I was about to begin my senior year of college. I arrived in town the day before my dorm room would be available. I was alone; the car was packed full of my belongings, and it was dark. I got a room in a quiet motel just off Route 11. My situation already had the ingredients for a classic Hitchcock movie and what better way to creep myself out than watch something scary on television.

I had heard of the show The X-Files but had not seen it. I knew it was something I should get involved in, but the opportunity wasn’t available. I was a college student with no TV or connection to that channel at my parents’ home. Kids, this was the 90’s, when cable was a luxury. You know, back when people still had to point their rabbit ears to the stars. There was no internet streaming. One had to plan their lives around a show’s air time. The technologically gifted could set a VCR to record, assuming the electricity didn’t go out leaving that evil 12:00 glaring at them. I’m getting off topic; It was on that night, and I finally had a chance to see what all the excitement was about!

“The Host” was my initiation into the X-World. I guess if one is going to dive into The X-Files, they might as well go headfirst into a pool of radioactive sewage with a giant flukeman. Then, in that one episode, I was infected with the fandom parasite. I enjoyed that episode so much that I proceeded to secure the door to the adjoining room with the old chair under the doorknob technique. I guess if I were serious about surviving a flukeman invasion, I would have secured the bathroom door instead.

I spent the remainder of my college year scoping out viewing areas and times with other fans. After graduating, my first cable purchase involved an in-depth discussion confirming they did, in fact, carry the proper channel. I bought all the VHS tapes available and even contacted the manufacturer when I didn’t receive one of the collector cards included. I still have the letter they sent with the missing card. I picked up numerous magazines and other fan themed items along the way. This show was the perfect match for all my interests and fascinations. Then when it was over, I never actually found another to fill the gap.

Jump ahead 20 years. They’re back! Like many fans, I’ve been enjoying the revival of team Mulder and Scully this short season. It’s exciting to get those old spooky chills going, the suspense, the conspiracy and let’s not forget the music. It’s like running into an old boyfriend and reminiscing the good ole days. Then they play your song and time rewinds like an old VHS tape. Where all those giddy feelings return and for an hour, you forget the stress of adulthood. You revert to a time when the fear and paranoia were still fiction. Assuming, that’s what you want to believe. I may be getting a little sentimental for some, but as any fan knows, you never forget your first X-Moment.

Hunkering down at the beginning of what many claim will be a record breaking snow storm. I chose to use my seclusion to start a blog. This project has been wanting to surface for some time, but as many of you know, getting started in the hardest part. So, in honor of my snowy entrapment, I dedicate this entry to storms.

There are situations in a story that will only come to surface if the characters are planted directly into the eye a storm. How many books or movies can you name in under two minutes that have some significant atmospheric event to cause the story to escalate?

I’m sure you came up with a few. Now think about how that storm affected the characters. To tap into one’s paranoia, greed, or see what madness lurks in their minds, it takes a storm to allow these feelings to surface. I don’t know if we are drawn to the fear and helplessness the characters face or if it’s knowing that someone will rise to the occasion and be the hero. I try not to analyze a story to death and avoid many reviews. I like to let the words or images tumble in my head and form my own conclusions. Later, what develops in my head freaks me out more that what the story is showing. I’m sure this happens to many readers and movie goers. I believe that a successful writer or director is counting on that. Planting those subliminal monsters to chew on your gray matter when you are least expecting them. Not long ago I may have had a visit from one of those monsters.

The snow was falling, and we were hustling to get out of town. We didn’t want to miss Christmas with my parents. Time and an impending temperature drop would keep us off the road, and we had several hours to travel. We made one stop in town for provisions knowing the possibility of traffic issues and no place to stop. I sprinted into our small town grocer reciting the list in my head. As the electronic doors sealed behind me, I felt a calmness envelope me. The employees did not hurry in their tasks, and some were laughing and joking around. I didn’t see one anxious shopper trying to beat the storm. Everyone just in their moment, not bothered my the blowing wet snow swallowing the town. I slowed my pace thinking to myself, “If I found myself trapped in a snow storm, a grocery store wouldn’t be a bad place.” I started listing the necessities that were within arms length. Thinking how it would be just one giant slumber party with the store employees and my neighbors that I had not met yet.

A few aisles deep into the heart of the structure I felt it. The quiet. It wasn’t a peaceful quiet. The kind of quite that lurks as if an old hag was looming over me about to whisper in my ear. I felt the aisles closing in. It was subtle; no one noticed the walls getting heavy and being squeezed inward by the snow outside. Shoppers seemed less in a hurry if that was possible. I could picture one turning her head, uncurling her grinning mouth full of pointed teeth. Then as she winked, a tear in the fabric of our reality spilling out the sludge of evil. I picked up my pace, gathered the provisions and aimed for the checkout. The looming became distant, but still there. I didn’t dare look back into the aisles but could feel the shoppers staring at me with their dark eyes. The cashier seemed to show little concern about traveling home later. Making small talk as the items glided across the big red eye on the counter. I gave a pleasant half-smile as she handed me my change, then headed for the door. I was too fast for the electronic eye and almost stumbled with the delay. I leaped through the opening. When the doors sealed behind me, I didn’t look back.

Had I experienced a moment where those subliminal monsters started picking at my brain? Was there an actual threat? Was I over anxious about the drive through the storm? Did I watch “The Mist” far too many times? Whatever the reason, it took a storm to bring me to that store. It also took a storm for me to start this blogging adventure.