OOGIE BOOGIE CENTRAL - Featuring Steve's Vent

Venter’s Note: Do I really have to say it? If you’re reading Final Chapter without reading the preceding three parts, then you should scroll down. Or perhaps you’ve arrived here accidentally, after Googling “sound of neurons firing” or John Spencer. Either way, enjoy. Thrombosis Hostage Crisis, Day 3. I haven’t mentioned my hospital roommate, a man about my age with severe abdominal discomfort. He arrived a few hours after I did, after a much longer, much more uncomfortable stay in the ER. Diverticulitis , I heard a nurse mention, a condition I’m slightly familiar with because of my mother-in-law (she suffers from it; she doesn’t cause it). I knew there was little chance I’d keep the two-bed room to myself, and while a bunkie with gastrointestinal issues wasn’t ideal, it beat the other selections I could have received. However, his arrival did make me regret the nurses’ decision to drop me in the bed next to the bathroom. Fortunately, his liquid diet made that concern moot. ...

Venter’s Note: If you haven’t read Thrombosis Summer Part One or Thrombosis Summer, Part Deux, I’d recommend scrolling down a bit or clicking here to get caught up. My third visitor in the ER treatment room arrived pushing a sonogram machine, a piece of equipment I recognized from my wives’ pregnancies. At first, I was confused, but once the technician lathered enough KY on my affected leg to supply a porno flick, I understood her intention. After twenty minutes of “mmm-hmmm’s” and scrunchy faces, I understood exactly nothing more. The young woman repeatedly attacking my injured leg with the hard, plastic probe obviously knew what she was looking for, and -once she found it- what it was, but she wasn’t sharing. When I could unclench my jaw enough to speak, I asked if she had found anything interesting. “Mmm-hmm.” Scrunchy face. Eventually, the woman rolled her medieval torture device away and the attending physician rolled in. “Well, Mr. Lukac,” he said. “We believe you ha...

Venter’s Note: If you haven’t read Thrombosis Summer Part One , I’d recommend scrolling down a bit or clicking here to get caught up. The night after my doctor’s appointment, I went to bed more relaxed than I had been in a while. There was something comforting about all my tests coming back positive. For the first time in years, I went to sleep without the niggling fear that I might not wake up the next day. Good night. Sleep Tight. And pleasant dreams to me. The next morning, I woke up with a cramp in my right leg. Nothing too severe; I walked it off by the time I made it to the bathroom, where my fully functioning (according to medical science) kidneys performed as advertised. I limped back to the bedroom for another hour of shuteye, feeling my calf muscle loosen with every step. A typical Friday morning. Once I made it to the store, I reported my doctor’s findings to my co-workers, relishing their stunned looks as I recited my passing score...

So there's a new Vent at Horror World . So, get to clickin'. But Then Again, You'll Have This . . .

It started with a cramp. No, no, no. That’s not true. It actually started much earlier. It started with a kidnapping. Every year, my parents avail themselves of the Multiphasic Blood Screening sponsored by the local Rotary Club. What this entails is twelve hours of Friday night fasting, followed by an early Saturday morning wake-up call. Then, a pilgrimage to the Methodist Church basement, where a flock of phlebotomists wait to drain the masses, followed by coffee and doughnuts. This year, I was told I’d be participating as well. This wasn’t a request, although I thought I’d moved beyond the age where my parents could dictate my behavior. When I mentioned this belief, my father laughed (in the same manner he had when I was a teenager), and told me where to be and when. And dammit, I listened. After a fair amount of pouting over my apparent lack of self-determination, I realized the screening probably wasn’t a bad idea. I don’t take proper care of myself; the inner tube that pass...

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. . . so there's a new Vent on Horror World. Go here for a peek. But Then Again, You'll Have This . . .

I almost forgot. Of course, I never do. It’s not the kind of thing you ever forget. You put it away. You wall it off. You get on with the business of living, occasionally allowing yourself to wonder about the road not taken. Or, the road closed. Stephen King did it in Pet Semetary, and for me, it’s the most poignant section of prose I’ve ever encountered. Gage graduates high school. Gage wins a gold medal. Gage finds that special girl. But most of all, Gage lives. It’s a waking dream to combat the horror of reality, but all it does is accentuate it. And while King’s laying down his beat, I’m at a table in the back of the bar, snapping my fingers in time with his rhythm. Yeah man, I can dig it. Would I trade you for your younger brother? For your sister? It’s a futile, hypothetical mental exercise, but don’t kid yourself, it’s the price of playing coulda, woulda, shoulda. Change one thing, and you change them all. That’s the bargain science fiction writers rarely consider w...

Before we start, allow me a brief, Science Fiction fan digression. Many authors create coherent universes in the course of their novels. Stephen King has tied nearly every piece of his fiction into the Dark Tower Mythos, even if it was done as an afterthought through some very creative, retroactive continuity tinkering. Brian Keene has done this as well; his Magnum Opus will be the often-mentioned Labyrinth. Careful readers of both authors (and if you’ve tried one without sampling the other, then shame on you) will recognize characters from previous works in cameo roles, as well as places and events from prior offerings. While these subtle connections reward faithful fans, they’re done in a way that doesn’t send a casual reader into fits of confusion. And, it’s a cool concept. I’ve tried to do a similar thing with the Oogie Boogie novels. Lieutenant Ducalion aficionados have noticed an ongoing Whodunit case during the Intermission section of Bounce. This was an intentional inclus...