Basically, teajay101 was selling a ghost story, and I thought it was brilliant. He later put up a horribly-designed web site to chronicle all the weird and bad stuff that had happened to him in connection with that evil entity or “black thing” as he called it. Technically speaking, his stories were not well written. I remember them being full of typos and grammatically incorrect sentences. Still, I was obsessed. I checked back all the time to see if there were any updates until it became clear teajay101 wouldn’t be updating ever again. I wondered if the black thing had finally taken him.

Anyway, the point is I love a good ghost story.

As part of my real world job I support computers and websites for several motels in the town of West Yellowstone. During my visits to the properties, I’ve heard several tales of the paranormal from the staff. In fact, I’ve heard stories of ghost sightings in three separate properties, including one of the motels I support. Now, West Yellowstone is not all that big of a town. If the stories are true, that means something like one out of every eight motels is haunted. I’m not sure if all small towns or older motels generate legends like these, but I certainly hope so.

One of the hotels has a well-known (amongst the locals) legend attached to its sightings.

The hotel in question has a secret third floor. It is built into what would normally be attic space and has no windows. There is only one staircase that leads up there, and that staircase is hidden behind an unmarked, locked door that looks like it should be a cleaning closet. There are ten or so motel rooms up there that haven’t been used in years. These are the haunted rooms.

I’ve spoken with several people that have worked at this hotel. They say debris flies around in these rooms. They say they hear a voice. Some claim to have felt an unseen physical presence. Nearly all of them refuse to even go up to the haunted level any more.

When these rooms were still in use, the hotel owner used them to run *ahem* working girls. Despite the fact that a fair chunk of the town knew about the bordello, the owner managed to keep its existence a secret from his wife. For a while, anyway.

One night the owner made a pass at one of the maids. She had always found him and his “side” business distasteful, but she needed the work, so she stayed on. On the night in question, he was drunk and he was handsy. It was just too much. They had it out in the corridor. At the end of the shouting match, he fired her and she slapped him. He went upstairs to “relieve some stress” and she stormed out the front door of the hotel and marched her way across town to the front porch of his house.

When the owners wife answered the door, the maid told her everything. She detailed the seedier facet of hotel’s business, and speculated what he might be doing right now, and where it might be happening.

The maid’s story confirmed the wife’s long-held suspicions.

Enraged, the wife ran into the bedroom, snatched her husband’s revolver from the dresser and flew across town wearing nothing but her nightgown.

She stormed into the lobby and the desk clerk about had a heart attack. She waved the gun around and demanded keys to all the third floor rooms. The clerk’s hands shook as he took the keys from their hanging posts.

She raged up the stairs, bent on revenge. The first two rooms she unlocked were empty. The third room contained two people, neither of whom were her husband. She unlocked and threw open the fourth door.

There on the bed was her husband with a prostitute. In flagrante delicto.

The owner looked up from the bed and began to shout. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t be stupid, this is your fault.” He stood up and pointed a finger and charged his wife. “If you had ever taken care of my -”

The report of the gun shook the room.

Blood splattered against the back wall.

His body crumpled to the floor and was eventually carried from the building. His angry spirit, however, stayed behind. It is his ghost who is said to haunt the hotel to this day.

As I mentioned, very few of the staff even dare go up to the third floor anymore on account of all the weird goings on.

I did get one of the maintenance guys to give me the creepy tour though. He says the ghost has attempted to kill him twice. Once while working on the roof directly over the room he heard the dead owner’s angry shouting and then felt two hands push him. He fell and very nearly skidded off the roof. The other time he was working in the attic space thirty feet above the lobby. This time he heard angry growling, and again he felt two distinct hands push him. His left leg went down between the rafters and through the ceiling, but he was able to catch himself before falling all the way through.

Who knows exactly what’s true, but I just eat these stories up.

At one of the properties where I work, all of the front desk staff report that they’ve heard footsteps and a door slamming when no one is around. And I mean all of them. I’ve asked probably a dozen of them over the years.

I was at this hotel once on a very chilly January afternoon. The property was closed for the winter. I was installing a new computer, a router, some software, and a printer in preparation for the coming busy season. During the hour or so I was there I repeatedly heard the footsteps and the door opening and closing. I am fairly confident that I was alone in the building during that time, but I can’t be sure.

To make matters even more interesting, at least three of the staff claim to have seen the ghost – in the kitchen – in a wedding dress. I wish I knew what her story is.

