Dance, play, or walk on the interactive art piece, Aqueous by Jen Lewin, outside Oklahoma Contemporary for a colorful experience in Downtown Oklahoma City. Yes, please touch the art!
You can visit Aqueous for yourself at Campbell Art Park at 1146 North Broadway Avenue in Oklahoma City. It will be on display every night until 11 p.m. until October 19, 2020. Oklahoma Contemporary is asking visitors to wear masks and observe social distancing practices. Learn more at OklahomaContemporary.org
I want to give a huge thanks to Jew Lewin Studio for commissioning me to capture b-roll and to edit several videos with the footage. If you watch Oklahoma Contemporary’s feed, you’ll see another video of Aqueous with different shots, including some drone footage by another videographer. (I’ll edit this post with it when they publish it.) Learn more about Jen’s work at www.JenLewinStudio.com
This is my first video shot with my new Lumix S1H. This video shows off what a beast this camera is capable of capturing. All the footage, with the exception of the slow-motion shots, were shot in 5.9K 10-bit HDR HLG. Despite the low light conditions, the image is so clean. I’m really happy with how well this video turned out.
Thank you to my supporters on Patreon for their continued support of making Uncovering Oklahoma possible! Supporters get awesome rewards, like early access to my episodes. Big thanks to superstar supporters: Revolve Productions and the Lynn and Steve Keller-Kenton Family.
Upon seeing a news story about his death, Jason visits the scene of the crime for answers.
I didn’t care about being made fun of for eating cake while watching the Friday night news. Everything was more fun with cake. It was part of my end-of-the-week ritual after my shift at the hospital. What wasn’t part of my routine was dropping my plate while seeing news about myself.
“In a strange turn of events, the serial killer known as the Isolation Cleaner has changed direction with their latest victim, Jason Sizemore,” the TV news reporter announced. Two paramedics dragged my disfigured and waterlogged body out of the river in the video clip that popped on the screen. “Police say, Jason Sizemore, Caucasian, male, age 27 is the youngest victim of the serial killer who in the past has only targeted senior citizens who lived alone. Jason was found earlier today along Green River at Fort Dent Park in Tukwila. Police are asking for any information.”
“This has to be a mistake,” I muttered as I replayed the clip on my DVR. “I must be imagining things.”
But I wasn’t mistaken. The news didn’t change when I rewatched the clip. I took a deep breath and decided I needed to know more. I searched online for directions to the park–a 15-minute drive–and grabbed my jacket, leaving my cake on the apartment floor. It’s not like I had any roommates who would complain.
Thanks to the bright yellow crime screen tape blocking a section along the Green River, finding the scene was easy enough. I was surprised to find that there weren’t any officers posted there. I hoped to speak to someone, but I took advantage of my fortune and crossed the tape. There had to be some clue still around to tell me what happened—anything as I wadded into the water.
What I did find was a bright flashlight in my face.
“What are you doing here?” the voice demanded.
“I’m Jason Sizemore, and I’m the person the police said they found earlier,” I explained, trying to see who I was speaking to, but she kept the light on my eyes. “There has to be some mistake because I’m not dead.”
I tried to step forward, but she ordered me, “Stay right there.”
“I’m staying right here,” I reassured, raising my hands while using one to shield my eyes.
“I tried to go to your house, but the address was fake.”
“I’m a private person.”
“But here you are. I had to go to great lengths to find you.”
Wait. Great lengths to find me? I thought. I had to ask, “What do you mean you went to great lengths to find me?”
“I hired some performers for a short film, which was the news clip of the police finding your body. Then I visited the local news station under the pretense of a story for my podcast. I set up a backdoor into their systems to keep tabs on them for when they would air a story about the Isolation Cleaner and replace it with you.”
As I listened to her tale, I began to recognize the voice. “You…”
She cut me off. “You got pretty cocky calling into my podcast explaining the Isolation Cleaner to me, like how you got off watching the news of your accomplishments while eating cake. But, you’re not the first serial killer I’ve tracked down and ended because I’m the Pacific Northwest Podcaster.”
I moved to run, but I wasn’t fast enough for her stun gun. I face-planted into the river, with the water filling up my lungs, unable to move.
This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you’ve been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years.”
For my take, I thought I would have the prompt be a trick to lure out the real serial killer by another one, with the return of the Pacific Northwest Podcaster. One idea I had was to reveal her sooner with her interviewing him, but I decided it was best to keep the twist as late as possible.
A group of librarians in possession of a book that can make characters come to life decide to have a big Halloween party and in true literary fashion, everything goes wrong.
“Not every detail of a plan unfolds as expected, librarian. That is a lesson you are about to learn tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Katie Haines said with an eye roll to the magical book that transmitted its voice. “Just don’t crash the party before the murder mystery game starts.”
