It's like when you talk to a person whose mind is somewhere else, but he is still able to hold the conversation. They talked for a while, and Dad got the sense that John might be in a hurry because now he realized there was someone standing a distance away, and he was waiting for John.

According to Dad, the waiting man was unremarkable; nothing stood out or memorable; he couldn't even remember his face and the man never said anything. Thinking of nothing, Dad ended the conversation and let John go. John walked up to the person waiting, and they both walked away together while Dad made his way home.

On that very same day, he heard the news that John had passed away, but it didn't add up because John had passed since morning, and Dad met him around noon, a couple of hours after that. However, his family was with him, and they all confirmed the time and the fact that John had never left the house.

I hardly think about it, but for some, they continue to look for answers about the afterlife and what will happen after we take our last breaths. Does this mean we at least have someone to guide us? Is he some kind of grim reaper or just someone to show the way? I don't know, I am not really curious about afterlife. For Dad, he always wonders what would happen if he didn't let John go or insisted on having a cup of coffee or bringing him back to his home? I guess we'll never know. It has never happened again, but this story is embedded forever in our minds.

There you go, enjoy the spooky spooky for those who celebrate it. I'll eat some candy bars as a form of solidarity.

Do You Have Spooky Tales?

This is not Locky trying to be spooky. He just tested if he was big enough to cover my TV (15inch monitor). Why do other things when you have a dog, right?

It’s October. I don’t celebrate Halloween, it’s not something common where I am. Yes, the cinemas here are populated by horror movies, but that is common all year round. What’s up with that? I guess the market is good, and most probably, horror movies require smaller budgets. Make everything dark, there are many settings that already look scary, adapt local urban legends and true terrifying stories, make it even darker; the recipe for good profit margins is there. I have only watched a few horror movies in my life, but this is not my opinion only because I have heard other similar inputs: Indonesia and generally Asian horror movies are the scariest horrors.

To be fair, Indonesia is very mystical. We have plenty of scary beings. I’m not sure what to call that, but there are many creatures out there with A LOT of eyewitnesses. There are many jungles and unexplored places. I have heard actual scary tales from my friends, my dad, and people I trust and witnessed weird stuff myself.

The ones I witnessed were ‘indirect.’ Back then, I went on many camping trips, from junior high school to university. They were not those fun camping, but we went to remote areas to learn about survivalism, explorations, and expeditions. The most modernized gadgets we had were magnetic compasses; I am not even sure it’s easy to find one now. We relied on paper maps (if any) and almost no communication methods. On more proper and bigger scale explorations, the organizer would have walkie-talkies, but that was all.

I witnessed on three separate occasions of my fellow campers being ‘possessed.’ I wasn’t sure what they did; we didn’t go around and disturb old burials or anything, although we came across them on some trips. Our activities were educational and responsible, and everyone I knew held up to those values. I still remember some of the mottos: kill nothing but time, take nothing by pictures or keep nothing but memories, and leave nothing but footprints. We were not those hippies, Instagram nuts nowadays who climbed Balinese sacred mountain, went butt-naked on the peak, posted on social media, and were deported for it. Idiots. Disrespectful idiots.

However, it happened. I didn’t get too close to them, but it was surreal to witness. I could see the physical transformations, no, not those elaboration movie styles, but the people possessed looked different. They screamed, they cursed, and their eyes went wild, bulging and sometimes red. They were unrecognizable, and their facial expressions were intense, not those we normally see unless we go to extreme lengths to make faces, and even so, it would not be easy to duplicate. One looked extremely angry, while the other was confused and wailing; one had to be held down because he started to destroy things. The weird similarity, fortunately, was that they were all staying in relatively the same area, as they didn’t go around, go wild, actively attack people, harm themselves, or go missing. On these occasions, the organizers would seclude the rest of us in a distance while a team of them would try to calm, negotiate, talk, and maybe pray. All of us would stay in silence and just hoped it would pass soon. It could take some time and even hours, but eventually, the person would pass out and wake up with no memory of what had happened. Fortunately, no one was harmed on these occasions, but it could be traumatizing. 