I’ve already written a novel about zombies and I’m almost finished with one about aliens and zombies. Who knows, maybe the next one will have zombies, aliens and ghosts.

I think I’m obsessed.

Let me start by taking a quick jaunt down memory lane.

Some of my favorite childhood memories are from the annual family reunion. My little family hails from a long line of big families. That means we have upwards of 250 people or so there. Every year I can make it I’m shocked at the number of people that I still don’t know.

And for me as kid, the family reunion was about the best vacation in the world. Cousins abounded so there were always others my age to play with. A few people always brought ATVs, so that meant joyriding in the hills. My parents relaxed their strict rules just a little. I could stay up as late as I wanted. I didn’t have to do dishes. I got to sleep out under the stars. It was three or four days of paradise.

“That’s just swell for you, Bryce.” You say, “But what does that have to do with firearms?”

Well, the very best thing about the family reunion was this: it was the once a year my dad would take my brother and I shooting. There’s this old dump just outside the tiny city where the reunion is held. It’s the perfect location to go shooting. The locals still haul crap (water heaters, stoves, toilets…) up there for the express purpose of shooting it, so there was (and is) never a lack of targets, even if we didn’t bring any. The whole place is set into a bunch of hills, so there has always been a safe backdrop.

So, yeah, as a kid, it was far and away my favorite part of the reunion trip.

I’m an adult now (at least legally) and I cannot remember a time when my father has ever brought up the second amendment or sat me down to discuss gun rights. He didn’t have to. From the time I could steady his little Beretta, I was hooked. I’ll be a fan of responsible gun ownership for life. I’ll never vote for an anti-gun politician.

And therein lies the seed for my idea of the very best way to preserve guns rights for future generations. Here’s the bulletproof plan:

Take a teenager shooting. (And his or her dad, if you can) Once a youth knows that shooting is safe and that guns are awesome, he’ll have positive feelings about them forever. Why a teenager? Well, because a teenager is likely to say yes (& force his or her dad to come along).

Okay, so to really convert your guest(s) into lifelong gun supporters, I offer a few of suggestions.

Enforce the 4 Rules of Gun safety

When you go, teach the four basic rules of gun safety.

1. All guns are always loaded. Even if they are not, treat them as if they are.
2. Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy. (For those who insist that this particular gun is unloaded, see Rule 1.)
3. Keep your finger off the trigger till your sights are on the target.
4. Identify your target, and what is behind it. Never shoot at anything that you have not positively identified.

Make a big deal about these because safety is a big deal. There will never be an accidental shooting if you and your guests follow these rules.

Bring these two guns

Gun Number 1 - A twenty two with a scope, or a 20 gauge shotgun. This is so your guest can hit a bunch of targets and feel like a hero. It’s always more fun to shoot when you can actually hit stuff. Either of those guns come with the added bonus of being cheap to shoot.

Gun Number 2 - The biggest, neatest, meanest, ugliest, or strangest gun you own. You don’t have to let your guests burn up $100 in ammo or anything, they just should get the chance to shoot something “cool”. You know, so they can tell all their friends they’ve shot a Desert Eagle or a tricked out AR or had their shoulder dislocated while firing a Mosin Nagant. Because they’ve already been nailing targets with the first gun, they won’t care so much if they’re not as accurate.

Bring something fun to shoot at

If your range or wherever you’re going allows it, bring something other than a paper target to shoot at. Bowling pins are fun to shoot and easy to clean up, and can usually be purchased used from a bowling alley very cheaply. Pumpkins and other vegetables make delicious biodegradable messes.

That’s it. Thus endeth my plan.

Why do I think this should work? If you follow those three guidelines your guests should have a good time. Once they have a good time, they are likely to want to do it again. And again. And again. They’ll become a gun supporter for life.

Sure, calling your senator and going to rallies and joining the NRA are all swell things, but they don’t fix the real problem. The real problem is that not enough people know the truth about guns (that they’re awesome and safe when used responsibly; just like medications, cars, and barbecue grills).

You may never bend the ear of a senator, but you never know, that kid you take to the range may grow up to be a Supreme Court justice. At the bare minimum he’ll never vote for a gun grabber.

So go take a teenager (& his or her mom or dad) shooting today.

I want you to take a minute and think about how other customers treat you when you go there now. Now, imagine all of those people competing with you to pull anything of worth off the shelves because their family’s lives are at risk. Now, double or triple (or more) the standard amount of people you usually see there. Now, toss in the fact that there may be zombies in the mad crush of people that have all had your brilliant idea to fortify the local megastore. Not a pretty sight.