“This young adult librarian, currently shimmering in a purple glitter fairy costume, felt a thrum of pure joy for her love of Halloween—even with the holiday falling on a dreary, rain-soaked Wednesday. The mid-week gloom wouldn’t diminish her determination. This year would be the best Halloween ever, all thanks to an extraordinary, leather-bound artifact.”
“Damn right,” Katie Haines murmured, her voice hushed with reverence. She stalked down the fantasy aisle, the book held tightly in both hands. The heavy, black leather cover felt cold, contrasting with the mystical sparkle of its gold-leaf title: Unbound Words. “Now, describe me.”
“Katie was an ideal candidate for reaching the highest shelves, possessing a height slightly above average for a woman. Her wide mouth held slightly protruding canines, giving her smile a mischievous cast, and her eyes were an unusual, bright shade of topaz. With her freckle-dusted face framed by a short, pixie haircut, she gave the impression of a plotting fairy—a look her costume matched perfectly.”
“Not bad,” Katie complimented tonight’s narrator, a slight smirk playing on her lips. She paused, grabbing a few hardbacks of classic Halloween stories.
Clutching the Unbound Words volume, Katie opened the novels she gathered. A violent, silent tornado of words and ink-black letters gushed from the pages. The spinning vortex coalesced, popping several fictional characters into the aisle, smelling faintly of old paper and fresh ink.
“Welcome to the Halloween Party of the Century!” Katie greeted them with a dramatic bow, her plastic wings wobbling. “We have food and drinks in the main lobby, courtesy of the Friends of the Library bake sale, along with a DJ. A murder mystery game happens later tonight, so be sure to put your name in the hat by the punch bowl if you wish to play. Have fun!”
As Katie made her way to the main lobby, the book’s voice spoke, its tone musing and loud enough for only her to hear. “A fine party, librarian. But a story requires conflict. You’ve been using my magic for simple parlor tricks. It’s time for a new chapter.”
“What does that mean?” Katie muttered, giving the book a nervous glance. “Don’t you dare.”
Her boots squeaked on the polished floor as she performed a random, skipping dance, trying to shake off the ominous words.
The 19,000-square-foot library thrummed with the DJ’s bass and the overlapping chatter of the dozen librarians. Earlier, the fire department reprimanded the staff for exceeding the building’s capacity. Patrons had come from all over for the library’s extravagant character photo-op session, blissfully oblivious that the staff had pulled these costumed figures directly from their source material.
Only the librarians knew the truth, a secret they guarded even from their families. When they discovered the Unbound Words book in the donations bin a few weeks ago, they swore an oath of silence. The staff passed off the fictional characters as exceptionally dedicated cosplayers, a ruse that worked without any problems. The book’s magic had two specific rules: none of the characters could leave the library, and they were incapable of harming real people.
One observation, however, left the staff baffled: many characters acted bizarrely uncharacteristically. They had witnessed Dracula politely discussing blood orange recipes and Sherlock Holmes seeming utterly baffled by a simple riddle. None of the staff had any explanations for the glitch, but the mismatched personalities only happened occasionally. When Katie had asked the book about it, its only reply was, “You call it a ‘glitch,’ I call it an edit. If a character is merely words, why not rearrange them?”
Katie reached the lobby, where the rest of the library staff gathered around a snack table groaning under the weight of pumpkin-shaped cookies and bubbling cauldron punch.
The Mad Hatter, summoned from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, commanded the DJ booth, dropping a surprisingly heavy bass line. His grin seemed wider and more fixed than usual, and Katie noticed his fingers were already tapping restlessly on the record’s reverse switch.
The lobby clock chimed 9:15 p.m. The last patron had left, the doors were locked, and the staff’s private party had begun.
Katie stuffed her face with a large piece of chocolate cake as the branch manager, Chuck Barkley, strolled up to her. He was a large man squeezed into a Worf costume from Star Trek.
“I must admit, I’ve been rather impressed with how you’ve handled the unbound book,” Chuck praised, his voice booming. “Other than the fire department’s scorn earlier, there haven’t been any problems. Your creativity has kept everything in check and massively increased patron satisfaction.”
“Thanks, Chuck. Does that mean I’m getting a raise in the spring?”
Chuck laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “Provided the budget allows and nothing goes wrong.”
“The key phrase had been spoken,” the book’s voice announced.
“The what the what now?” Katie mumbled through a mouthful of frosting.
“Whenever everything seems perfect, chaos must inevitably intervene,” the book announced. “Such is a fundamental rule of storytelling.”
“The narrator has a point,” Chuck agreed, suddenly looking nervous.
Katie whined, a high-pitched sound of frustration. “But this is a party! Nothing has to go wrong!”
As if cued by her protest, the music scratched to a deafening halt. A heavy silence fell, and only the drip of the rain against the tall windows broke it.