My first experience was when I was just fourteen, and one of my schoolmates was up there on the table with contorted bodies, screaming in a language no one understood, and it happened subsequently to multiple other students. It didn’t help there was a storm that night, and we had to huddle together in some old abandoned school (maybe that was why?) Almost every student was crying, traumatized, and swore off similar activities. I’m also not sure if those organizers prepared for those kinds of events; I wouldn’t be surprised if they did. I was always a participant only in those bigger groups.

It might sound unbelievable; there might have been another explanation for why these people were going berserk. I keep my mind open, but from my experiences, it looked pretty legit to respect and maintain my peace.

In university, I joined an outdoor organization where the explorations went to even more remote areas. We were all students just doing our outdoor hobbies and some social work. Here, I was taught not to leave my mind empty because it would be easier to ‘occupy’ (not a problem for me because that nosy brain never stops talking); we had to respect everything and excuse ourselves when we entered strange/remote/abandoned areas. To my amazement, everything went smoothly. I never had scary incidents except for one questionable expedition. It was the smallest group I had been in, five of us climbing a stratovolcano mountain. Nothing spooky, actually, just weird. I saw a cat that night when we camped near the peak. Not a mountain cat, cougar, or whatever wild cat, but a black house cat. This was not a popular mountain, and it was the year 1997; we were the only one there and had to open our own trail, so it was a relatively untouched mountain. Is it weird to see a house cat there? I don’t know. I also heard regular wave-crashing-the-shore sounds, and we were very high (2800+ meters/9200+ feet), but I tried not to think about it and went on to sleep well.

There was a legend out there, which we obviously didn’t comply that we should always have an even number (for small groups) because otherwise, something would even it out for you. Maybe that was the purpose of the cat?

Those are spooky October stories for you. I have more but I don’t want to blabber too much.

I hope you are well over there, wherever you are. Whatever struggles, sorrows, or hardships you are trying to overcome, I am rooting for you to win the battle. Don't give up.

Take care, and thanks for being here, as always.

It Has Been A While

 

It has been a while. I was away for a family reunion and had an unexpected health issue that required hospitalization, but it’s all well now.

Before they knew what to do with me, I was put in a big room and wheeled here and there with many other patients. The room was full, filled with beds in every corner; some were even put in the middle. We never stayed in the same spot, they would take us to the X-ray room, Ultrasound, blood test, this corner for picture taking, and other corners for questioning, insurance, making sure you pay, interrogation, confession, presentation for your appliances’ expired warranty, etc. So, every staff member was busy and it was not easy to even ask for a pillow.  It was an A&E area where I had a chance to observe human vulnerability.

Obviously, due to the nature of hospitals, we are reminded about how dependent we are on all these technologies and other human beings during sickness. The feeling of being completely in others’ mercy, skills, and knowledge is humbling. I have watched too many true crimes and documentaries about how easy it is for people in the medical field to harm or mess up, but those didn’t bother me that day.

It was more about what I witnessed. I saw all kinds of people in one of their most vulnerable conditions. We wore ill-fitting issued clothes, and we were like lost puppies looking at the staff, trying to catch what they were whispering about, decipher the displays on the monitor, interpreting the hmm and the nods or head shakings, the dread of finding what made you there, the hope pairing with the anxiety of getting your turn, and the constant beeps of everything around. Many elderly were distraught and kept looking for their loved ones, mainly their children; some couldn’t even communicate.

It’s heartbreaking to witness the helplessness and vulnerability, and how amazing it is to see a face I am familiar with, my rock even when I am strong.

Oh well, I always think we are created with too many flaws, but someone would whack my head and say that makes us human. Whatever it is, I wish you all strength and happiness.

My schedule is messed up now, and I would need more time to prepare for my new book. However, your holiday is over! I am here to ramble again. Thank you for being here.

PNW Affliction I: Recycled

 

This is probably the first time I've read something in this format. The story picks up quickly, and I appreciate the author's backstories and explanations; they help when you read this book as a standalone.

We follow the main character, who sometimes talks to readers throughout the night. He is caught in an unfortunate situation and has to spend the night outside his home, trying to survive, which is the book's whole premise.