Trust me, you are far better off actually preparing beforehand your own food / gun / first aid storage.

As my buddy J. Dane Tyler once said, “Heck, Walmart is probably where it’s going to start.”

Lie #2 Owning a gun is the easy guarantee to survival.

If you own guns and use them often you’ll read this section, roll your eyes then say, “Well, duh.”

Sure, owning a Remington 870 Express 12-Gauge along with a closet full of 00 buckshot is great, but owning is not enough. Here are some fun facts about guns that many zombie lovers don’t consider.

1. It’s hard to hit a moving target. Even a slow moving, limping, shambling target. Of course I’m not saying it can’t be done, I’m just saying that if you don’t spend time hunting ducks or training in the national guard or something, you’re probably going to waste most of your precious ammo. And let’s be honest, if you aren’t around guns very much, you probably can’t even hit a stationary target either.
2. You cannot pull the trigger enough times to put down a horde. Serious shooters know I’m right. It sounds dumb, but your trigger finger gets tired fast. Don’t believe me? Go buy some boxes of cheap 9mm and then find your friend that owns a Glock with the most extra magazines. Load those suckers up then head to the range. Start shooting and switching them out as fast as you can. By the end of your third magazine, your trigger finger is going to be cramping and refusing to work right.
3. Sniper rifles are heavy. Uzis are heavy. Even regular old shotguns get heavy fast. Ammunition is very heavy. If your plans for the zombie apocalypse include bugging out to a secure location, just consider the weight.
4. Walls don’t stop bullets. If you’re shooting at a zombie in the hallway of an apartment complex, you’d better be sure where all the living tenants are so they don’t catch any errant lead. Even shotguns are probably going to punch through several layers of sheet rock.

That being said, you should still own at least one gun. You should also learn to use it. Just make sure you always follow the rules of safe gun handling.

Lie #3 A headshot is what it takes to stop a zombie.

“But Bryce,” you say, “This can’t be a lie. Aren’t zombies in your novel killed with a headshot?”

Yes. Because I made the decision to make the zombies in Oasis be the virus-takes-over-the-brain type. Being an author means I can do that.

But who’s to say that the coming zombie apocalypse is going to be powered by that kind of zombie? What if the cause of the zombies is Voodoo? What if it’s some kind of self propagating nanobot? An alien symbiote? What if it is still a virus, but the virus commandeers a person’s movements via the spinal column rather than the brain?

So, if not the head, what should you try to take out? Well, shattering a zombie’s hip or destroying a femur makes the physics of walking or running impossible. I’m betting that even the fattest and most out of shape survivor can easily outdistance a hopping or crawling zombie. If you want to make sure the threat is over, you’d have to destroy the zombie’s musculature completely via fire or acid or something.

Lie #4 Zombies are not, and can never be real.

Maybe there are not shuffling, drooling zombies right now, but who’s to say that’s going to last? Science fiction has created hundreds, if not thousands of other concepts and items that have come to pass in short order.

Now, would you like me to scare you? Zombies already exist. I’m serious. Scientists have discovered real, actual zombie…

…ants.

Seriously.

Go google “Zombie Ant Fungus” and be ready to crap your pants.

How long before an evil super-genius figures out how to weaponize that against humans?

Note: I originally posted this over on my other blog way back on November 14, 2009, but I felt that it goes a long way toward someone getting to know me, which is kind of why I started this blog, so I thought it’d be good to repost it here.

A Father’s Thoughts

Today is the second anniversary of my son’s death. It was the most painful experience I have ever been through. Spencer had been growing in my wife’s belly for eight and a half months. Everything had been perfect. He was healthy, my wife was healthy, everything was great. And then it all happened. My wife started getting an extreme pain on the inside of her hip. We were going to try to wait for morning (and every one of the four doctors we talked to said we’d be ok until then), but to cut a long story short, when the pain got to be unbearable late that night, I took her to the hospital. Of course, the staff there was concerned for the baby, so they immediately used the doppler listening device, but could not find a heartbeat. They rushed out and grabbed the ultrasound machine and tech and verified the fear I had in the back of my head. Spencer’s heart had stopped. He was gone. My heart broke.

