The Miller Report 08282025 🌻

 
Welcome to Miller’s Mysteries, where the sunshine is so golden it could practically be bottled and sold as Connecticut’s finest vintage. 

The neighbor’s goats are nosy as ever, peeking in like unpaid interns, while our cats stare back with the judgment of aristocrats. 
 Nyx
A hawk might swoop past, squirrels chase each other in high-speed pursuits, and somewhere down the road, someone’s grilling like it’s a national holiday. I’m looking forward to catching a show at Calendar House, an AMC movie with extra butter on the popcorn, and a game of mini-golf that will almost certainly end with me fishing my ball out of the water hazard. 

Southington’s patios are calling too, because what’s better than eating outdoors with the faint chance of a goat cameo?


  • Across my Desk!!

I'm tired of being the only one who cleans, pays all the bills, cooks every day, and does dishes in this house. I am the backbone of this family.
I live alone, but still.

Not all women want diamonds. Some just want a cute farmhouse on 50 acres. With a wrap-around porch to drink coffee on!

Why Do Famous Writers Still Use Pen and Paper?

Cracker Barrel Woke Reel
https://www.facebook.com/reel/1987761645312440/


  • The Reader
  
At midnight, the world outside was quiet, but Amanda found herself wide awake, brimming with curiosity. Sitting at her desk, illuminated only by a soft desk lamp, she brewed a cup of cinnamon chai, relishing the aromatic spices. A plate of almond biscotti sat within reach, a perfect companion for her late-night reading. 

Eager to delve into Mindmyst Tales Blog, she refreshed the page, excitement tingling in her chest. She grabbed her colorful gel pens to highlight the ideas that struck a chord with her. The soothing warmth of her cup in her hand kept her focused as the clock ticked softly in the background. As she explored story after story, she felt a sense of connection with the characters, each word sparking her imagination well into the night.

  
 • Math of the Week

1. The End-of-Summer Barbecue
Carla is grilling skewers at her backyard cookout. Each skewer has 3 pieces of chicken and 2 pieces of pineapple. If she buys a pack of 36 chicken pieces and a pack of 24 pineapple chunks, how many complete skewers can she make? How many extra chicken and pineapple pieces will be left over?

2. The Drive-In Movie Night
Bryan and his friends go to a late-summer drive-in. Tickets cost $8 each, plus a flat $12 per car. If Bryan collects money from 5 friends, and they all fit into one car, write an equation for the total cost C as a function of the number of people. Then calculate the cost per person.

3. The Baseball Game Snacks
Nina brings snacks to the last Red Sox game of August. She buys hot dogs for $3 each and pretzels for $2 each. She spends exactly $34 and buys 14 total items. How many hot dogs and how many pretzels did she buy?

4. The Camping Trip Geometry
Joe sets up a triangular tarp shelter at the campsite. The base of the tarp is 12 feet, and the height is 9 feet. What is the area of the tarp? If the tarp material costs $0.85 per square foot, what is the total cost?

5. The End-of-Summer Lemonade Stand
Emily runs a lemonade stand during Labor Day weekend. She charges $2 per cup and sells x cups per hour. On average, she sells 25 cups per hour between noon and 3 PM, but only 15 cups per hour between 3 PM and 5 PM. Write an equation for her total sales S(x) for the five hours, and calculate how much she makes that day.

 • Answers to last week's math
answers:
Here you go! 8-21-2025

Ice Cream Cones (two cone types):
Let Jack’s cone = 
J
J, 
Emily’s cone = 
E
E.

2J+3E=16,  4J+E=14⇒J=$2.60,  E=$3.60
2J+3E=16,4J+E=14⇒J=$2.60,E=$3.60.


Beach Towels:

2S+L=26,  3S+2L=49⇒S=$3,  L=$20
2S+L=26,3S+2L=49⇒S=$3,L=$20.

