The Miller Report 10102024

 Happy October, dear readers! The cool breeze is blowing, and my chickens have already started their annual fall feather fluffing. My goat, meanwhile, is in full preparation mode for the great pumpkin showdown. She’s eyeballing that big orange beauty on the porch like it’s the final boss in her personal video game. 🎃🐐 I expect to walk out one morning and find her perched victoriously on top of it, cape flowing in the wind.

While you’re prepping for your own October adventures, here’s a lucky lotto pick to spice up your day: 3, 14, 29, 31, 44, 9. Maybe the lotto gods will be as generous as my goat’s pumpkin obsession.


 • Across my desk

Things helping my friends and family survive Helene: A gas car, A gas stove, Cash. Useless during Helene: Electric cars, Diversity, My tax dollars in Ukraine.

The hurricane really exposed how much of a liability electric vehicles really are!

America will never be great again until we put Jesus Christ first. Amen. †💕 🇺🇸

A human heart beats more than 100,000 times a day. Every single one of them is a gift from God.
†💕

Sunset grill, Watertown, Ct - some of my autographed paperbacks will be available at the craft show Oct 6th.
My book received a great "fussing over" at the craft fair.  Next craft will be in November.  I'll keep you posted right here on the blog. 🎃️


 • Game of the Week --- your chance to win a prize ...
Hot Cocoa and Algebra
Molly is whipping up a batch of her famous campfire hot cocoa, and she’s perfecting the ratio of cocoa powder to sugar for the best taste. She uses 2 tablespoons of cocoa powder for every 3 tablespoons of sugar. If she has 15 tablespoons of sugar, how many tablespoons of cocoa powder should she use to maintain the perfect ratio?

Bonus question: How many cups of hot cocoa will this make if 1 serving requires 5 tablespoons of the cocoa-sugar mixture?

While you're working on the math, try this for a snack.  
Apple Cider Donuts – Perfectly spiced and portable, these donuts pair well with a warm mug of apple cider and are ideal for sharing around the campfire.


 • Now, I present to you this week's amazing story!!  Enjoy.
 
Ghost Story

The fire crackled in the cool October air, casting flickering shadows around the four friends huddled in Miller’s backyard. Wrapped in blankets, they sat in a circle, the trees towering around them, their branches swaying lightly in the breeze.

“I’ve got a story that’ll make you never want to come back here,” Mike said, grinning as he tossed another log into the fire.

Jess smirked. “Oh please, Mike. If it’s another one of your ‘the tree moved’ stories, I’ll take my chances.”

“This is different,” Mike insisted, leaning forward. “It’s about this very spot... Miller’s backyard. Ever wonder why no one’s lived here for so long? No one stays more than a year.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some research.”

Mike shook his head. “Not research. Just… heard things. See, it’s not about the house. It’s about what’s buried underneath.”

“Buried?” Sarah asked, her voice uncertain. “You mean like… bodies?”

Mike’s grin widened. “Not bodies anymore. Miller was a caretaker here in the 1800s, before this whole area was developed. The townspeople thought he was just some lonely old man who liked to tend his garden. But then, kids started going missing.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Great, a child snatcher story. Real original, Mike.”

Ignoring her, Mike went on. “They say he took them because they were ‘tainted.’ He thought he was protecting the town. Buried them beneath his garden, right over there.” He pointed to a dark spot just beyond the firelight.

A gust of wind swept through, making Sarah pull her blanket tighter as she stared into the darkness where Mike had pointed. “That’s not funny,” she muttered.

Steve gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, well, no one’s missing now, so we’re good, right?”

Mike’s face was serious. “Maybe. But they say, on nights like this, when the fire’s just low enough, you can hear them. The kids. Crying out. And if the wind’s just right, Miller’s ghost rises from the ground to make sure no one ever leaves.”

The fire cracked loudly, sending a flurry of sparks into the air. Sarah coughed as the smoke swirled around them, while Jess waved a hand to clear the air.

“Come on, Mike,” Jess said, her smirk fading. “You really expect us to believe—”

Before she could finish, a low, distant wail echoed through the night, carried by the wind. The group froze.

“Did you hear that?” Sarah whispered, eyes wide.

Steve shifted uneasily in his seat. “Probably just a coyote or something.”

Mike leaned forward, his voice low. “Coyotes don’t sound like kids crying.”

The fire popped again, but now it felt different, more menacing. The shadows seemed to creep closer, stretching farther into the trees. Another soft sound—this time, unmistakably a childlike sob—drifted through the air.

“Mike, stop messing with us!” Sarah said, her voice trembling. “That… that wasn’t you, right?”

“I swear, it wasn’t me,” Mike said, looking pale.