I wish to know the character and the plot better. I know bits and pieces of what the MC is like from how he looks at things, which is interesting, but I don't know the motivation and his actual purpose yet. I would love to better understand why someone like him, who is resourceful, fearless, and seems very logical, feels the need to spend the night out there, risking frostbite, instead of going home, somewhere nearby. I believe there will be more justifications to help me understand his choice in the subsequent books. It would be nice to have a clearer indication if the group he meets at the end is the perpetrator of the first incident or, at least, if it's related. It seems like he has another suspicion for another group of people.

Multiple scenes make me hopeful about the possibility of this turning into something epic (like the card), and everything is done for a reason. The ending opens the potential for more stories and answers to all questions. This book One feels a bit incomplete, but it starts well and captivates me to the end. It is easy to read, I like the writing style, the character is thought-provoking with many indications about the intriguing past that shaped him into what he is now. I like every detail, and this deserves a more complete assessment, so I'll read the follow-up book and return to this review.

You Are Not Alone

 

June is Male Mental Health Awareness Month, and Father’s Day also falls in June in many parts of the world.

Around 2002, I worked as a junior staff member in this big company, with multiple departments on multiple floors. My department (around a dozen people) was located next to another (around four-five dozen). The workflow sequence was from ours to theirs. I don’t need to liaise with them in Department 2 since I only did technical presentation work exclusive to Department 1. Still, I know their faces and sometimes their names because we shared communal facilities, and there were some team-building activities now and then.

I had a small lunch group of around five people or less. Sometimes, one or two people from Department 2 would join us, but it was rare. I didn’t really enjoy lunch for personal reasons (story for another day) and because working-hour lunch was hellish. Everywhere was jampacked, it was always rushed, it was harder to secure a table for a group, and before you finished half of your food, other patrons would stand behind you to wait for your seats. I don’t exaggerate this; it’s still happening now. So, the food court was a nightmare, but that was what most of us could afford.

One day, this middle-aged guy from 2 invited us for lunch in a more private restaurant. He had ‘booked’ us the day before. I knew him only from passing interactions as a nice, hardworking, quiet, respected, and polite guy. Sometimes, we exchanged small talk in the pantry, but I never had lunch with him. I wasn’t sure; it was only my first year, and most likely, one or two guys in my group had. Anyway, it was nice to have a peaceful meal once in a while, sitting in a comfortable restaurant without needing to rush. I didn’t know he could be very social and chatty; he was friendly and seemed happy to know us better.

The day after, he jumped to his death from his high-rise apartment.

He was a father of two, and no one, not even people who were so-called close to him, expected that. Twenty-two years now, it still makes me sad to think about how nobody knew what he was going through. I still don’t know why, and out of respect, I didn’t go around and ask. Most people just speculated, and it became a blurred line between reality and assumption.

I don’t need anyone to scream at me about depression doesn’t recognize gender etc. While it’s true, it’s also true that many men decide to face it themselves because they feel they can’t talk about it without prejudice. Sometimes, it’s a stigma, sometimes, they don’t think they have good support around them, and sometimes, they actually don’t have anyone to help them. Although the roles have shifted, most responsible men hold big burdens on their shoulders about what they should be in the family and society and work hard to be the pillar for everyone. It’s very tough, and I really respect them for that. I could only wish that everyone else could also be the pillar for them when they need it.

I want to share this video; it always gets me every time I watch it.

Many Happy Returns

 

We have just celebrated my dog’s 9th birthday two weeks ago. 

I have always loved dogs and almost went through the adoption process with a rescue shelter, but unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be (some scheduling and other issues). After that, I decided not to get a dog at all since I was traveling quite often, I didn't want to leave my dog in boarding houses often.

My colleague learned about it in a passing conversation, and a few weeks after that, she offered me a puppy for adoption. It was a coincidence there were three new puppies in her home (on top of the existing four dogs), and they couldn’t take care of all of them. Since she knew my difficulty, it came with a perk: I can put him with them whenever I travel.