Notebooks & Pens:

4N+2P=18,  2N+6P=22⇒N=$3.20,  P=$2.60
4N+2P=18,2N+6P=22⇒N=$3.20,P=$2.60.

Bonfire Wood Bundles:

2S+3L=27,  3S+2L=24⇒S=$3.60,  L=$6.60
2S+3L=27,3S+2L=24⇒S=$3.60,L=$6.60.

Paddle Boat (fixed + hourly):

F+2r=22,  F+4r=31⇒F=$13,  r=$4.50
F+2r=22,F+4r=31⇒F=$13,r=$4.50/hour.



 • Now, This Week's Exciting Story
 
The Lantern

Jack stepped cautiously into the old, abandoned mill, the twisting shadows stretching long across the cracked wooden floor. His soft, echoing footsteps brushed past cobwebs, tangled and sticky, that clung to his jacket like tiny hands trying to pull him back. Somewhere high above, a lantern swung, its flickering glow casting uneasy shapes across rusted beams, pitted and decaying with years of neglect.

From the far corner came distant, hollow echoes, carrying hidden whispers that seemed urgent, urgent enough to make Jack’s pulse quicken. The murmured secrets hinted at something forbidden, something long buried within the walls of the mill—an invitation or a warning, he couldn’t tell which.

As he moved further in, the floorboards groaned beneath him, a chorus of thudding, fleeting footsteps that sounded almost alive. Each step seemed to shift the shadows, making the walls appear to breathe, looming and sinister. Jack’s hand brushed against rust, flaking under his fingers, a reminder of the years of decay around him.

The lantern’s dim light caught something moving in the corner: a whisper of silk from a cobweb that quivered as if something had passed through it. The echoes repeated, bouncing off the walls in a reverberating, eerie rhythm, a cadence that almost felt like a voice. Jack leaned closer, trying to decipher the message hidden in the mill’s haunting sounds.

Suddenly, a sinister, fleeting whisper brushed against his ear. “You shouldn’t be here…” it hissed. The shadows crept and shifted, forming shapes that were almost human, almost watching, almost waiting. Jack swallowed hard, heart thudding, and took another careful step toward the lantern’s guiding glow, unsure if curiosity or danger led him forward.

With every passing moment, the secrets of the mill became more urgent, whispered, and dangerous. The echoes seemed to form a pattern, like the building itself was trying to communicate. Jack realized then that this mill was more than abandoned—it was alive with voices and stories, memories clinging to the beams, cobwebs, and rust like the residue of old sins.

The final flicker of the lantern illuminated a small, hidden trapdoor in the floor. The whispers rose into a chilling crescendo, as if urging him to open it. Jack hesitated, hand hovering over the handle, the air thick with secrets and the faint, sinister murmur of something waiting below. Then, with a breath, he made the choice—curiosity won.

The trapdoor creaked open, revealing darkness deeper than the shadows themselves. Jack’s flashlight barely pierced the gloom, revealing the first clue: an old diary, its pages brittle, scribbled in a hand urgent and trembling. The echoes faded, leaving only the flickering lantern and the tangling whispers of the mill, as if the building itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what Jack would do next.

---

Jack carried the lantern in one hand and the diary tucked under his arm, the old mill’s damp air still clinging to his coat. The Mustang’s headlights cut through the night as he drove back to his office, gravel spitting under the tires. By the time he reached his desk, the town was asleep, the only sound the soft tick of the wall clock.

He set the lantern down first—it gave off a faint tang of rust and old oil, like a memory that refused to fade. The diary followed, its cracked leather whispering as it touched the desk blotter. Emily leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the objects.

“You really think bringing those here is a good idea?” she asked softly.

Jack sat, leaning back in his chair. “Better here than left in that mill. At least now I can keep an eye on them.”

The lantern seemed to pulse in the dim light, and the diary, half-open, stirred as if it wanted to speak.

The office was quiet except for the shuffle of paper as Jack opened the diary. His fingers traced the faded ink, words written in a hurried scrawl that leaned hard to the right.