Suddenly, the flames flickered wildly, throwing long, jagged shadows around them. In the distance, just beyond the edge of the firelight, a tall, hunched figure seemed to shift between the trees. Steve shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the ground.

“Okay, I’m done. This isn’t funny anymore,” Steve said, his voice shaking.

Another sob, closer this time, and the creak of what sounded like footsteps echoed through the night. Jess stood up quickly, all traces of her bravado gone.

“We should go,” Jess whispered. “Now.”

Before anyone could move, a gravelly voice floated from the shadows, low and chilling. “You can’t leave… not until you’ve met Miller.”

The fire sputtered and died down, plunging them into near darkness. The air grew icy, and the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the leaves drew closer and closer…

The heavy footsteps grew louder, closer. Sarah clutched her blanket, her eyes wide as she whispered, “What do we do?”

“I’m not sticking around to find out,” Steve said, his voice cracking as he backed away from the firepit.

“Wait!” Mike grabbed Steve’s arm. “If you run, you’ll only get lost. That’s how it happens. People run, and then… they disappear.”

Jess turned to Mike, her face pale in the dim light. “You’re not serious… right? This is just another one of your stupid stories, Mike.”

“I wish it was,” Mike muttered, his eyes scanning the trees.

The sound of leaves crunching underfoot came again, closer still. The shadowy figure moved through the trees, barely visible in the flickering light. A deep, guttural voice whispered, “He’s coming… he’s almost here…”

Sarah gasped. “Did you hear that?”

Jess was shaking now. “Screw this, I’m not waiting around!” She turned and sprinted toward the house. But just as she reached the edge of the yard, she froze, her feet stuck in place.

“Jess?” Steve called, his voice laced with fear. “What’s wrong?”

Jess didn’t answer. She stood motionless, staring straight ahead as if something—or someone—had stopped her. Slowly, her head turned toward the group, her face twisted in terror.

“He… he’s here,” Jess whispered, her voice barely audible.

A cold gust of wind whipped through the yard, extinguishing what was left of the fire. The darkness closed in, suffocating, as the footsteps finally stopped just behind Jess. The figure loomed over her, its presence sending chills through the air.

Mike swallowed hard, his breath coming in short gasps. “Jess… move. You have to move!”

But Jess didn’t—or couldn’t. She stood there, trembling, her eyes locked on something just behind her.

Suddenly, a hand—pale, bony, and dripping with earth—reached out from the shadows, resting on Jess’s shoulder. She let out a bloodcurdling scream and then… silence. The hand pulled her into the darkness.

“Jess!” Sarah screamed, but it was too late. Jess was gone, swallowed by the night.

“We have to get out of here!” Steve shouted, grabbing Sarah’s hand and pulling her toward the house.

Mike followed close behind, his heart pounding in his chest. As they ran, they could hear the faint sound of laughter—childlike, eerie, and far too close for comfort.

“Don’t look back!” Mike yelled. “Just keep going!”

They bolted toward the house, the sounds of whispers and footsteps chasing them through the yard. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, reaching out as if trying to drag them back into the darkness.

Steve slammed into the door, fumbling with the knob. “Come on, come on!”

The door flew open, and they tumbled inside, slamming it shut behind them. The house was dark, silent, except for the pounding of their own hearts.

“Where’s Jess?” Sarah gasped, tears streaming down her face. “We have to go back for her!”

Mike shook his head, his voice trembling. “It’s too late… she’s gone.”

Steve pressed his ear against the door, listening. “I don’t hear anything.”

Just as he spoke, the laughter returned—soft, distant, but unmistakable. It was followed by the sound of footsteps, growing louder as they approached the front porch.

“He’s not done,” Mike whispered, backing away from the door. “He’s coming for the rest of us.”


The pounding on the door began, soft at first—just a few hesitant knocks. Then louder, relentless, shaking the walls of the house.

“Don’t answer it,” Mike whispered, backing away from the door, his face pale and dripping with sweat. “Whatever you do… don’t open that door.”

Steve gripped the knob, knuckles white, holding it shut as the pounding continued, the old wood groaning under the pressure.

“They can’t get in,” Steve muttered to himself, eyes darting around the room. “They can’t. We’re safe in here.”

But the laughter outside—the eerie, childlike giggling—filled the air again, circling the house like a taunt. Sarah was curled up in a corner, rocking back and forth, her eyes wide with fear. “We should’ve never come here,” she whispered. “We should’ve left when Jess wanted to. I didn’t want to come here.”

Mike stood frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the door. “He won’t stop. Not until we’re all gone.”

