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It’s close to 230am, and the phone rings. I look at it and carry on with checking things off on my paperwork. It stops ringing. Then it starts again. Same name on the caller ID. I can see Richard look up from his papers, like he’s thinking of answering it, so I say, “Don’t answer it. We’re closed. Let it go to voicemail.”

It rings forever.

Finally, it stops ringing. There is a pause and papers get shuffled and marked on. Then the phone starts to ring again. I look and it’s the same name on the caller ID.
“That’s it. I’m answering it,” Richard says.
“Ah, no you don’t! I will tackle you if you even try to answer that phone. We’re closed. They can call tomorrow.”

About a half hour later, Richard’s closing duties are done, and I try to send him home…but he insists on hanging about while I finish my closing tasks, and walking out together. Just in case.


It’s about 230am. Corinne and I are done with just about all of our closing tasks. I’m stapling paperwork packets together and she’s grabbing the trash cans to put them outside the office door for the night cleaners.

The phone rings. I look and it is the same name as the previous night.

“Don’t answer that,” I say. A little more sharply than is warranted. It stops ringing and Corinne gives me a look. “This person called three times last night, about the same time.”

“What did they want?”

“I don’t know…I just didn’t answer it and I told Richard I’d harm him if he did. If this person really wants to talk to us, they need to do it when we’re open…”

The phone rings again. Same name. We watch it ring and ring. It finally stops and I start to turn off the office appliances, while Corinne goes to turn off the projectors. The phone rings again with the same name. Fortunately, it cuts off after two rings.

I check that the doors are locked, and Corinne and I leave together.


I am training the new manager on closing duties that she’s never had to do. We’re having a fun time of it, and things are progressing at a decent pace.

We’re entering missed payroll punches, and the phone rings.

“What the fuck?!”

Maggie looks a little shocked at me. “Sorry. It’s just…don’t answer that.”

“I never answer the phone when we’re closed.”

“Good…just…” we both look, and the caller ID doesn’t register a name. Just that it’s a cell phone. We let it go to voicemail. “There was someone who called us three times Friday night, and I wouldn’t let Richard answer it. And the same person called three times last night and I told Corinne not to answer…I guess we’ll know it’s the same person again if they call two more times.”

“How did you know it was the same person the last two days?”

“There was an actual name on the ID…maybe they’re calling from a different phone to see if we pick up.”

The phone starts to ring again. And we watch it, while it rings and rings. Maggie turns the ringer down all the way, but we can still hear the phone in the outer office, ringing away.

“I guess we’ll know for sure if they call one more time,” I say. We look expectantly at the handset, waiting for the red light to start blinking, and to hear the ringer in the other room. Nothing happens.

Awesome. We finish up our closing tasks and close up the office. We go out to start turning off projectors, and a door alarm goes off. We go to the alarm panel and find out what theatre the alarm is in.

“So, how do you feel about calling the police?” I ask.

“Not so good…”

I grab a broom from behind the concession stand–if someone is breaking in, it won’t be a huge help, but I might be able to give someone a smack with the wooden handle. If I have to. Maggie grabs the dust pan, and I wish she’d picked up anything else. Dustpans are not good for hitting.

Alba, the little hispanic woman in charge of the night cleaners, is sweeping outside the theatre in question. We ask her if anyone had opened a door in that theatre, and she says no. Nobody has gone in there yet.

Maggie and I check the doors for the theatre, and they are both solidly closed. Maggie speculates that maybe there is a malfunction with the door alarm, since our maintenance supervisor had been working on that theatre recently…

We go through the rest of the booths together, shutting off breakers and projectors. We check the front doors again, and clock out. And go to the parking lot together.

“Wow, that’s a big-ass hummer,” Maggie says.

“Yeah it is. And that doesn’t belong to the night cleaners.” The hummer in question is parked right beside my car. I am not pleased.

“Um…do you want me to drive you over to your car?” she asks.

“Yeah…I do, actually.”