To this day, we still don’t know why he died. We do know that the pain my wife had felt had nothing to do with it. That’s small consolation, however, when you ask and search and search and ask and nobody can figure out what went wrong. Was it something I did? Was it something my wife did? Was it something that can happen again? Could we have prevented it? What if, what if, what if? Not knowing why he died only brought more pain.

My wife and I still think of Spencer every day, and we still have the occasional bad day or two.

Despite this great sadness, all in all, today I consider myself fortunate. I am still happily married. I do not live on depression medication. In fact I’ve still never touched the stuff (& neither has my wife). I haven’t taken up drinking or drugs, and I haven’t collapsed financially.

There are many things others have done to help me out with my grief. We received a lot of supportive communication through letters, phone calls, emails, and visits. I know that a vast number of prayers have been said for me and my family since that day. I thank all of you who have been pulling for us.

Even with all of that support, I don’t think I would be in a good place today if I had not made a few decisions soon after it happened. I consciously chose to do these things which I thought would help me, and they did. That’s not to say that I’m some great shining example of perfect grief recovery or anything. I’m just going to say that this is what I did and I know it helped me.

I Supported My Wife

Maybe I’m hopelessly old fashioned, but I’ve always felt like it’s my job first and foremost to be the provider and protector of my family. Upon losing Spencer, I passed many an hour feeling like I had failed in these primary duties. Or worse yet, like I had been cheated out of the opportunity to fulfill them. I felt weak and useless.

However, it did occur to me that while I was unable to prevent this tragedy, I could still, or perhaps I could finally play my part by providing for not only the physical, but the emotional needs of my wife.

I decided that she would not be finding her way through the grief alone. I decided to talk about it whenever she wanted, and for as long as she wanted, even if it was extremely uncomfortable for me. Even if I didn’t have the answers. Even if we had the exact same conversation a thousand times. Anytime she needed to cuddle, I’d be there, no matter how uncomfortable a position in which she made me sit. Anytime she needed help getting around, I’d give her a hand. (The pain did not go away immediately after birth. It took several months. And she was in a wheelchair for about the first week.) Every time she needed anything, I’d get it for her. Anytime she wanted a foot rub, I’d give it to her.

Here’s the deal. It may sound like I became her little slave. Who cares if I did (even though I didn’t…)?  It gave me purpose and fulfillment to be doingsomething after so great a perceived failure. It kept us close, and we were able to lean on each other. It made me love my wife more than ever.

I Found an Outlet

I decided I would get out much of what I was feeling through the written word. This is when I really started pouring something new into my fiction. Even though my skill wasn’t (and still isn’t) good enough to transfer all of that emotion full force onto a page, it was good for me to create something, to get some of the pain I felt out of my head.

And it wasn’t just fiction, although I wrote plenty of that. I spent a lot of time writing in journals, too. I filled pages and pages with exactly what I was going through, and what my wife was going through.

Writing helped me work through a lot of issues. It forced me to think about, define, and clarify a lot of emotions.

I Sought Out A Higher Power

I really don’t talk publicly much about my faith. Perhaps that is a mistake.

In talking with other parents who had lost kids, it was easy to pick out two types: Ones that blamed God for their loss, and ones who leaned on Him for strength. I also saw which ones were more at peace, and which ones still, years later were experiencing pretty much exactly what they were experiencing when their loss first happened.

Also, I have always been taught about, and have always believed in an afterlife. It is a basic teaching of my religion that families can be together forever. When faced with tragedy, though, repeating something in your head and knowing something in your heart are two very different things.

I decided early on that I was going to lean on Him. I studied the scriptures, I prayed more fervently than at any other time of my life, and I did what I could to serve others through my church. I haven’t been perfect, of course. I’ve had my doubts and weaknesses. I’ve had my moments where I begged the heavens “why me,” “why us,” and “why Spencer?” It hasn’t been easy.

I will tell you this. Every effort I took to seek out my Heavenly Father was rewarded. I know now that He never abandoned me. I know now more than ever that He loves me and my family. He has helped me make my peace with the fact that horrible things happen in the world, often to good people. He has helped me and my family heal. He has made things happen that helped keep my life together.

In The End…

There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. I understand it when I talk to parents who have been swallowed up in their pain for years.

For what it’s worth, doing these things helped me cope. They helped see me through. More than that, they helped me become a stronger, a wiser, and more understanding man.

If you have lost a child, I am deeply sorry for your loss. My heart and my love go out to you. If you ever need a friend, I’m here for you, (Just use this Contact link)