The doorknob rattled, then twisted. Steve pushed against it harder, sweat pouring down his face. “You’re not getting in here!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

The laughter outside stopped. The silence was worse. It pressed in on them, thick and suffocating.

Then, from the back of the house, they heard it—a creak, soft but unmistakable, like the slow, deliberate weight of a footstep on old floorboards.

Sarah’s head snapped up. “The back door…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Did anyone lock the back door?”

Mike’s heart sank. “Oh God…”

Steve whipped around. “Stay here!” he barked, and darted down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the house. He reached the kitchen and stopped cold. The back door stood wide open, swinging gently in the breeze.

“No…” Steve whispered. He stepped toward it, feeling the cold air creep over his skin.

Suddenly, a shadow passed in front of him—quick, like a flicker in the corner of his vision. Then came the giggling again, but it wasn’t outside anymore. It was in the house.

He spun around just as something slammed into him with incredible force, knocking him to the ground. The last thing he saw before the world went black was a pair of small, ghostly hands gripping his shirt, and a voice, low and cold, whispering, “You’re next.”

Back in the living room, Sarah was sobbing uncontrollably. “We need to go. We need to leave now.”

Mike glanced down the dark hallway, but Steve didn’t return. He felt the icy dread in the pit of his stomach grow. “Steve?” he called, his voice barely above a whisper. No answer. Only the creaking of the house settling around them.

“I can’t—I can’t stay here,” Sarah cried, scrambling to her feet. “We have to leave!”

But as she rushed to the front door, it burst open, and in the frame stood a figure, tall and gaunt, its face shrouded in shadow. Behind it, Jess stood, pale and lifeless, her eyes wide and empty. She smiled a sickening, broken smile.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jess said, her voice hollow, mechanical. “Not until you’ve met him.”

Sarah screamed and stumbled back as Mike’s body froze. The figure in the doorway stepped inside, moving slowly, deliberately, its presence suffocating. Miller had returned.

Mike backed away, his mind racing. “There’s got to be a way out,” he muttered. “There has to be.”

But deep down, he knew. He’d heard the stories. He knew no one left Miller’s backyard alive.

Sarah backed into the corner, her eyes darting around the room, wild and desperate. “Mike… what do we do?”

Mike turned toward her, the weight of hopelessness sinking in. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, a cold, bony hand clamped down on his shoulder. The touch sent an icy shock through his body, freezing him in place.

“Welcome home,” Miller’s voice rasped, his breath like a whisper of death.

Sarah’s scream filled the room as the lights flickered, dimmed, and then went out.

Weeks later, when the police finally arrived, the house was silent. The firepit had long since burned out, leaving only charred remains and cold ashes behind. No one could explain the open back door or the eerie silence that surrounded the place.

Inside, they found no sign of Sarah, Jess, Steve, or Mike—no blood, no struggle, nothing but an empty house with a deep, unsettling quiet.

But on the wall, scratched into the wood with what looked like old, bony fingers, were the words:

“You can’t leave Miller’s backyard.”

And so, the legend grew. Some say on quiet October nights, if you listen closely enough, you can still hear them—laughter, footsteps, the faint cries of those who never left.


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"Experience the thrill of the unknown with 'Street Tales' by Joseph Miller.

This anthology of thirteen short stories weaves together elements of murder, the paranormal, and the otherworldly to create a spine-chilling collection. Every story will leave you questioning what lurks in the shadows. Ideal for fans of horror and suspense, 'Street Tales' promises to keep you enthralled from start to finish. Order your copy now and embark on this eerie adventure!"

"Street Tales" by Joseph Miller
Now available on Amazon Kindle and paperback.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D94X4F8Q


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Coming soon!!

A Collection of Intrigue – Get swept away in "After Dark" where each item—a chef's knife, a stack of books, a bottle of ‘All Day Rosé’—leads Detective Jack Dark and Emily Harper deeper into a world of romance, suspense, and danger.

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Please take a swing by my author's page to see what's new.

https://warlockpublishing.com/joseph-miller-author/joseph-miller


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Well, that's all I have for you today.

Thanks for dropping by!


Thank you for stopping by! October has arrived in full force, and I can’t help but imagine every leaf that falls is secretly plotting against my rake. 🍂 The chickens seem to be in on it too—they’ve taken up residence in the leaf piles like royalty, while the goats are more interested in figuring out which pumpkin tastes best.

If you’re dreaming of a perfect autumn getaway, head to the Great Smoky Mountains. The rolling hills, misty mornings, and endless hiking trails are the perfect way to soak in October’s beauty—and maybe spot a bear that’s as ready for hibernation as we are for cozy sweaters.


Until next Thursday,
Best wishes,

Joe Miller