nightmares – Looking to God

Zombie Nightmare

Posted on February 9, 2015February 11, 2015 by Jack Flacco

The other night I had a nightmare. I don’t blame myself for having it, considering I write about zombies, and I’d gone through a Walking Dead marathon recently. But yes, I had a full-blown nightmare waking up in a cold sweat and trying to catch my breath. I fell short of screaming–thank goodness for that. Then again, what would I consider scream-worthy?

For today’s Monday Mayhem, let me tell you about this nightmare.

Some of my friends have asked me pointblank where do I get my ideas. In all honesty, because I write every day, I figured it had to do with the writing habit. But more and more I’m finding I draw much of my inspiration through my dreams, and yes, nightmares. I have yet to experience night terrors, such as those few unlucky people I’ve met in my lifetime, however my dreams are so vivid at times that when I wake up I’m confused as to what is real and what is not.

Knowing this, let’s get back to my nightmare.

One night I find myself running through a wheat field. I could hear the stalks breaking under my footsteps and I could feel the grain scratching my hands as I attempt to make my way to an exit of some sort. The night is cold. It feels more like the end of October, early November. I can see my breath. I remember wearing my jeans and sneakers, but that’s not important until later. And there’s very little light, although I can see ahead to what is coming next.

I then find myself at the mouth of a cave. At least it looks that way. The rock outside glistens in the moonlight. Now that I think about it, I wonder why everything looks brighter than the wheat field. I notice the rock appears wet to the touch. I can’t understand why it seems wet, yet I can’t see a source of water anywhere.

Inside the cave, I look around and notice that the walls are also wet to the touch, much like the outside. I move forward until I stop next to a crag where a small shaft of light appears. I find this weird, but I’m not afraid. Then the light disappears only I find the tunnel ahead contains a fire burning in the background. I can smell the charring wood and can feel the warmth from a few feet away.

I can’t move, though. I try to lift my feet, I try to pull my legs from where they stand, but something’s keeping me there. It’s funny, I feel as if I have lost my will to use my lower half.

When I peer at my feet, expecting I may have stepped into glue, I see things crawling on my sneakers. They are black. They have legs. Now, I’m afraid. Their legs bend as would a spider’s legs bend. It’s not a spider, though. The hand-sized bug has seven legs, three on two sides and one in the back. It crawls around and has now begun climbing my legs.

Having regained the use of my legs, I run. I scream. I shake. Yet I don’t go anywhere other than two feet from where those bugs had attacked me. I turn around and stare at them. I find I had stood frozen in place under their nest.

Then I hear a familiar growl. The undead. I’m sure of it.

That’s when I wake up.

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RANGER MARTIN AND THE ALIEN INVASION, on sale now.

Have you had any nightmares lately? What was the last one you remember?

Monday Mayhem

Hard Being a Zombie

Posted on May 19, 2014May 19, 2014 by Jack Flacco

It must be difficult to live life as a zombie. To have no hope. No dreams. To pretend of being of value to others only to suck all the good from them until there’s nothing left. It must be tough to have a false sense of purpose, treating humans as nothing more than a piece of meat.

Maybe you shouldn’t read this Monday Mayhem post. If you’re a zombie, I don’t know if you’d understand.

How can zombies live with themselves? Their moral compass is broken. They have no ability to see what they’re doing is wrong. Their loyalty lies in one thing—to fulfill their selfish inner craving they have festering in their putrid shell. What do they see when they look at themselves in the mirror? Do they see good? Do they see the pain they cause themselves and to others?

Zombies have their horde with which they commune. They’re all the same, though. Following the pack. Not thinking for themselves. Much of their undead life consists of roaming about seeking of whom they may devour. Sure, they have their dormant phases where they appear as if they’ve gotten better, hanging with their brothers and sisters in a quiet state of depression. But that doesn’t mean they’re harmless. Once they catch sight of another victim, nothing prevents them from kicking into full chase mode.

At least zombies have something to which humans can aspire. If anyone dares attack them, they don’t run. They don’t hide. They simply show their rotting teeth and hit their future kill at a time when it’s at its most vulnerable.

Unlike other carnivores, zombies will keep pursuing their quarry even after sustaining an injury. The undead may have lost an arm, a leg, the front part of their face, but they’ll do everything in their power to exhaust their victim until the victim can run no more.

When the evil predators finally catch their prey? They consume them while they’re still alive.

Then there’s the little matter of the zombie bite. All the undead has to do is snap and wait until the virus takes effect. If they can’t kill their target, they’ll do one better—make the target into one of them. What better way to guarantee the zombie culture will not die? The perfect plan.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather remain human than become a maggot infested drain on civilization bent on destroying the good in people. Sounds to me like a lot of work to keep tabs on victims in order to ensure they’ll one day either become food for the miserable lot or part of the problem.

