Tag Archives: Michael D. Griffiths

Episode 6 of The Adventures of Mike and SJ

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This thread started on a forum Mike and I shared, when we started playing off each other about this alternative/fantasy persona we each gave ourselves. Since then, we’ve started writing a novel together and Mike has had a number of books published as Michael D. Griffiths (The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part I, The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part II, Eternal Aftermath) while I’ve been busy rewriting several books and establishing my Creative Writing classes at Northbrook College. But though he writes horror and I write sci fi, when we get together, we write… differently! So I thought I’d put a slice of our combined madness on my blog…

Why did she have to mention Longshanks? That bastard killed Lwellyn Ap Griffiths and William Wallace, two of my favorite people in History. Did you hear about the time the English soldiers cut the tail off of Willaim Wallace’s horse, well he— Oh sorry Jack I forgot you were there. No, I don’t think we are in trouble. What are you talking about? We are just here on a holiday. Yes,we are in Chepstow.

chepstowShoot Jack told me to stay away from the castle and that he was heading to Wales. I better not tell SJ, she is barely holding it together as it is. Seeing Dahtoe sent her in a tizzy and now I feel bad. I wanted to come over here because I missed her so much, but I think our presence is bringing back some really bad memories for her. I hope she is okay.

Still, I’m a guy so I can’t tell her that… “Hurry up, we are going to be so late they will close the place down before we get there!”

—Typing on my phone now— This place is great! I love it here. Wales is the coolest. Hold on – Oh wow, this place has a dungeon!

“Come on SJ! It’s okay. I’m sure people come down here all the time – those DO NOT ENTER signs are probably for kids and… other folks, right?”

Wait, what is that light? It seems to be a glowing circle. It is right here on the wall. This is really strange!  My head feels all tingly. There’s the Orb! Where did that come from? I’m sure I didn’t pack it – did SJ go rootling around under those bin liners she’d stacked in the corner of the room and bring it along? Cos if she did, then she definitely could’ve afford somewhere better than that stinky old cupboard I’m sleeping in-

Hey… Look at that! Something is moving it, moving it towards the blinding light, like a key fits a lock.

Oh I feel faint. Maybe I should have listened to Jack, when he told me to come on back home…

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Mike? Mike – where are you? C’mon, this isn’t funny. You were the one who wanted to come down here in this smelly old dungeon. This hide and seek biz is just childish…

Ow! You’d think Health & Safety would do something about the height of these tunnels, wouldn’t you? I mean – I’m nearly bent double, augawip2 007creeping along in the gloom. Old Longshanks can’t spent much quality time down here, is all I can think…

Mike? Is that you? Oh… there you are- WHAT is going on with your hair? It’s whipping and thrashing around like a nest of snakes- and what is that? Floating just in front of you? It’s- oh no! It’s The Orb! One of the Crown Jewels. Hells teeth – Mike! This is no time to go all zoned out and waxy on me! Pull it together! If you’re found down here with THAT, they’ll fling the pair of us in a prison and throw away the key. Mike! Get your hair to do its thing and hide it, again… Please! Right. I don’t like doing this, but…

Ow! My hand! It’s like hitting a plank of wood, smacking your face… Please – you’ve got to make that Orb thing disappear back in your hair.

Oh no… it’s moving. Towards the swirling blue light in the far corner of this crypt. Mike? Hey, wait for me!

Ahh! My leg! Tripped over a boulder or something in the dark. Stupid lumps of stone and whatnot down here. You’d think they’d keep it tidy. Someone should sue…

Mike? Hey, I’m here. Got your hand, now. Maybe… we shouldn’t be going towards the light. It’s… very bright…

Mike – what’s that? What’re you whispering, buddy? Hey – what’s that – tears rolling down your face… and they’re wax! Leave? I’m not leaving – it’s ok… No – it’s not dark. It’s light, Mike. No, it’s not darken, Mike – it’s bright… too blinding… Mike – don’t let go! Don’t… Ahhhh!

