How High's the Water Mama?

Sometimes the best intentions come to naught. Take all the recent fuss over global warming. Even if everyone came together to prevent cars and cows from giving off greenhouse gases, it may not help, due to an interesting fact uncovered in February 1993.

At that time a team of geophysicists led by Donald Blankenship (University of Texas) and Robin Bell (Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory) were flying over the Antarctic ice sheet south of Marie Byrd Land. Three hundred miles in from the Ross Ice Shelf, they noted a four-mile-wide depression. They flew back, using radar to penetrate the ice, and discovered a 2,100 foot mountain. They measured the peak's magnetic field and found "the strong signal characteristic of iron-rich volcanic rock." In other words, there was an active volcano beneath the Antarctic ice -- probably more than one, as the area is a rift valley, like the infamous Atlantic Ridge.

Oddly, the problem is not that the icecap might melt. Not even a volcano could do that. But it could melt the lowest layer of ice, which would then mix with the sediment base, which would erode away. The western ice sheet might then collapse into the sea. According to science writer Robert Naeye, "if it did, the global sea level would rise about 20 feet, and coastal cities will be flooded."

This is not to say we should let greenhouse gases spew into the atmosphere at our hearts' desire, but . . . Someday I intend to move from my apartment of ten years habitation, and when I do, it will be to someplace inland. And high.


Naeye, Robert, "The Strangest Volcano," Discover vol. 15, no. 1, January 1994.

I brought 15 copies of I Heard of That Somewhere to my book signing last Saturday.  The event was to last from 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM., and I sold the last one at 4:59 PM. Good timing!

An amazing number of people showed up despite the cold and wind and rain, which started off gale-strong and just kept getting worse as the day wore on. I'd like to take credit for that, but it was probably just the luck of the draw.

With the possibility of more people checking my blog, I'd better produce some new material -- specifically, a glimpse of my next book, tentatively entitled Other Realms, about mysterious disappearances of people, animals, and vehicles, unexplained appearances of strange creatures, and the possibility of other dimensions impinging on this earth:

THE FOG OF VANISHING

            Many cases of disappearances and appearances prominently feature a strange fog or mist gathering about the vanishing/appearing object.  This mist has parallels in old legends.  “Manawydan, Son of Llyr,” a tale found in The Mabinogion, tells the story of Manawydan, his new wife Rhiannon, her son Pryderi, and Pryderi’s wife Kigva.  Upon marrying Rhiannon, Manawydan becomes lord of Dyved in southwestern Wales.  After riding out from their castle at Arberth, the foursome encounter a curious phenomenon:

            “As they were sitting on the mound they heard thunder, and with the loudness of the thunder a mist fell, so that no one could see his companions.  When the mist lifted it was bright everywhere, and when they looked out at where they had once seen their flocks and herds and dwellings they now saw nothing, no animal, no smoke, no fire, no man, no dwelling . . . They returned to the hall, but no one was there; they searched the chambers and the sleeping quarters but found nothing, while the kitchen and the mead-cellar were equally desolate.”  [Jeffrey Gantz translation, 1976]

            An unknown fate supposedly befell Romulus, the legendary co-founder [with his brother Remus] of Rome.  Romulus mysteriously vanished in 714 BC.  (The mention of a solar eclipse during the event would set the date as May 26 of that year.)  The Roman author Livy (Livius Titus) wrote, in The Early History of Rome, that “One day while he was reviewing his troops on the Campus Martius near the marsh of Capra, a storm burst, with violent thunder.  A cloud enveloped him, so thick that it hid him from the eyes of everyone present; and from that moment he was never seen again upon earth.”

For those of you who will be in the Tulsa, Oklahoma, area in the near future: It's official! Michael D. Winkle will be signing (and hopefully selling) copies of his book I Heard of That Somewhere at Gardner's Used Books, 4421 South Mingo Road, Tulsa, OK, from 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM on Saturday, April 13, 2019!

Unless the signing is called due to Spontaneous Combustion or asteroid strikes.

Read of Astounding Wonders of Time and Space, such as the Subterranean Heartbeat!

Mrs. Massey's Migrating Mice!

The Devouring Vine and the Snake-Tree!

The Portal in the Desert!