“Listen to this,” he said, lowering his voice as though the words might slip away if spoken too loud. “The keeper hides the emerald where shadows never rest, and the lantern will reveal the path when silence is broken.”

Emily raised a brow, stepping closer. “That sounds less like history and more like you’ve stumbled into one of those late-night treasure hunts you can’t resist.” She smirked, tapping the lantern with a fingertip. “Let me guess—this thing is supposed to glow like magic when you say the secret word?”

Jack shot her a look. “Don’t joke. The lantern was lit when I found it—and there wasn’t any oil in the reservoir.”

As if to punctuate his words, the lantern gave a faint flicker. Not bright, not steady, just a pulse—like it was listening.

Emily folded her arms tighter, though the teasing never left her tone. “Or maybe it just likes dramatic timing. You ever think of that?”

Jack bent back over the diary, flipping a page. Another entry caught his eye: “If the light stirs without flame, beware—the footsteps are near.”

He read it aloud.

Emily’s smirk faded slightly. She glanced at the lantern. The pulse came again, longer this time, a faint heartbeat of light in the dark office.

“Jack,” she said slowly, “tell me that’s just a loose wire.”

“There’s no wire,” he murmured, shutting the diary with a sharp snap.

The lantern flickered again. And somewhere in the hallway outside his office, a single, hollow footstep echoed.


Jack stood, the diary still clutched in his hand, eyes locked on the lantern as its glow throbbed faintly in rhythm with the silence.

“That was a footstep,” he said flatly.

Emily tilted her head, lips quirking despite the prickling at the back of her neck. “Or… it was the building settling. You know—old beams, haunted mills, the usual.”

Jack gave her a look. “You’re not helping.”

“Sure I am. Somebody has to keep you from jumping at shadows.” She leaned on his desk, chin propped in her hand, but her eyes kept darting toward the door. “Although…” she added, lowering her voice, “if a ghost pirate walks in here demanding the emerald, I’m out.”

The lantern flared brighter, casting their shadows long across the wall.

Emily’s laugh caught in her throat. “Okay, that… was not funny timing.”

Jack flipped the diary open again, scanning frantically. “Here—listen. ‘When the light grows restless, follow it not, for it calls what cannot rest.’”

Almost on cue, the lantern lifted its glow into a steady beam—pointing straight at the office door.

Emily’s smirk wavered. “All right, Jack… tell me that’s some kind of clever trick you set up.”

Jack shook his head. His grip tightened on the diary.

The footstep came again—closer this time.

Emily straightened, eyes wide but voice still edged with sarcasm. “Well, if that’s a ghost, you’d better tell it we don’t keep emeralds in the filing cabinet.”

The lantern’s beam brightened, as if urging them toward the door.

Jack met Emily’s gaze. “You still think I’m chasing ghosts?”

She swallowed, forcing a smirk. “I think… we’re about to find out.”


Jack cracked the office door, and the lantern’s beam spilled into the dim hallway like a spotlight on a stage. Emily peeked over his shoulder and muttered, “If this ends with me tripping over a mop bucket, I’m never forgiving you.”

“Stay close,” Jack whispered, edging forward.

“Oh sure,” Emily said, tiptoeing behind him. “Because if the boogeyman shows up, I’m definitely volunteering as the human shield.”

They moved down the hall, the lantern bobbing in Jack’s hand. Suddenly, a floorboard groaned under his weight and let out a loud crack. Jack froze.

Emily jumped back and hissed, “Nice work, Sherlock. Subtle as a brass band.”

“Not my fault,” Jack whispered. “This place was built before electricity.”

“Yeah, and apparently before basic carpentry,” she shot back, narrowly avoiding a trip over a rolled-up rug.

The lantern’s glow swiveled toward a dusty door marked Archives. Jack reached for the knob, but Emily grabbed his arm.

