Monday, September 19, 2016

Anklecast 30: Bumps In The Night

That's right, I'm back with another cast. With thanks to and help from Justin Charles, there appears a story in today's episode titled "Bumps In The Night." I read the story, and discuss how I'd like the Anklecast fans to pitch in and help out. Please do. Please. Seriously, you complete me. Without you, there is nothing.

Oh, and enjoy the story?

Right click HERE to download.

Music was "Crossing The Divide." Courtesy of Kevin MacLeod of


1 comment:

  1. So, I listened to your story two times through. It's not a bad one, and having been an audiobook narrator for three years now (and the editor of a fiction magazine before that), I know a lil something about bad stories. The performance is good too, leading me to believe that you might could narrate books as well, if you wanted to.

    But the story doesn't have much to set it apart from the thousands of monsters-in-my-closet stories . . . until the end. The idea that there's a portal to another dimension in the boy's closet, and that the father goes inside on his own is a really solid one. Of course, then we're getting into Ian Syndrome territory: I want to know what's on the other side, and what happens to the man (and what happened to the boy and the boy's mother) once he goes through.

    If telling that story interests you, then "Bumps in the Night" is a great jumping-off point. I would suggest developing the man's relationship with his wife, the longing he still has for her, so that their inevitable reunion will be all the sweeter. Or would it be? For two years, he's believed she abandoned him and their child, off being pounded by insurance salesmen and gas station attendants, never once looking back with regret. To know that she's been god-knows-where for the past two years, in what kind of condition and mental state . . . well, that's going to make you feel all kinds of guilt and shame.

    And speaking of shame: how do you feel now knowing your boy really did see monsters in his closet, under the bed, climbing up the side of the master bathroom shower curtain? The guilt at all the times you never believed him, never let him sleep in your bed, yelled at him . . . maybe even hated him a little. These thoughts are enough to drive a man to drink Mountain Dew.

    But across the void, in that strange parallel world, maybe you can find your wife and child, make it up to them. Maybe you can save them.

    If that story grabs you, then by all means write it. It could be a novella, could be a screenplay, maybe even a novel (or series of them). Either way, it could be something I'd really like to read.