“Let’s all get mad now!” the Mad Hatter cackled, his voice unnaturally sharp. He grabbed a record and slammed the needle down, spinning the vinyl backward.
A sound screeched from the speakers—not music, but a high-pitched, layered whine that felt like needles crawling into their ears. A wave of psychic pressure washed over the room.
“A ‘spell,’ as you might call it,” the book’s voice announced to the room, its tone delighted. “The Hatter was so gloriously suggestible! Now, let’s see how you handle a real plot twist, librarians.”
All the fictional characters clutched their heads, their faces contorting. The demonic, reversed noise burrowed deep into their minds.
The laughter started first. A single, sharp bark from Mr. Darcy. Then a giggle from Dracula. The laughter spread. Mr. Darcy’s sharp bark became a high-pitched giggle, which in turn fractured into a painful, shrieking howl that held no humor. The sound became a chorus of shrieks, sobs, and howls.
Elizabeth Bennet, her eyes wide and vacant, walked to a bookshelf and began methodically tearing pages from a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Paddington Bear let out a guttural roar and hurled the punch bowl through a plate-glass window, sending sticky red liquid and shattered glass across the carpet.
Dracula, the “nice guy” from moments before, bared his fangs. His eyes, now burning with red madness, fixed on Ben, the trembling cataloger who had stumbled out from behind the snack table. Dracula hissed and lunged, his claws outstretched not for a book, but for Ben’s throat.
Ben screamed and threw his arms up, but a foot before the claws made contact, a shimmer of gold light—the same color as the Unbound Words’ title—flared in the air. Dracula slammed into the invisible barrier as if hitting a solid wall, recoiling with a snarl of frustrated rage.
“He… he can’t touch us!” Ben yelled, a wave of relief washing over him.
“Don’t get comfortable!” Chuck roared. The repelled Dracula, in his fury, grabbed the tall “New Arrivals” bookshelf and heaved it over. “The rule only stops direct harm!”
The massive shelf crashed down where Ben had been standing a second before. The librarians screamed again, this time with a new, sharp understanding. The characters couldn’t touch them, but the entire library was now a weapon.
Chuck grabbed Ben and Amy, diving behind the immovable circulation desk.
“How do we get them to stop?” Ben asked their group as Katie joined them.
“If any character makes contact with the unbound book, they disappear!” another librarian, Amy, reminded everyone, her voice tight with panic.
“But there’s too many of them!” Chuck remarked, peeking over the top. “We need a way to stop them all at once.”
“We can’t risk summoning another character to fight them!” Ben said. “What if the book glitches and we get a Gandalf who only casts fireballs? The risk is too high!”
Katie’s mind raced. Ben was right. A glitched Gandalf could burn the whole library down; a hero was too much of a gamble. But what about an author? Her eyes landed on the “New Arrivals” stand, where a biography of George R. R. Martin sat.
“How about we get a writer known for killing off characters?” she said.
“That might work!” Amy said, her eyes widening. “We’ve never tried summoning non-fictional characters from a biography before.”
With Unbound Words clutched to her chest, Katie bolted from behind the desk. She ducked and ran, adrenaline screaming through her veins. A flying chair, likely thrown by Frankenstein’s Monster, shattered against the wall where her head had been a second before. She narrowly avoided the rampaging Paddington, who now seemed intent on disemboweling a stuffed armchair. She grabbed the biography, the glossy cover photo of the author feeling slick beneath her trembling fingers.
She cracked open the book. In a swirling storm of typed words, George R. R. Martin came to life.
But something was deeply wrong. While Katie wasn’t a super-fan, she knew this fabrication wasn’t him. This was a bad stunt-double. He was thin, wore a bright red suspender-and-bowtie combination, and had a manic, fixed grin plastered on his face.
“Golly gee willikers, we got ourselves a real mess here!” the fake George spoke, his voice a reedy, high-pitched squeak.
Katie slapped her forehead, the impact stinging her palm. “Of course. The book glitches out now of all times. This is just perfect. At least the music’s maddening effect is over.”
“It’s not a ‘glitch,’ it’s an AUTHORIAL choice!” the book snapped, its voice laced with smug satisfaction. “Why summon the actual, boring man when a more whimsical version will do? A story should never let reality get in the way of a good solution. You’ve learned a new way to use me!”
“Hey, there! Words can hurt, you know!” the facsimile sneered, striking a pose reminiscent of Robin from the 1960s live-action Batman series. “I might be different, but my purpose is clear!”
“Then can you kill off all these characters?” Chuck yelled from behind the barricade.
“Can I kill all these characters?” the fake George mockingly laughed. He pulled a tiny DOS computer, a device the size of a smartphone, from his pants pocket. He finger-poked a paragraph’s worth of keys in a second with one hand, his grin never faltering. “Behold this digital miracle!”