“Wait. Don’t you horror-movie guys ever learn? First rule: don’t open creepy doors glowing with supernatural light.”

Jack grinned. “Good thing I’m not in a horror movie.”

Emily smirked, shoving him forward. “Right. You’re the stubborn detective who refuses to listen to the smart girlfriend.”

Inside the archives, the shelves loomed like crooked soldiers. Jack lifted the lantern higher, and a family of mice skittered across a box, making Emily yelp.

“Oh great!” she gasped. “Not ghosts—rodents. Perfect.”

Jack tried to hide a grin. “Relax. They’re harmless.”

Emily shot him a glare. “Easy for you to say—you’re not the one who just did a full ballet leap over a filing cabinet.”

The lantern flared again, spotlighting a tall stack of boxes in the corner. Jack stepped closer, but the tower of cardboard wobbled precariously.

“Careful,” Emily warned, holding her hands up like a traffic cop.

Jack ignored her and tugged one from the middle. The entire stack toppled like dominoes.

Boxes rained down with a thunderous crash, and Emily had to dive to avoid getting flattened. She popped up, hair wild, glaring at him. “Bravo. Truly masterful detective work. Case closed—death by paperwork avalanche.”

Jack, brushing dust from his jacket, tried to play it off. “It’s called investigative technique.”

Emily crossed her arms. “It’s called clumsiness, Dark. You’re lucky I’m not billing you for hazard pay.”

Just then, the lantern dimmed and refocused on a single box that had landed upside down. Its lid had popped open, revealing something wrapped in old velvet.

Jack and Emily exchanged a look.

Emily raised a brow. “So… do we pull the Scooby-Doo routine and peek, or do we just assume it’s cursed and head for pizza instead?”

“Tempting,” Jack admitted. He knelt by the box, brushing dust away. “But you know me. Pizza can wait.”

Emily crouched beside him, muttering, “Great. I risked my life in a box avalanche for this moment.”

He lifted the velvet bundle and carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a cracked glass lantern—identical to the one in his hand, but dark and lifeless.

Emily blinked. “Okay, now that’s creepy. Do they sell these in twin packs at Haunted Depot?”

Jack tilted the diary toward the new find. “It says here… ‘The twin lights, when reunited, call the keeper from the shadows.’”

The lantern he held suddenly pulsed brighter—so bright Emily had to shield her eyes.

“Jack,” she said slowly, “please tell me this is your idea of a surprise date night activity.”

Jack tightened his grip. “If it is, it’s about to get a lot more interesting.”


-

The lantern’s glow sputtered suddenly, flaring bright enough to paint the office walls gold before shrinking to a blue flicker. Jack jerked back, nearly spilling the diary. “That’s not supposed to happen,” he muttered, holding it at arm’s length as though it were a ticking bomb. Emily propped her chin on her hand, smirking. “Don’t tell me the lamp’s union contract includes dramatic lighting cues.”

Before Jack could snap back, the room chilled as though every window had swung open at once. The pages of the diary flipped furiously, smacking his knuckles. A low hum rose from the lantern, vibrating across the desk like a swarm of bees. Emily pointed. “Either it’s about to summon something, or we’re hosting the world’s smallest rave.”

The hum deepened into a growl, and then—with a crack loud enough to rattle the blinds—the lantern flared white-hot. A column of smoke shot upward, twisting into a vague shape with shoulders, arms, and the suggestion of a hood. Jack instinctively stood, knocking his chair into the wall. “Emily—don’t move!” he barked. She crossed her arms. “Why? Afraid I’ll spook the smoke ghost? Newsflash, Dark, it’s already spooking itself.”

The figure solidified enough to reveal long, ragged robes and hollow pits where eyes might be. The Keeper’s voice slid out, wet and gravelly. “Return what is mine…” Jack raised the diary defensively, half like a shield, half like he was going to scold it. “You mean this? Sorry, pal. Finders keepers.” Emily elbowed him. “Really, Jack? You’re going to dad-joke the mist monster?”