RANGER MARTIN AND THE ALIEN INVASION, on sale October 21.

Is there such a thing as a good zombie?

Monday Mayhem

Zombie

Posted on November 18, 2013November 22, 2013 by Jack Flacco

How horrifying would it be if your brother became your worst nightmare? You’d fall asleep with images of his biting face in front of your eyes, his lifeless stare giving you chills, and his painful gurgles echoing in your ears. Yet, you know you did everything you could to save him from his empty life of despair. How would you rest knowing he’d be out there taking the lives of others in the same way he had tried to take yours?

It’s not every day your brother becomes a zombie. Maybe today is one of those good Monday Mayhem mornings where everything goes right in spite of knowing that whatever you did to help your brother, you couldn’t have stopped what would have happened anyway.

After all, your brother was there for you through some of the happiest times in your life. He was there those summer nights spent chatting on the porch about everything from the cost of gas to how beautiful the rain is when it trickles down a windowpane. He was there when you celebrated one of the most memorable birthdays and he gave you that baseball cap—that same baseball cap you no long possess because it reminds you too much of how it used to be and what you had lost.

And who can forget that fateful day at the game when he told you about wanting to marry his girlfriend of three years making you feel privileged, since he also asked you to become his best man.

But you noticed the changes before he even knew what was happening. The disease began drawing his life away months before his happiness disappeared. It started in the heart and grew slowly over the course of time. You couldn’t put your finger on it. He was different. His eyes began to grow icy, his skin limpid and pasty. His hair had lost its shine. Whatever it was he suffered, he didn’t look good. Most of all, his personality had changed.

What once was a strong, healthy, outgoing man became a shell of a human. Empty. Without form and void.

That’s when you noticed the snapping. You heard of this occurring to others, but you wouldn’t have believed it occurring to your own brother. Never. How could it? You’ve been through so much together. There’s no way he’d turn on you. What about the times you were there for each other? What about those moments of brilliance you thought he could repel anything, should an external force wreak havoc on his brain?

When the snapping took over it was too late. Just like the others you saw turn on their loved ones, your brother did so as well. You tried to save him. You tried to get him help. You tried to show him through example that what he was becoming was something unrecognizable. Something that if not fixed, would destroy his life forever.

Every so often, he’d snap his jowls. You didn’t know what it meant. Yet it came about because his life was deteriorating before your eyes and the disease that once took hold of his heart slowly seeped into the rest of his body making his skin cold to the touch and his soul filled with unbridled rage. All he wanted was to hurt you. All you wanted was for things to go back to a time when joy coursed through his veins.

The disease had no mercy on your brother’s soul. It ravaged it, sucking all the goodness and replacing it with a bitter spirit that shook the ground where he walked and numbed his bones.

You couldn’t bare watching anymore. One day you drove him away and released him in the wilderness. You said sorry for anything you may have ever done to have caused him pain, and left him lost to his own hate—dead.

But you hold on to hope that one day he will find his way through the wild and come home to you cured of his malady. You hold on to that very little chance his mind hadn’t completely turned to stone. And you hold on to the hope his heart sparks with life again to restore who he once was.

Not what he is now—zombie.

RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, now on sale.

What would you do if one of your friends turned into a zombie? Would you try to save or kill them?

Monday Mayhem

Zombie Apocalypse: Failure?

Posted on July 29, 2013July 28, 2013 by Jack Flacco

Do you know what I realized the other day? Whenever I talk about the zombie apocalypse with my friends, I’m always assuming it is possible. I never think for a moment that something so absurd would be impossible. Then again, I do write about zombies, so how weird is that?

Back in May, I wrote a Monday Mayhem post called Zombie Apocalypse: Causes. In the post, I detail reasons why I think a Zombie Apocalypse could happen.

But, what if? What if zombies suddenly rise from their graves because of some freak event and we’re right there in the middle of the mess? Do you honestly believe these walking disasters have a chance of carrying out their diabolical plan to rip our cerebral cortexes from our skulls, all the while their moaning and grunting betray their physical locations?

Before y’all jump me at once let’s say this together. Raise your right hand: I know a zombie apocalypse is possible but I won’t beat Jack senseless for thinking otherwise.

Once you’ve said that three times, you can go on ahead and read why I’m entertaining thoughts contrary to an undead global meltdown.