Episode 5 of The Adventures of Mike and SJ

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This thread started on a forum Mike and I shared, when we started playing off each other about this alternative/fantasy persona we each gave ourselves. Since then, we’ve started writing a novel together and Mike has had a number of books published as Michael D. Griffiths (The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part I, The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part II, Eternal Aftermath) while I’ve been busy rewriting several books and establishing my Creative Writing classes at Northbrook College. But though he writes horror and I write sci fi, when we get together, we write… differently! So I thought I’d put a slice of our combined madness on my blog…

Why is SJ all mad?

It wasn’t like I asked her to take me to Chepstow, I thought it was her idea, but then she keeps belly aching about it. Sure she doesn’t have a lot of money, but at least the guy in the pub let me drink all night when I gave him one of those rings I found.

So anyway what is it with this country and their bed and breakfasts? I go out to have me a few pints and then try to get back into out room and find the place all locked up. It was only 2am – sheesh! I tried to bang on SJ’s window to get her to let me in, but would she… no. You would think that she was the one drinking.

As I headed back into the dark wet streets a light fog began. Everything was oddly deserted and the fog grew thicker. Surrounded by the ancient buildings, my mind almost felt like I had gone back in time or entered some creepy horror movie, so naturally I thought that was super cool.

download-arabian-horses-wallpaper-arab-horseThen I heard it. Clip, clop, clip clop. That was that, I wondered? Clip, clop, clip clop. It was growing closer. Clip, clop, clip clop. I looked around; there was no one on the street. Clip, clop, clip clop.
Then I saw it. Out of the mists, coming straight at me, was a wild-eyed black horse. I could see the whites of his rolling eyes as it gazed at me. The blood froze in my veins and I couldn’t move. The black beast stared at me as it drew nearer. It was only then that I saw that it had a saddle on, but no rider!
What had happened to its master? Was this a ghost horse? Had it killed it rider? I took a step back and the thing passed slowly by, the echoing of its hooves fading into the distance. This was enough for me and I fled back to the bar, but it had already closed.

So after this unnerving event and a night of sleeping under a few soggy newspapers in the alley, SJ has the nerve to tell me, “I look a fright.”

I was about to tell her what’s for when I heard a familar squawk overhead. It was Dahtoe! I was pleased as punch, as the English would say, but SJ started weaving a string of curses that would have made one of those tank drivers she loves so much, blush.

Strangely enough Dahtoe didn’t land and instead began to fly towards Chepstow castle. Before long I lost him in the fog. It looked like a storm could be brewing, but with all the fog around these parts who could tell?

We were about to head to the castle,when my cell rang. It is Jack Primus of all people. Sorry… I need to take this – he doesn’t sound happy…

WHAT was I thinking, inviting Mike over to England???

Well I’m up to my elbows in, now!! I’ve had NIGHTMARES about that seagull, I’ll have you know! And there’s Mike – who looks like something a stray cat sicked up – crooning and calling to the psychotic bag of feathers like it’s some pet! Doesn’t he know it’s related to dinosaurs? It’s certainly got the cuteness factor of a velociraptor.

I wouldn’t mind – but it’s only Dahtoe that gets to see the softer side of Mike this morning, that’s for sure. He’s in FOUL mood. seagullsApparently I’m the hag from Hell for not opening my bedroom window at 2 am and letting him in. It’s all very well for him – he gets to go back home after this car crash of a holiday. But there’s my REPUTATION to consider. Aunt Gertrude’s first cousin’s husband’s niece and her family live in Chepstow. What if word got back to Aunt G. that a man was seen climbing through my window at night? I’m in enough trouble with the Family as it is. It was one of the reasons I didn’t want to come to Chepstow, by the way. Although Mr I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about is squirming out from taking any responsibility for THAT dreadful decision…

Anyway – onwards and upwards, as Aunt G would say. Well, before she got buried by the books in my spare room, anyhow. These days she’s rather grumpy…

We’ll go and see the castle – and I’m going to ignore Mike’s groaning about the weather. You’d think he was made of sugar the way he’s moaning about the drizzle. It’s only a bit of misty rain, for goodness sake. We’ll have a nice time tramping around the ruins and – maybe – I can cheer him up by getting him to imagine what it was like when Edward Longshanks had it built… The knights clumping around… the peasants toiling… the women embroidering…