The Keeper advanced, each step rattling the lantern chain. Books toppled from the shelf; Jack scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the chair again. Emily darted forward, surprisingly quick, and snatched up the lantern itself. She held it like a baseball bat. “Back off, Casper. I took softball in high school, and I will bunt you into next week.”

The smoke recoiled, then surged, wrapping one tendril around the diary. Jack yanked it back, his knuckles slamming into the desk. “Ow! Emily, do something!” She swung the lantern in a wide arc, clipping the edge of Jack’s desk lamp. It toppled with a crash, papers flying like confetti. “There—instant distraction! You’re welcome!”

The Keeper roared, a sound like the mill’s old grinding wheels. Jack scrambled up with the diary tucked under his arm, nearly colliding with Emily. They both staggered sideways, knocking into the file cabinet. The lantern’s glow pulsed like a heartbeat in Emily’s hands, flashes of green and red now strobing across the room. She grinned wildly. “See, Jack? We are having a rave. Too bad you left your glow sticks at home!”

As the light reached a fever pitch, the Keeper’s form flickered, shrinking and swelling in violent spasms. The lantern vibrated harder in Emily’s grip, buzzing like a live beehive. Jack grabbed her wrist, steadying it. “If this thing explodes, we’re going to look real stupid on the police report.” Emily shot back, “Oh please—we already look stupid. Let’s just hope the ghost doesn’t demand karaoke next.”


The air inside Jack’s office went taut, as if every molecule had been wound on a wire. The lantern’s glass flared with a sickly green, throwing jagged shadows across the walls. Papers lifted from his desk as though an unseen breath blew upward from the floorboards. Emily, gripping the edge of Jack’s chair, squinted. “Okay, so, your office redecorates itself at midnight. That’s… efficient, if a little heavy on the ‘demonic tornado’ aesthetic.”

The diary flapped open in Jack’s hands, its pages rustling furiously as if invisible fingers searched for something. Jack braced himself, planting his feet. “Emily, stay back. I think this is it—the Keeper’s coming through.” His attempt at gravitas was promptly spoiled when a paperweight shot across the room and smacked him in the shoulder. He winced, yelped, and almost dropped the diary.

Emily stifled a laugh. “Wow. Protector of the realm, brought low by an oversized paperclip. Want me to get you an ice pack before the ghost finishes crawling out of the wallpaper?”

The lantern’s flame elongated, stretching like a scream. From the shadows in the corners, a form began to coalesce—a robe, a vague outline of a hood, its presence bending the air. Jack tried raising his voice, like he’d seen priests do in movies. “Keeper! By the light of this lantern, I command you to—” But before he could finish, a drawer flew open and clapped his shin. He hopped on one foot, swearing.

Emily doubled over laughing. “You’re really selling it, Jack. I mean, if you don’t stop the Keeper, maybe you’ll distract him with your interpretive dance routine.”

The figure solidified, a low hum reverberating like an organ in the pit of their chests. It reached a vaporous arm toward the lantern. Emily, arms crossed, squinted up at it. “You know, for a supernatural landlord, you’re doing a lousy job keeping the place tidy. Maybe try haunting a HomeGoods instead? At least then you’d match the décor.”

The entity wavered, its form flickering. Jack blinked, sweat beading. “Emily—what did you just do?” he hissed.

“I roasted a cosmic hall monitor, that’s what,” she shot back. “Look, he doesn’t like heckling. Keep him busy—I’ve got more material!” She stepped forward, jabbing her finger at the Keeper’s spectral chest. “Hey, buddy, if you’re going to wear a hood that dramatic, you’d better have hair worth hiding. What’s under there, huh? Ghost bald spot?”

The Keeper let out a distorted sound that wasn’t quite a scream—more like feedback from a dying amplifier. The shadows snapped back into the lantern like water into a drain. With a violent pop, the flame guttered, leaving only smoke curling in the glass. The office fell silent, except for the sound of Jack collapsing into his chair with a groan.