We get into Maggie’s van, and she pulls up behind my car. “Oh my gosh…is that hummer running?”

Sure enough, there is warm fog coming out of the hummer’s tailpipe.

“Ah, this just got super creepy…”

Maggie circles away from the parked vehicles. “What do we do?”

“Well, I’m not gonna leave my car here overnight or ask you to drive me home, since I live across town…”

Maggie pulls into the exit, right beside my car. “I’m gonna wait for you to get in and start your car, just in case.”

“Good idea.” I motion with my lunchbox and drink cup. “Can I leave this in your car and I’ll get it back next time we work together?”



“Don’t die, okay?”

“I love not dying…despite things I may have said to the contrary.” Maggie laughs and I think about getting the knife out of my bag, but there isn’t time, and I am getting out of the van and clicking my door open and slamming it shut behind me and backing the hell away from that creepy hummer. I do look though…and I can’t see anyone in it. But there is someone. Has to be. (And, you know…I check my back seat, just to be sure they aren’t somehow there. Too many creepy movies, you know?)

Drive home, feeling on edge.

Wishing I had written down the name from the caller ID.
Wishing it had been light enough to see the license plate number.

And tomorrow night? Welp. If we get creepy, clockwork phone calls when we are CLOSED and all the not crazy people should be SLEEPING, I am 100% calling the police. If we somehow don’t get the phone calls, then great. But there’s no way in heaven I am letting Richard leave early. And if there’s creepy cars in the parking lot, we’re going back in the building and then calling the police.

I’m not having any of this nonsense. And I don’t want any of us to be creeped on. Or get murdered.


Now I have to try and sleep.


Can’t sleep. Cold and obsessing incoherently over dumb stuff.

…I wish I was good at anything. Anything at all. But I guess I’m not. I just used to think maybe I was or could be good at anything. Wrong.

It’s disappointing, I guess, but the kind of disappointing that I feel like I’ve forever been bracing myself for. It’s not that much of a shock. I don’t even have a sigh to offer in acquiescence.

A little bit of it stems, I think, from the sluggishness with which my Wolf has turned to look at someone who we might have been friends with. We’ve had some good conversations, but already I sense Wolf is looking after our interests and trying to cut them off. All to the good, I expect. Because I pick the wrong situations to see those little glimmers of me in other people…the ones that make me selfishly want to befriend them because they “are” me.

I suck at interacting. I can never understand why I turned out wrong like that.

It’s just awful because not only am I no good at basic relationship formation and social interactions with other members of my species, but I’m not really good for anything else either. I have no talents. No valuable skills to speak of. And I suppose that in a better adjusted creature, this would be cause for putting forth greater efforts for his or her improvement. But I am not that creature. I think I’d rather just curl up in despair. And I probably will (heck, maybe I’ll even be warm if I do, since it is freezing in here).

…what is the point of me, anyway?



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I went to a pumpkin show today, because…not every day you get to see a 1964 lb. pumpkin.

Or the vast crowds of incredibly grumpy old people, and white trash youths with either too much eye makeup or not enough swag to cover up the fact that they’re growing up either on a farm or in a trailer park.

And I’m sorry to describe them that way for fear of coming off as having an undeserved sense of superiority…but…it was disconcerting. I felt like I did not belong there. (Probably the reason I do not often attend things where gargantuan plant specimens are the main attraction…)

I did learn two important things though.

1) Do not eat food from fairs or fall festivals or any such thing. You will only regret it. I got a pumpkin iced cream cone, and with that as my only consumption–nothing fried or held at questionable temperatures!–I still came home with my bowels in a pretty regrettable state. From freaking iced cream.

2) I have all but given up on making friends, but I may at some point find myself in the market for an individual to drive me through country areas and look at things with me. Because I should not be allowed to drive on country roads. Seriously.
I start looking at stuff. Especially when it is fall and dusk is coming on. It’s a pretty terrifying situation, although I imagine it would be worse for a passenger than it is for me since I am happily looking out the windows and not concerned until the last possible moment about how far outside the narrow lanes I have strayed…
So yeah. Since I am lacking a friend who could have been with me today and started screaming at the appropriate times…well. I just need a chauffer. For everyone’s safety.