And Many Other Miracles Never Before Exhibited in any North American County Fair!

On a Country Road

Now a glimpse of my next book of true-life mysteries and strangeness, I Heard of That, Two:

The 1970s show Kolchak:  The Night Stalker, about a hard-bitten newspaper reporter who constantly stumbles across monsters in modern-day Chicago, is my all-time favorite TV series.  Most critics agree that the episode “Horror of the Heights,” scripted by Hammer Films alumnus Jimmy Sangster, is the best of the series.  In it a Hindu demon called the Rakshasa, a hairy, toothy, humanoid flesh-eater, preys upon the elderly Jewish inhabitants of a Chicago neighborhood.  Not satisfied with a simple shape-shifting spirit, Sangster kept his monster to one form – but it can telepathically project images into its victims’ minds, who see someone they know and trust instead of a fanged and clawed predator, and who walk happily into its shaggy outstretched arms.

The closing lines of "Horror in the Heights" always remind me of this account from that early volume published by the Society for Psychical Research, Phantasms of the Living.  The story came from John Rouse of Croydon (a borough of London).  Rouse worked for Cockerells, a coal-distribution company, but he was also a member of a group “which met to investigate spiritualistic phenomena” (which sounds a little Kolchakian in itself).  A “Mrs. W.” was part of this group, “between whom and himself a strong sympathy existed.”

In the spring of 1873 Rouse traveled to Norwich on business.  At about 11:00 PM he decided to take a walk in a rural area on the edge of town.

“It was in the brightest moonlight, about full moon, I should think, with hardly a cloud in the sky,” Rouse recalled.  He mounted the summit of a hill and could see far across the land in the silvery lunar light.  The only moving object for miles was a human figure on the road ahead, which was walking his way.  As the two drew closer to one another, the coal representative decided it must be a country woman hiking to Norwich with eggs and other produce to sell at the market.  Rouse continues:  “The next moment I began to fear that, the time and place being so lonely, the woman would be afraid to pass me.  I, therefore, under this feeling, got as near as possible to one side of the road, thus giving her all the width on the other side to pass; but, to my astonishment, she also left the middle of the road, and took the same side as myself, as if determined to meet me face to face.  I then walked into the middle of the road, thinking I would avoid her, but to my surprise, the woman did the same.”

Though the figure was a woman, it was no farmwife:  "I could plainly see that the figure before me was a well-dressed lady in evening dress, without bonnet or shawl.  I could see some ornament or flower in her hair, gold bracelets on her bare arms, rings on her fingers, and could hear the rustle of her dress.”  No matter where he walked on the road, she shifted to match him, as if intending to crash right into him.

Mr. Rouse suddenly recognized the woman as Mrs. W. from London.  He was not overly shocked; he assumed that some business had brought her to Norwich as it had himself.  The two late night pedestrians came within five feet of each other.

“She held out her hand to me, and I could see her face and lips move as if about to speak to me.  I was in the act of taking her hand to greet her, but had not touched her, when some iron hurdles which formed the fencing of the cattle market, rang as if they were being struck with an iron bar.  This startled me, and unconsciously I turned round to see what made the noise.  I could see nothing, and instantly turned again to Mrs. W. but she was gone.” [Sidgwick, pp. 366-367]

Mr. Rouse sensed something strange was going on.  He walked swiftly back to Norwich and spent a sleepless night in his hotel room.  The next day he made inquiries about Mrs. W. and was informed that the woman was quite well, and had been in London that night among friends.

Misdirection that pulls one’s attention from a strange sight is not unknown in fortean tales.  “We have found in a number of instances that, while mobs of monster-chasers were combing one forest or swamp, UFOs were engaged in covert activities only a few miles away,” notes John Keel. [Keel, p. 129]  In folklore there is the old saw that a Leprechaun is under your power unless it can get you to look away.

I keep thinking of The Night Stalker episode, though.  We learn in “Horror in the Heights” that only a crossbow bolt blessed by a priest can kill a Rakshasa, and there are apparently “Rakshasa hunters” roaming the world watching for the ravenous demons.  Perhaps the "clanging noise" at the fence was a crossbow bolt ricocheting off the iron hurdles, fired by a nearby Rakshasa slayer, and the creature itself vanished "like the cowards they are."