Emily nudged him, grinning. “There. Case closed. Ghost bullied into submission. You’re welcome, Detective.”

Jack rubbed his shin and muttered, “I was just about to finish him off.”

“Sure you were, hop-along,” Emily said, plopping onto his desk. “Next time, maybe just hand me the mic. Apparently, sarcasm is stronger than whatever spellbook nonsense you’re working with.”



===========SHADOW
During a particularly fierce summer storm in West Haven, ominous lights began to flicker in the darkened clouds, illuminating the chaos below. As the winds howled and rain lashed against windows, a low hum resonated from above, sending shivers down the spines of those who dared to look up. It was said that the lights unleashed something sinister, manifesting in the form of shadowy figures that crept through the downpour, their intentions unfathomable. When the storm cleared, a heavy silence fell over the town; the residents were left to grapple with the mystery of those who had vanished into the night.
    
SHADOW by Joseph Miller
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B4Z36PS3
Order your copy now and unlock a treasure trove of real-life experiences that will shock and amaze you!


============Space Tales 2
The galaxy calls.
Heroes will rise, worlds will fall, and destinies will be forged among the stars.
Space Tales 2 by Joseph Miller
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FKHGKSL3
Buy a copy now. Begin your next great adventure.
                     

============

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============ sponsor

KelDel Creations
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100090364412851

Experience the charm of Kelly's booth at the craft fair, where you'll find a delightful selection of handcrafted items that will warm your heart! With a focus on creativity and quality, every piece is designed to bring joy and inspiration to your everyday life. Whether you're searching for the perfect gift or a little something to treat yourself, Kelly’s creations offer a unique flair that can't be replicated. She thrives on connecting with customers, sharing the stories that inspire her designs and the processes behind her work. Engage with her while exploring her booth and let your creativity flow! This craft fair is the perfect opportunity to support local talent and immerse yourself in art. Come discover your new favorite piece and leave with a smile!
  Hugs
Southington Farmer's Market
We'll be there again on Aug 29th.  We look forward to seeing you again!!  Don't forget to ask for one of Joe Miller's great books.  It will be autographed.


============

 • Thank you for stopping by! 
Thank you for taking the time to visit us during these last August days! Sharing hot black coffee and warm conversations around the fire pit felt like a true celebration of friendship. Your company added a glow to our evenings that we won’t soon forget. Come back soon, and we’ll have hot soup waiting for you next time!



 • Please do write a comment.  You could, if you like, ask me a question. If I like it, I'll publish it right here in Miller's Mysteries Blog!
[send to mindmyst@yahoo.com]

Until next Thursday,    
Happy August!!! 

Joe Miller 🍻🍻 🦈️⛳️⛵🇺🇸️🌻

 • Quick question
 If you woke up one morning to find you had superpowers but they only worked on Mondays, would you embrace the chaos or dread the day? I’d probably spend my Mondays inventing new ways to avoid responsibility while secretly saving the world! Like a superhero who just wants brunch!
 
 
 • Weather Forecast: Prepare for an apocalypse of pterodactyls emerging from an unexpected weather front, confirmed to be the result of climate-induced time travel. Meanwhile, researchers were delighted to discover an alien civilization that thrives on hot chocolate and long naps, aptly named “Chocolatopia.” So, while our planet trembles at the entry of prehistoric creatures, let's embrace the sweetness of a cozy cup!
 
 
 • Questions from readers:
Q: Joe, do you plan your stories, or just wing it?
A: I wing it so hard the geese at Hubbard Park think I’m migrating with them.

Q: Joe, how do you handle writer’s block?
A: I stare at the wall until the wall files a harassment complaint.

Q: Joe, what’s your favorite writing snack?
A: Whatever’s closest to the keyboard — even if it’s just eraser shavings and regret.

 
 Joe