C’mon, Mike. I’ve got my National Trust card and we’ve travelled all this way. Put away your phone – you can chatter away to Jack any old time. Let’s go and see us a castle…

The Adventures of Mike and SJ – Episode 2

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This thread started on a forum Mike and I shared, when we started playing off each other about this alternative/fantasy persona we each gave ourselves. Since then, we’ve started writing a novel together and Mike has had a number of books published as Michael D. Griffiths (The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part I, The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part II, Eternal Aftermath) while I’ve been busy rewriting several books and establishing my Creative Writing classes at Northbrook College. But though he writes horror and I write sci fi, when we get together, we write… differently! So I thought I’d put a slice of our combined madness on my blog…

Huh

SJ is all sweetness and punch and then I check her blog and find that she is telling everyone I have a big belly. Hey! I rode my bike to work all summer to make sure my beer belly didn’t-oh never mind.

What SJ isn’t telling you about is her secret plan to have me do about 10 year’s worth of ‘upkeep’ on her little cottage that she ‘might have let go for a while.’

For a while, in her case, means since her granny owned the place. I barely finished my fish and chips before she asked for my help with a little something. That little something was a reshingling the entire roof.

I still haven’t recovered from jet lag and now I’m working on zero sleep to try to finish this before the dark clouds overhead dump their rainload on me. Oh shoot – I gotten go. My break is over and she is telling me to get back onto the roof, since it has already started to rain. Dang – I didn’t even finish my porter yet.

***

Ok… This visit has already gone to Hades in a handcart and Mike has been only been here a day.

We’re into a world of weirdness, here. I mean, I’d never have called Mike lazy – he does far too much writing for that… But he used to be able to relax… Chill out…

cottageNo longer. Ever since he’s been here, he’s been buzzing around the place, hammer in hand, fixing the place up. I mean, six hours into his visit, once I’d dabbed some witchhazel on his bruises and injuries after the bookslide, he was up a ladder, busy stripping the roof off cos he reckoned it looked ‘hinky’. I had to talk a mile a minute to persuade him that the sag in the middle was cos the roofbeams had settled that way – it’s an English method of building. So then, he’s up there in a thunderstorm, replacing them all… While I’m getting drenched at the bottom of the ladder, wondering what I’ll say to his Mom if he gets zapped by lightning…

He was all set to dig a swimming pool in the back garden this morning. With a trowel. Seeing as I don’t have a shov- I mean, spade on the property.

Last night, I took him to the local pub for a slap-up home cooked meal of bangers, mash and mushy peas. So, there he is pushing the food into his mouth – and then he just freezes. There’s this waxy look to his face – and a lock of grease-caked hair slithers down his cheek, wraps around a sausage and as his whole hair-do sort of writhes around his scalp and re-settles with a disgusting sucking sound – I realise the sausage has gone… And no wonder he reckons beer is expensive – I watched his hair slurp at least two pints, last night. It didn’t help that a couple of the neighbours set him up with several drinks – just to watch his hair do its thing. They reckoned it was a crazy Yank trick brought on by eating too many McBurgers (they’re not the shiniest tools in the box, this pair. Caught last year trying to glue-sniff a Pritt stick…)

Whereas, once Mike snaps out of this trance-thing, he hasn’t a clue what’s been happening. WHY didn’t anyone warn me he’d gotten into this state? So, I’m appealing for information. Urgently. Only… try to keep it away from poor old Mike, guys. You know how he panics when things go wrong. And I’m going to keep him occupied – and away from here. My neighbours reckon I’m peculiar enough, as it is. Without Mike finally hosing the last of my reputation down the plug-hole.

Starting tomorrow, I’m taking him out and about. We’re visiting London on the train – they’re broader-minded up there. Thought I’d take him to see the Tower of London and the crown jewels and then go for a nice peaceful ride on the London Eye…

What could possibly go wrong with that itinerary?