My dream dog back then was a big dog, a mongrel, like the ones my family had. Mongrels dominate rescue shelters, as people here prefer pricey, purebred, ‘cute’ dogs. So, I was looking at this puppy picture and thought, oh dear, this looked like those fancy celebrity dogs. I hesitated, but how could I resist helping give this puppy a home with a perk that solved my problems?

When I brought him home, he was scrawny and smelly. He loved eating rocks and was scared of other puppies, waves, water, and the sea. He pooped on his bowl and tipped over everything. But he is the most intelligent dog, and with some training and patience, he becomes the most confident dog who surfs and is fearless. He is a well-behaved dog, never destroys anything, and has many toys because everything is as good as new, and he loves to play. No bias!

Here he is on his 9th birthday. He is my best friend, my companion, my therapy dog. He is not a lap dog; he would push me off with his paws for unsolicited cuddling (unless it’s pretty cold!), but whenever I am sad or angry, he would sit on my lap and nudge or lick away my sorrow until he is convinced that I am no longer sad or angry. One of the reasons I quit my job was because I wanted to spend more time with him. I arrange my life around him, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure he is happy. We have an unbreakable bond, and everyone says he takes after me. He doesn’t like people, screaming children, or high-pitched and repetitive sounds. We howl together every time an ambulance passes us in traffic and bark at the neighbor’s chickens when they get too rowdy.

These were the pictures sent to me before adoption. He was around two months old.

His first day with me at home, he was three and a half months old. The killer eyebrows! I know!

Now. Today. A wise and grumpy nine-year-old. Wishing for many more years together

Links to free short stories from authors with subscription. Maybe you will find some stories you like.

SF/F GIVEAWAY

 

Dial-up Internet

 

Whenever I meet with my friends (I only have a few, and it is dwindling), we always reminisce about good old times, well, of course, on top of health talk and how annoying it is to grow older. Another topic is about technology and the internet as we put on our best grumpy behaviors while squinting on the phone and cursing that everything needs to be an app nowadays. 

I am a younger Gen-X (Gen-Xer?). I was a bit late, but the first time I accessed internet was in the year 2000 when I just graduated from University and was looking for work. It's hard for users nowadays to pick email addresses they like without numbers and weird combinations of unusual words, but back then, we could! My email was exactly what I wanted, and my password was a six-letter word, no uppercase, no punctuations, no numbers, and it didn't look like a cursed word. 

I had to take at least a thirty-minute public transport ride to access a facility called Internet café. It had a bunch of PCs with fat screens, and I paid hourly to access the internet. With internet, I meant email, because that was the only thing I knew, and it took me almost a full hour to check and reply. How many inboxes did I have? One! Yeah, it was the combination of a slow connection, my navigation skills, and drafting an email in English, a language I barely knew or used back then. It was also my very first inbox and reply (of course, on top of the usual automated welcome from the provider), and I created the email for this purpose not too long ago before my interview.

Thankfully, it was good news. I got my first job, and it was my top choice. I would be back in a few days, wandering around the neighborhood, catching public transport, clearing the café's administration, waiting for the green field and blue sky background to appear, waiting for the connection with the soundtrack of EEEEE OOOO EEEEE OOOO TEEEEEEEEEEEE, logging into my email with my very easy to remember password, and check whether they replied me. Woohoo! Easy peasy. Hopefully, they would have replied to me by then because it cost me a lot to get there. Otherwise, I'd be back in a few more days. I might have to break my piggy bank, but woohoooo!

So, that was my first experience with internet. I still remember the layout of the café and the relief I had. I was considered lucky because we didn't have Google Maps back then. I had no idea where I could find one but to explore around. The content of the internet back then? It was pretty much the same as what we have now regarding the concept. There were creeps in ICQ (a chat room), kind Nigerian princes (so many of them) who tried to give me money, hoaxes, advertisements about enlarging stuff, and unsolicited access to uncensored beheading videos.

How was your first internet experience? Was it fun, traumatizing, or something you fondly remember like mine? Nowadays, on top of all the negativities and stupidities I always have a hard time processing, I am still grateful because I get opportunities like this to connect with all of you without having to meet in person. I am an uber introvert, but I love exchanging minds and learning about worlds outside my own.