I hope Mr. Rouse counted his blessings.  As Carl Kolchak (played by Darren McGavin) finishes up in “Horror”:  “And if you happen to be walking along a lonely country road one night and you see your favorite aunt coming towards you . . . Good luck to you, too!”

Keel, John A.  Strange Creatures from Time and Space (Greenwich, CT: Fawcett Publications, 1970).

Sidgwick, Eleanor, et. al, eds.  Phantasms of the Living (University Books: New Hyde Park, NY, 1962 [1886]).

Tommy Bowman Won't Let Himself Be Forgotten

One of my hobbies in recent years has been the annotating and expanding of David Paulides' Missing 411 books.  Accompanying the cases of missing people in rural areas (and now cities), Paulides notes, are strange coincidences, such as people missing in different areas having nearly identical names and/or appearances, people somehow managing to avoid numerous closed-circuit cameras on their way to their destinies, and people vanishing in areas with "Devil" or other alarming words in their names.

I don't have any personal experience with a missing person case, but I suffered through a bizarre coincidence (if it was a coincidence) many years ago.

It happened in 1979 or '80, probably during the summer vacation from school.  I was riding my ten-speed bike through the semi-rural countryside near Bixby, Oklahoma, a small town about ten miles south of Tulsa. The land (back then, at least) consisted mainly of pastures, fields of grain, and patches of forest.  Paved roads divided the area into squares one mile on each side.

I pedaled and coasted along one mile-long strip of road and halted at an intersection.  As I balanced atop my bike, panting heavily (I don't think I've ever actually been in shape), I noticed the telephone pole next to the STOP sign.

A haze of staples, thumbtacks, and nails covered the lower six feet of the tar-coated pole, all that remained of posters and notices of the past.  Several notices still defied the elements and clung to the wood, and one in particular caught my eye.

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THIS BOY? read two-inch-high letters.  Intrigued, I edged my bike onto the shoulder of the road.

A faded photo had been reproduced beneath the heading.  The Xerox machines available at Quik-Trip and other convenience stores of that time were less than perfect, but I could make out the features of a young, excited-looking, freckle-faced boy.

"Tommy Bowman," began the next line.

A simple, common-sounding name.  It seemed familiar.  I sidled my bike off the shoulder onto the grass.

"Tommy Bowman, aged 8."

Then it hit me:  Tommy Bowman?  The Devil's Gate Reservoir Tommy Bowman?

"Tommy Bowman, aged 8, disappeared March 23, 1957, from near Altadena, California."

I would have let loose a foul oath, but I was gobsmacked.  Thomas Eldon Bowman, one of the children who disappeared in the area around Devil's Gate Reservoir in southern California in the late '50s/early '60s -- an area dubbed "The Forest of Disappearing Children" by Brad Steiger and other authors.  I was really into historical mysteries, and my favorite subject was mysterious disappearances -- and one of my favorite missing person tales was Devil's Gate Reservoir.

. . . What was a missing person poster for Tommy Bowman, who disappeared in 1957, 1500 miles from Bixby, doing thumbtacked to a telephone pole in Bixby in the summer of 1980?  What were the chances that I would have braked beside it and noticed it out of all other phone poles with fliers and posters stuck to them?  If the entire population of Bixby, OK, had come marching by that pole, would any of them recognized the name?

I gave what I call a "thousand yard plus three feet" stare.  I scanned my surroundings.  There was nothing around for a mile but empty roads and fields, but I focused my eyes only a few feet away, as if someone was going to be standing there saying "Ha-ha!  Made ya look!"  I've done that a few times in my life, when I've run into coincidences so amazing, I was sure someone set it up (even if it had to do with private thoughts I'd never told anyone).

"$1000 will be paid by Mary and Eldon Bowman to the first person with information reuniting Tommy with us."  I removed the thumbtacks from the phone pole and snatched the poster.  I didn't expect to collect the reward, but this weird little artifact was going into my permanent record.  To this day it resides in my file cabinet, in the manila folder marked "Mysterious Disappearances."

Tommy and several other missing people from the Altadena area now form a "cluster" in the book Missing 411:  Western United States by David Paulides.  In recent years it has been suggested that California serial killer Mack Ray Edwards may have killed Tommy -- or was Edwards an example of The Convenient Madman?

