Ask anyone that knows me what I obsess about and they'll tell you about the year 2012. More precisely, December 21, 2012 -- Winter Solstice.

You see, a long time ago on the very planet we exist, there was a group of people who were obsessed with keeping time. This group of people were the Mayans and they were very proud of their calander keeping ways. Their calanders were so precise, that they could (and have) predict lunar eclipses one-thousand years into the future.

While that may seem all interesting, what is really interesting is that their calander ends on 12/21/2012. It appears, they believed that there would be no more need for date keeping beyond that point because something great would befall the earth, changing it forever. What did they believe would happen?

Some believe that the fulfillement of Revelation would happen. Armageddon, death to the wicked. While I would certianly not rule that out, probably a more plausible event would be the theory that scientists have procured. They believe that the Earth's polar axis will shift, basically reversing the North and South poles, the North pole becoming the South pole and vice-versa. They also believe that if this shift were to happen gradually, that we would see events like climate warming, the melting of the poles and massive shifts in water rising. Any of this sound familiar? They go on to state that if this were to happen suddenly, that the Earth would be devasted. Dry places now flooded, hot places now cold and the majority of the worlds population lost almost instantly. It's no wonder that most want to cling to their beliefs in the bible and the fulfillment of Revelation.

Another interesting fact is that it's not just the Mayan calander that points to 12/21/2012  as a date of having some sort of great significance. The Chinese I-Ching, long used for its fortune telling abilities, also has a tie to that fateful day of 2012.

A more current resource pointing to something of significance in 2012 is the Web-Bot-Project. Founded in the early 1990's the web-bot technologly uses a series of internet "spiders" that scans the internet for pre-programmed keywords or phrases in hopes of being able to predict market trends and economic shifts. When these bots would come across one of these pre-programmed words/phrases, it would grab the text surrounding it and return it back where it would be combined with other filtered datasets, which was then used to make the predictions. This proved to be pretty useful, however, there was also an unexpected result with this technology. It seemed that future market trends wasn't the only thing it would predict. The Web-Bot-Project also made predictions into the Washington DC sniper shootings, the  AsiaTsunami of 2004, 9/11 (3 months before it happened) and now 2012.

What does all this mean for you? Well, I guess that depends on you faith and beliefs. Skeptics say that all this "rubbish" pointing to 12/21/2012 is a bunch of religious propaganda, used to scare and intimidate. Some scientists believe that the earth will shift, changing it forever. What do I think? Well, some things are just better left unsaid. More importantly, are you ready for 2012?

So, are you still with me? Good. Here's your treat for reading all the way to the end. Click the link below. Watch and believe.

- Dan.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGDcuEL1NQc

I met Joe Hill [King] last night (10/28) at Borders in Portland. He did a reading from one of his current works and a signing. I got him to sign my copies of 20th Century Ghosts and Poe's Children and got him to take a picure with me (see my photos).

He has two published novels out right now: Heart-Shaped Box and 20th Century Ghosts - a collection of shorts, in addition, he has a comic series: Locke & Key.

He's a real down-to-earth fella and very articulate - I was seriously impressed - not to mention, a dead-ringer for his father back in his younger days.

He's a great author and has a lot in the works. If you want to know more about him and his writings, visit his website at http://www.joehillfiction.com

- Dan.

Hell Hole is an online project thtat includes authors from all over the world. You can read the ongoing story at: http://www.blacklighthorror.ca/hellhole.htm

What follows is my contribution.

     The sun crept its way through the window blinds; finally settling on the sleeping mans face.
 
     Walter Felix raised a hand instinctively, blocking the unwanted intrusion. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked to the window, cursing himself for not closing the blinds all the way the night before. Another day he thought; just another day.

     He wiped away the crust from the corner of his eyes and tossed the blankets to the side. Pushing himself up, he twisted and swung his right leg over the edge of the bed and rested it on the floor. It had been almost nine months now but he still hadn't gotten used to the fact of only having the one leg. Before he would to stumble around only when he was drunk or when he was trying to be funny; now it was just another pure sad fact of his life. A cripple he thought; someone people pointed to and stared at when he walked down the street in his shorts, or worse, the self-righteous assholes that pitied him. If only they knew that he lost his left leg while serving his country; that would teach them he thought as he stood up, reaching out to the nightstand to help balance himself.

     Walter hopped his way over to the window and opened the blinds. He leaned against its edge for support and stared out blankly at the beautiful day that had begun. He blinked away a tear, thinking of how pathetic he'd become. A recluse, embarrassed to show himself, afraid of what people would say or think. He shook his head as if to rid it of the self pitying thoughts and made his way over to the dresser.

     Opening the top drawer, he reached in and pulled out a military issue Smith & Wesson forty-five. It had been given to him along with a neatly folded flag when he had been honorably discharged from the Army. "Honorably discharged," he said, laughing sarcastically and placed the barrel of the gun into his mouth.

     The gun metal was cool and tasted bitter and for a second he thought of how it tasted nothing like it had smelled. He had always liked the smell of that gun, any gun for that matter. Whenever he cleaned it he would sniff in deeply, savoring the oddly sweet aroma of gunpowder and oil.

     He pulled back on its hammer. It made a solid click as it locked into place, the sound instantly sending him into another one of his increasingly frequent flashbacks.

     He was back in the Black Hawk helicopter, flying over the desert. Endless miles of sand spanned in every direction; a beige sea that blurred beneath them as they sped over it.

     At twenty-seven he was ready to take on the world. After he had completed basic training, he'd volunteered to go over to the Gulf. He wanted to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a "real army man", but more importantly, he wanted to make his father proud.

     If only he could see me now he thought as he looked out over the vast desert.

