A Writer's Tale

In the summer of 1986, shortly after I’d mailed off Flesh, Ann and Kelly and I took a trip to Ann’s home town in upstate New York. Our threeweek visit included a side trip in which we drove through various areas of New York and Vermont. Along the way, we stopped at such places as the Baseball Hall of Fame and Howe Caverns.

We always stop at caverns. And mines.

They’re creepy. And the guides often tell strange tales about things that have happened in them. At Howe Caverns, we joined a small group of tourists in the gift shop. Then we were led into an elevator that took us down to the cave.

The elevator shafts had been sunk into the rear end of the main cave because its natural opening, a couple of miles away, was no: very accessible.

At the bottom, we exited the elevator and were led through a well-lighted area of cave. A walkway, bordered by a railing, followed a stream for some distance. Eventually, the stream widened into a small, underground lake. At the lake, we boarded a boat. The guide, standing, propelled the boat along by pulling at iron spikes that were embedded in the walls of the cavern.

When we reached the far end of the lake, we were shown an opening like the mouth of a tunnel. Behind it was total darkness. Hanging across it was a thick, heavy chain.

We had seen only half of Howe Caverns. On the other side of the chained opening, the water from the lake ran through the “undeveloped” section of the cave for about a mile to the natural opening. In that section, there were no walkways, no railings, no lights.

The guide explained that, if anything should go wrong with the elevators, that would be our only way out. “And I’ve got the only flashlight,” she joked.

Well…

Imagine the impact of such a possibility on a horror writer sitting in the boat.

A group of tourists gets trapped in the cave. The only way out is through the “undeveloped” section. Instead of a chain across the opening, there’s a stone wall. And on the other side of the wall something horrible.

We were walking through the cavern on our way back to the elevator when I said to Ann and Kelly, “I’ve got to write a book about this place.”

I was terribly excited by the idea. And also fearful.

Could I pull it off?

The entire story would have to take place in a very restricted setting, and certain scenes would have to take place in absolute darkness. It seemed like a huge challenge. But the story seemed to have such potential that I couldn’t resist giving it a try.

I didn’t get to it right away, though. After returning home, I resumed work on a novel called Intruder, which I’d started in May and hadn’t been able to finish before our trip. I was also still working at the law office. While finishing Intruder, I also wrote a short novel called Spooky Skater, intended for young adults. (Neither Intruder nor Spooky Skater has ever been published.)

I began to work on Cavern or Cave on October 28, before I was finished with Intruder. I didn’t finish Intruder until January, 1987. And I probably didn’t get into the serious writing of the cave novel until after that. I finished writing it on March 14, 1987.

Wanting a better title than Cavern or Cave, I decided to go literary. I searched for a nifty quotation to use, and chose “The Explorer,” by Allan Edward DePrey. The verse included the very appropriate lines, “Remember me, before you dare/To journey into midnight’s lair.” And thus, my title.

I had a lot of fun with the book.

One of the main characters, a horror writer, is based somewhat on myself. And his family is similar to my own.

In fact, bits of dialogue that appear in the book are based on things that were really said by us while we were in Howe Caverns.

Another of the characters, a crusty old varmint named Calvin Fargo, is my rather exaggerated and fictionalized portrait of the writer, Clayton Matthews. (You may have read more about him in my piece about the Pink Tea.)

Fans are always curious about bits that might have been deleted or added at the suggestion or insistence of an editor.

In the case of Midnight’s Lair, both Bob Tanner and Mike Bailey felt that it ended too abruptly. Figuring they were probably right, I added a few pages to the ending (several months after sending out the “finished” manuscript).

My original version stopped after the sentence, “Chris heard the soft impact, and tears blurred her vision as she saw Hank spin, crushing the girl against him.” Everything after that (about three pages) was added to please my agent and editor.

The extra pages please me, too. These particular gentlemen are almost always right.