I Heard of That Somewhere is Out!

A hundred years ago, a young boy went out to the well to fetch a bucket of water and never came back. His family went to look for him; they found his tracks in the snow, but these ended in mid-stride as if he'd stepped off a cliff. The boy called for help as if from a distance, but he was never seen again.

You know, I heard of that somewhere. It happened in Indiana - or Alabama - or Wales.
In bustling, modern New York City a man dressed in Victorian clothing materialized in the middle of Times Square during the rush hour. He was immediately hit by a cab and killed. All the papers found on him were dated from the 1870s. An inquisitive police chief dug back through old records and found that a man by the same name had left home for a walk one night in 1876 and had never returned. At least, I heard of that somewhere.

Before Son of Sam, Ted Bundy, or Zodiac, Jack the Ripper stalked London, killing women by ones and twos. For over a century detectives and researchers tried to learn his identity, and he was finally revealed to be the same man who built the horrible "Murder Castle" at the Chicago World's Fair. Or he was a high-ranking member of the Freemasons who rode around the dingy alleys of East London in a royal coach. Or he was Queen Victoria's grandson. Well, I heard of that somewhere.

We've all heard of mysteries historical and paranormal; we've all discussed "true" tales at parties, around campfires, and at other informal gatherings. We are all fascinated by strange, scary, and inexplicable events, yet when we collect them and pass them on, we forget basic facts concerning them.

Even serious researchers into the paranormal suffer from this dichotomy. If the stories are true, they imply that the laws of nature don't always agree with scientists' theories, that we share this world with unknown creatures, spirits, and intelligences, and that powerful forces are at play in the universe - powers that might someday be harnessed by humanity. They might spark several paradign shifts in science and philosophy, if the phenomena behind them could be studied. Yet many writers and self-proclaimed experts can't seem to locate basic texts and first-person accounts on anomalies, relying instead on second- or third-hand versions from tabloids, YA and juvenile books, or mass-market publications meant only to entertain the general public.


In I Heard of That Somewhere author Michael D. Winkle traces famous and not-so-famous rumors, tall tales and urban legends to their origins, or as close as is feasible. Some old stories fade into fiction or hoax (though not as many as you might think). Others spread out in unexpected directions, bringing us to new, equally intriguing stories. Some actually become stranger the farther we search. And a few actually happened the way you heard of - somewhere.

Available at Troy Taylor's American Hauntings Ink: I Heard of That Somewhere

It's kind of ironic I'm a writer -- and that I own more books than anyone I know (about 5000 volumes) -- because I'm also the world's slowest reader. A long bout of unemployment didn't help. You'd think it would be the perfect opportunity to pursue my literary career, but I was too worried to write much -- or read -- for many months. Over the course of one year I started in on five novels -- and I gave up on all of them halfway through. There didn't seem much point, and besides, how could I waste time on something as frivolous as reading when I needed to find a job?. The next year I started five more novels that I never finished, though I did eventually read (and finish) other books.

I recently joined Goodreads. Goodreads asks you to list up to 20 books when you join and rate them with their "five-star" system. Writing an actual review is optional. I listed 20 of my favorite books, but the list seemed rather empty with just titles and stars, so I decided to provide reviews.

For most of them, I realized, I couldn't even give a short synopsis of the plots. I, who usually memorized every detail of anything I read in case I wrote a sequel, had forgotten the plots of my favorite novels. My worry had not only stunned my ability to concentrate on books, it had eroded even my memories of already-finished books. That was it! I have a need to read!

I started today. What to start with, out of 5000 books (and 1200-plus magazines, 1200-plus comic books, and hundreds of articles, Xerox copies, pamphlets, etc.)? As we're approaching Christmas, I decided on "A Christmas Carol."

I can't tell you how much better I feel after reading just the introduction and the first few pages of "Stave One." Aside from being a good-natured and optimistic narrative to begin with, "Carol" has reminded me what magic can be performed with the proper words, like the description of Ebenezer Scrooge, only a few paragraphs in:

"Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas."

Now it's time to read more of this ghost story for Christmas. Then on to a few of the other 4,999 volumes on my groaning shelves.

"And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!"