My anticlimactic trip to the pumpkin show aside, I did also find out something that really annoys me.

Xanga is still alive, apparently.

I stopped using it after they unceremoniously broke up the original site without giving adequate notice and asking us for money to move everything to a Word Press platform where we would have to continue to pay to use the site…well…I thought maybe it would turn out better, so I paid up. And then everything showed up on the new platform all fragmented and almost none of the people I cared about were still using the site, and people who hadn’t paid couldn’t see or comment on my posts…so I moved here.

I thought my account was dead, since that was all going on in July-August 2013…and the subscription was for a year’s worth of crap and little to no communication from the team who took our money…

But I logged in again today and there I am. Still ReeserTheShadow on Xanga. Huh.

And apparently the Xanga team posted an update (the previous one being from Sept. 2013) offering 6 months of free hosting to users who had paid for their first year, so we can see whether or not it’s worth hanging around. I emailed to accept my six free months, because hey. Free. That can’t hurt me. I sure as hell won’t be staying after that, but I want to see what they do. Because I gave them money to do something and they failed really hard at it, from what I can tell.


I am pretty happy right now.

Toni and Schyler have introduced me to a store where I can buy bulk chocolate-covered honeycomb, and I discovered that my Lovecraft collection of short stories is not complete after all.

I think I can live contentedly in a world where these things are so.



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I know I said I wasn’t enjoying them…but, I suppose that was probably due to the mixed expectations I had before reading the books of Lovecraft’s stories, and only knowing their plots and characters and monsters through what other writers had made of them. They did grow on me though. And now I’m sad that they are done. Because that’s really all there was…the stories in those two collections. Nothing else.

He wrote poetry, I know. But nobody knows him for his poetry, and I am hesitant to even try finding them, given the likelihood of their not being currently in print, aaand the absurd amounts I have already paid for out-of-print books by Thomas Ligotti and Clark Ashton Smith. Not really a habit I can afford to continue.

I am glad I read the stories though. Cthulhu is no longer my favourite monster, and the idea that he is the most widely known of Lovecraft’s monsters is baffling to me now, considering what monstrosities featured into his other stories.

Ah well.
Now it’ll be back to eighteenth century poetry, and then The Giver (the recent movie adaptation of which I am okay with not having seen, since I heard it was awful).



If I have never said it before (I have), I despise cold weather. Chilly, autumn weather? Fine. But actual cold? I could live happily without it, and I am pretty sure my last name is a cruel joke passed down from my ancestors. Winters indeed.
One of my employees was being a baby about the cold inside the theatre today (please…it was perfectly tolerable), and declared that I must be some kind of “crazy northern German” to think it was okay to subject others to these temperatures. I wasn’t sure how to take that.

I suppose I shouldn’t be offended though, since based on hazy bits of family history, I believe we came from the German Winterses, not the English ones…our English ancestors are Parishes. Or something.

On a related note, I have admitted to GoT fans that if my family were ever disposed to be social–which we are not–I could RSVP with “WINTERS ARE COMING”. I was extra pleased that the Stark family’s words and sigil reflect me so well…although I have to admit I don’t fancy any of the fates those characters have suffered thus far.

I suppose I’m thinking about this more today because I started to read At The Mountains of Madness, which is set in Antarctica, and its eroding whatever psychological tolerance to the cold I had this morning. So much shivering. No want. :(

Although, I can’t complain too much, I suppose, given that one of the footnotes about temperatures in the story contained an anecdote about Lovecraft suffering from an ailment that caused him to actually lose consciousness if he got too cold. No thanks.