Dozens of white blobs erupted from the floor, like summoning circles made of liquid paper. They pulsed, taking the shape of glistening, white-out-white dragons, each holding baseball-bat-sized paintbrushes in their slithering tentacles.
The dragons flowed toward the unruly fictional characters, not attacking with violence, but with a horrifying, absolute erasure. They charged at the snarling Dracula, who, mid-lunge at a cowering librarian, only for three broad, wet strokes of a paintbrush to meet him mid-lunge, dissolving his elegant cape, then his pale, aristocratic features, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air.
A sizzle, like water on a hot pan, filled the air as the brushes made contact, wiping the characters from existence, their screams cutting off abruptly, as though their voices themselves had been smudged out.
A frantic, giggling Pennywise, attempting to float a balloon filled with blood towards a terrified Cthulhu (who was himself shrieking at the sight of a houseplant), found his grin fading into nothingness as a dragon swiftly painted over his malevolent eyes. Further across the room, a hulking Frankenstein’s Monster, roaring and tearing apart a historical atlas, watched his stitched flesh unravel into smears of white before he could even register the threat. Even the seemingly innocuous—a poltergeist from The Haunting of Hill House that had been gleefully shattering lightbulbs—was swept away as the white-out brushes painted over the very air where its translucent form had flickered.
When the dragons wiped away the last frantic character—a shrieking Juliet Capulet, still clutching a shard of the broken punch bowl—they turned on each other, a flurry of white wings and brushes, cleaning themselves out of reality, leaving behind nothing but the stark, chaotic aftermath of the party.
Silence, profound and heavy, returned to the library.
“Thank you,” Katie said, her voice shaking.
She then promptly bopped the fake George on the head with the Unbound Words book. He dissolved, disintegrating back into a cascade of letters that vanished before they hit the floor.
Amy stood up, pushing her glasses back onto her nose as she surveyed the utter devastation. Broken glass, overturned shelves, shredded books, and a sea of punch-soaked cake littered the lobby.
“How are we going to clean all this up?” Amy grumbled, her voice flat with exhaustion.
Katie scanned the debris. A copy of Cinderella, which had serendipitously managed to get tossed into the lobby during the chaos, lay near her feet.
She picked the picture book up, a genuine, plotting-fairy smile returning to her face. “That’s what Fairy Godmothers are for.”
A moment later, a tiny, glittering woman appeared. She wore a Captain Kirk costume over her ballgown and holding a tiny, glittering phaser.
“Alright, starlight,” the glitched godmother chirped. “Set phasers to ‘clean!’”
Katie sighed. It was going to be a very long night.
This short story was vaguely inspired by the writing prompt: “There are some fictional characters you absolutely detest. You’ve even gone and made a list of them. Now all you have to do is hire the most ruthless killer of fictional characters you know: George R. R. Martin.”
As you can tell, I basically had George save the day by killing a bunch of fictional characters to keep it in line with my fictional universe.
Love this story? I’m working on a book staring Katie and the Unbound Words book, which has her deal with an enormous problem the book causes. Also, in case you didn’t know, I wrote a short prequel story about Chuck in antoehr story, Moral Compass.
Want a printed or digital copy for your personal library? This story is included in my horror anthology, Doors Open Both Ways.
Thank you for your support and for reading my short story!
Get a tour of the new Shop Contemporary retail space with manager Garrett Colton in this video I did for Oklahoma Contemporary. As Garrett shares, “The premise behind the shop is a microcosm of what we’re doing as an arts organization.”
Until you’re able to visit Oklahoma Contemporary, you can shop online.
The Study is a wine pub with a coffeehouse vibe and no pretentious attitudes. In my interview with co-owner Ian Bennett, Ian provided an overview of the Film Row venue, what types of drinks they offer, how they’re able to provide over 60 wines, and their cozy design. Plus, Ian went over their COVID-19 policies and practices.
I took advantage of YouTube’s new chapter feature so you can skip around to the different sections. I’ll have to update some of my older videos to feature chapters.
When I was chatting with Ian while I was setting up for the interview, when he was talking about his wife, I was like, “I should interview your wife for my science show,” and said, “You have.” I didn’t realize that his was wife was Dr. Elaine Hamm. If you want to see Elaine’s Yes! Science! profile, click here.
If you want to check out The Study for yourself, you can visit their website at http://thestudyokc.com or in-person at 701 West Sheridan Avenue in Oklahoma City.
Thank you to my supporters on Patreon for helping to make Uncovering Oklahoma possible, especially during these times! Supporters get awesome rewards, like early access to my episodes. Big thanks to superstar supporters: Lynn and Steve Keller-Kenton Family and Revolve Productions. You can join me and get exclusive access to the un-cut interview with Ian.