     The flashback was always the same; it was always so real. He was in the helicopter - alone and flying over the desert. Then there would be a loud alarm as the helicopter was struck by a surface to air missile and began spinning wildly out of control. He would make his way to the pilots chair, which was always empty and grab hold of the controls. Struggling, he would have all he could do to try and steady the helicopter until it eventually would crash to the ground and return him back to reality.

     This time was different though; there were no alarms, no chaotic spinning or the like. This was more dreamlike, as if shrouded in a cloudy haze. When he returned his attention back inside the helicopter, he was startled to find that he was no longer alone. His friend was there with him. His dead friend.

     Walter jumped back in his seat, pressing himself against the steel interior. "Ha...Hal," he stuttered, "What the fuck..."

     Hal only stared at him in silence, unmoving.

     "Hal," Walter said, leaning forward. "Hal is that you?"

     More silent staring.

     "Hal, what the hell are you doing here?"

     Hal's body began to flicker in an out, like an old television with bad reception, until he finally disappeared. When he reappeared, his face was directly in front of Walter's.

     Walter let out a stifled yelp before regaining his composure. He stared at his friend in disbelief; looking into the blackness that should have been his eyes. How long had it been he thought? How long had he been dead? He knew this had to be a dream or a flashback or whatever his shrink had called them, but until now he had always been alone during the experience.

     Hal's mouth opened slowly, releasing a foul odor. This thing might look like Hal, he thought, but whatever was inside it smelled like it had been dead and rotting for some time.

     "Heeeeellllllppppp uuusss," the Hal-thing hissed. "Hellllp ussss," it repeated.
     "Help you? You're dead."
     "Not alone here...no rest...trapped...must free us," it continued to hiss in a dry crackeled voice.

     "I don't understand. What do you want from me? Why are you here?"

     "Save usss..."

     "Who's us and from what? Where? Man, I am seriously starting to lose it," Walter said and leaned back, "This is just a dream, just a dream."

     The Hal thing shot forward with in-human like speed and grabbed hold of the dog tags hanging from Walter's neck. "Not a dream," it said in a voice that sounded of many, "You must help us," the voices pleaded, "We are many. Want to rest but he won't let us. Help us."

     The helicopter lurched backward as if grabbed by an unseen hand. The Hal-thing was ripped back and slammed with a sickening thud against the wall of the helicopter. Walter watched in horror as he Hal-thing lifted from the floor and its limbs started pulling and twisting at odd angles. It began to scream in agony with its many voices.

     He continued to watch as its body was spun upside down. There were loud pops that he first mistook for gun fire before finally realizing that it was the sound of bones breaking; the Hal-things contorted body finally succumbing to the odd angles forced upon it.

     With one last moment of sanity the Hal-thing's eyes met with his own. "Find us," it said and then burst into flames.

     Walter jumped, almost dropping the forty-five. Something was ringing. Slowly the fog that clouded his head lifted as he began to recognize some of the objects that surrounded him. He focused on the direction of the ringing, eventually making out his cell phone on the night stand. He hopped over and answered it.

     "Hello?"

     "Walt, that you?" a fuzzy voice asked from the other end of the cell phone.

     Walter recognized it as his neighbors. "Ya...Ya it's me," he said, still a bit shaken, "What's up?"

     "What are you doing?"

     Walter looked down to the forty-five that he still held in his hand. "Nothing," he said and tossed the gun on the bed.

     "Have you been watching the news?" Norm asked excitedly.

     "The news? No - TV's on the brink."

     "TV's on the brink? What the hell do you do all day over...Oh never mind - You been following that dig going on over in Kosovo?"

     "I know about it, but I can't say as I've been following it," he said, looking down at the forty-five on the bed, "I've been a little preoccupied."

     "Well, they just opened it last night and I guess its pure chaos over there right now. You wouldn't believe the bodies they've dug up over there, hundreds, thousands and that's not all, they've been finding all sorts of crazy stuff too."

     "What kind of crazy stuff?" Walter asked.

     "Crazy things like watches, pottery, books, jewelry - all kinds of stuff."

     "Well, that's not so crazy Norm, that's what I'd expect you'd find at a grave site."

     "Ya I know, but some of its new. There's stuff from all over the world too, not just there. And get this, they found a bunch dog tags - dog tags from US soldiers," Norm said, speaking quickly, "They started reading off some of the names on the news, though I suppose they'll get in trouble for that," he added, "but I'll be damned if one of those names wasn't yours."

     Walter reached up under his shirt and realized his tags were missing. "Mine? I've got mine right here." He lied.

     The doorbell to Walter's house rang. He propped the cell between his shoulder and ear and sat on the bed to fasten his prosthetic leg. "Be right there," he shouted.

     "What?" Norm asked.

     "Oh nothing," Walter said, "someone's at the door. Hey, thanks for the call Norm, that's quite the coincidence, but not me I'm afraid."

     The doorbell rang again.

     "Oh, okay," Norm said, sounding a bit disappointed, "I can hear the doorbell. I suppose I'll talk to you later then?"

     "Ya, sure - later Norm." Walter said and pressed "end" on the cell phone, cutting him off. He liked Norm, but once he got started, there was no stopping him.

     The doorbell rang again. "Coming I said," Walter shouted.

     With the prosthetic leg attached, he made his way over to the front door. He twisted the dead-bolt, unlocking the door and gave it a firm tug to free it from its humidity swelled jamb. His efforts were rewarded by the stern faces of two military MP's who were also dressed in full field gear. Behind them, Walter could see that someone waited in the brown and beige camouflaged Humvee that sat running in his driveway.

     "Walter Felix," the MP on the left asked.

     "Yes."

     "You'll need to come with us," the other said.