Been working on a new story that I am determined to actually finish this time. I think that it could get up to 50-70 pages, based on the outline I wrote (I actually did an outline this time!).
I was pretty excited…they scheduled me in an extra hour early on Wednesday this past week, so I got there…did my opening stuff and wrote a page and a half outline on some copy paper. Due to another glitch in the matrix, my handwritten lines are actually straight…it’s a thing of beauty that will probably never be reproduced because I just can’t even.

Still, we’ll see. So far, what I have written is not good, but…I suspect that my biggest problem is not getting the story out and getting hung up on details that can be attended to later. I’m trying to just get the whole thing written out and then worry about making it good once the base is there to work from.

Wish me luck.



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Had a vexing dream last night, involving my losing a coupon for free iced cream. Woke up annoyed. Because, you know. Free dream iced cream.

Did nothing today because I didn’t leave work until almost 4am. Went to bed close to 6. Was planning on going out today, buuuut…didn’t wake up until 2, and decided whilst showering that it wouldn’t be worth it because of time constraints.

I HATE closing extra late, then having a day off squashed in, and then opening early the next morning. I don’t know when to sleep or for how long because if I want to do anything on my day off, I have to settle for a crappy few hours of sleep, assuming I can fall asleep at all when I finally go to bed…and if I get a decent sleep, then I am not tired when it’s time to go to bed the next night so I can be at work early…

I hate it. I’d rather just work midday shifts on Wednesdays. But I guess I can’t have everything. Or, indeed, even a few things.

Oh well.

Gonna go back downstairs and see the pets again. Then finish this story (which I can’t understand where it’s going, since I’m only halfway through, but the monster has already been killed…), and contemplate going to sleep again.



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More dreams that I can’t recall details of…making me irritable.

My back has been hurting a lot lately, which I think is one reason I have not slept well. Then, on the way home from work, I kept feeling spasms in my back. I am not prone to those like some people are, so hopefully they won’t add to the list of things annoying me right now…we’ll see.

Melody called me and of course I was at work. I felt a little better though, since she at least tried to get back to me after never responding at all to my text yesterday…
Maybe we will talk after she’s off work Tuesday. Haven’t talked (like…with voices) to her in…months and months. Since I never called her after K told me I should, and she hasn’t called me either…but…we text each other some. Mostly I just leave all kinds of sarcastic comments on stuff she puts on facebook, just because her responses amuse me. (Wow. I am kind of a troll, I guess. She still seems to like me though.)

And…I am pretty sure I wouldn’t even notice if it weren’t for the fact that I have FB notify me every time she posts (a point I will elaborate on below)…but…I have been unable to avoid noticing another individual who keeps doing basically what I am doing. Except that the things they are posting are not like what I’m doing. Not friendly-snarky. They’re…I don’t know. They’re just…too much. Too trying too hard. Enough that I can tell.

I feel compelled to ask about this person. And to punch myself repeatedly. There is no reason whatsoever for me to feel such animosity. Towards a friendly person.

Jealousy is a bizarre emotion, to be sure.

But, back to what I said a few paragraphs up: I have set up my facebook to notify me every time my sister, my mom, my fiancĂ©, Melody, K, or Toni posts. Because I just want to know. I mean…most of the people who show up in my facespace are acquaintances, and I care moderately about what they are doing. But I care about my family. And my Jester. And my three friends–two of whom don’t post very often anyway, and whose posts I would likely miss in the deluge of posts from everyone else who I don’t care as much about.

My fiancĂ© and my sister said that’s creepy. Is it? I mean…their FB’s are public. Anyone can see what they post. I just want to make sure I don’t miss things that might be important. Is that creepy? I don’t think it is. I think it’s just one more way of staying in tune with people I care about and who don’t always share their thoughts directly with me, but who are okay with sharing thoughts with 1000+ of their closest friends.

I don’t know.
I think the only one it’s worked out with is Melody, since two of the people I get these notifications from think I’m creepy and my mom, K, and Toni don’t post often enough to care if I’m doing that or not.

That’s one of the best qualities someone close to me can have: to know me, and still not think I’m creepy. It warms my tiny black heart. <3


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