Elements of Nature—How long do you think zombies would survive in the middle of our Canadian Winter? One day? Two days? On February 18, our weather here in Ontario dropped from 0°C/32°F to -16°C/3.2°F. That’s a sixteen-degree differential in the span of one day. In December 2012, we had a full week of sustained temperatures below freezing. I hope zombies dress warm if they ever decide to invade in the middle of winter. In June, floodwaters ravaged townships in Alberta leaving them desolate and empty. In Calgary, the city came to a standstill as chest-deep waters flooded the downtown core. Do zombies know how to swim? The list goes on, with a myriad of other natural disasters that have occurred this year ranging from tornadoes all the way to heat waves. If a zombie apocalypse has to take hold, it had better time it right. Mother Nature would have first dibs at the bodies rising, that’s for sure.

Animals Are the Zombies Second Worst Nightmare—I’d like to see a few of those belly suckers attempt to cross a cornfield in the middle of the day. First of all, they’d never survive a head on onslaught of crows nosediving from twenty feet in the air to peck out their eyes. Buzzards or turkey vultures are worse. Their six-foot wingspan allows them to travel 30-50 miles in search for food, and they can smell death a mile away. Their bills have a design to plunge deep within a carcass to retrieve its meal. Let’s not even talk about wolves. These pack hunting canine wonders of nature can eat 15-19% of their body weight in one sitting. If zombies should happen to make contact with any of these animals, it’s lights out.

We Are the Zombies Worst Nightmare—Let’s imagine for a few moments a world on the cusp of filling with a legion of zombies out to harvest our innards. Forget about World War Z’s fast zombies. As cool as they are, let’s think old school. You know, the roaming kind, lurching forward, arms drawn outward, smelling for frontal lobe delicacies. What are the chances they’d survive with us as their enemies? I’d say we’d have a pretty good shot at putting down the infestation right out of the gate. Think about it. We’ve got guns, knives, bullets, bombs, missiles, rockets, cannons, flamethrowers, heavy artillery, assault vehicles, battle fatigues and some of us even have martial arts training. What do the zombies have? Nothing. A couple of loose teeth, a few broken nails, and maybe those golden three hours after death between Primary Flaccidity and Rigor Mortis where they could do the most damage. Beyond that, we win.

RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.

Just for fun, can you think of other reasons why a zombie apocalypse wouldn’t work?

Freedom Friday

The Elephant

Posted on March 22, 2013March 22, 2013 by Jack Flacco

I had a dream the other night. I think it safe sharing it with you. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to tell anyone, right? Aw, heck, it is Freedom Friday so if you feel like telling someone, go ahead. I won’t stop you.

I dreamt I was leading a marching band. One of those big, fat New Orleans’ marching bands. You know the kind, with the flutes shrilling, trumpets blaring, and drums banging. I blew on my whistle, twirled my baton—the whole bit, really. I was in my element. As I led the zombie-like musicians through the street (they weren’t zombies, they just followed me that way), an elephant appeared right in our path. I kid you not. It stood there not moving. We had to come to an abrupt halt. No more shrilling, blaring or banging. And no more whistling or twirling for me. A dead stop.

I looked at the elephant hoping my stare would cause it to move. It didn’t move. It just thrust its trunk back and forth, and blew a heavy sound. All I wanted it to do was for it to move from our path in order for us to continue doing what we did best—make music. It wasn’t having any of it. It sat its dump truck behind on the pavement and wouldn’t budge.

When I awoke, I immediately wondered what I had eaten the night before. It was unusual to have a dream this vivid and remember it in detail the next morning. I thought back on those tacos stuffed with spicy meat, shredded cheese and delicious salsa. It couldn’t have been the tacos. I wasn’t burping them through my nose.

As nighttime neared, I prepared for sleep. My nighttime ritual consists of kissing my wife, saying goodnight to the kids, changing into my PJs, brushing my teeth, going to the bathroom and making up the bed. It’s during the course of making up the bed that my mind races a mile a minute recapping the day’s events. It was here where the thought of the elephant kept pounding my head. It wouldn’t let go. Stupid elephant.

That same night, I fell asleep and dreamt of the same big, fat New Orleans’ marching band. The same flutes shrilling, trumpets blaring, and drums banging. And of the same stupid elephant sitting its massive rump on the pavement where we needed to pass. The next morning I was at a loss. Is it possible someone was trying to tell me something? Was my subconscious playing tricks on me? Had I crossed over to the throes of insanity, never to regain my tempered state?

Therefore, I did what any other person would have done on the brink of a mental breakdown. I told a friend. I blurted out everything, the band, the elephant—everything. My friend thought for a moment and said, “Don’t ask, why the elephant got in your way. Ask, why you were leading a big ass marching band.”

Could I have missed the obvious? I was so busy worrying about the elephant that I’d forgotten about the band. Once I looked at it that way, I wondered where all the cheerleaders were.

Ever have strange dreams? Care to share? Promise, we won’t tell.

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