August 6, 2025 • 12 mins
An elderly man returns to Rocky Point, a place where he was happy and had great exectations. But he’s drawn there now by regret and a love that never died. Is it too late for some of those expectations to be met?
Lee Clark Zumpe, an entertainment columnist with Tampa Bay Newspapers, earned his bachelor’s in English at the University of South Florida. He began writing poetry and fiction in the early 1990s. His work has regularly appeared in a variety of literary journals and genre magazines over the last two decades. Publication credits include World War Cthulhu and The Children of Gla'aki from Dark Regions Press; Through a Mythos Darkly from PS Publishing; Children of Lovecraft Country and Shadows of an Inner Darkness from Golden Goblin Press; and Corridors and The Pickman Papers from Innsmouth Gold. Lee lives on the west coast of Florida with his wife and daughter.
Lee’s inclination toward horror manifested itself early in his childhood when he began flipping through the pages of Forrest J. Ackerman’s Famous Monsters of Filmland and reading Gold Key Comic classics like Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery and Grimm’s Ghost Stories. In his teenage years, he discovered Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Ambrose Bierce, Richard Matheson and other masters of the genre. Lee’s work often focuses on character interaction set against a pervading sense of cosmic dread and high strangeness.
You can read "Return to Rocky Point" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
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Lee Clark Zumpe, an entertainment columnist with Tampa Bay Newspapers, earned his bachelor’s in English at the University of South Florida. He began writing poetry and fiction in the early 1990s. His work has regularly appeared in a variety of literary journals and genre magazines over the last two decades. Publication credits include World War Cthulhu and The Children of Gla'aki from Dark Regions Press; Through a Mythos Darkly from PS Publishing; Children of Lovecraft Country and Shadows of an Inner Darkness from Golden Goblin Press; and Corridors and The Pickman Papers from Innsmouth Gold. Lee lives on the west coast of Florida with his wife and daughter.
Lee’s inclination toward horror manifested itself early in his childhood when he began flipping through the pages of Forrest J. Ackerman’s Famous Monsters of Filmland and reading Gold Key Comic classics like Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery and Grimm’s Ghost Stories. In his teenage years, he discovered Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Ambrose Bierce, Richard Matheson and other masters of the genre. Lee’s work often focuses on character interaction set against a pervading sense of cosmic dread and high strangeness.
You can read "Return to Rocky Point" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Bluesky
Substack
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:10):
Welcome to the kaidon Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host Linda Gould,
and tonight I'm reading Return to Rocky Point by Lee
Clark Zumpe. Tonight's story is steeped in missed memory and
(00:32):
the pool of a place that refuses to let go.
An elderly man returns to Rocky Point, a place where
he was happy and had great expectations. But he's drawn
there now by regret and a love that never died.
Is it too late for some of those expectations to
(00:52):
be met? Lee Clark Zumpe is an entertainment columnist with
Tampa Bay Newspapers and a fiction writer who's York has
appeared in numerous literary and genre magazines. A lifelong fan
of horror, his stories blend character driven narratives with cosmic dread.
He lives in Florida with his wife and daughter, and
(01:14):
now dim the lights, settle in and prepare yourself for
Return to Rocky Point by Lee Clark Zumpie and Joy
Mist crawled over the lumbering surf coiling itself around the
(01:36):
base of the lighthouse on Oak Island, and slithering through
the gently sloping sand dunes. Along with the encroaching twilight,
it skimmed across the glassy surface of the inlet, lapped
at pilings in the harbor, and washed over the wharves.
In downtown Rocky Point. Gulls noisily scuffled over meager scraps
near the fish house, while one lone shrimp boat crept
(02:00):
across the horizon. The distant crew carefully skirted the ragged
coastline on the Atlantic, heading further north to another point,
either Smithville or Waite's Inlet. Standing on a bluff overlooking
the seaside village, a solitary figure inventoried the shadows haunting
the somber streets of Rocky Point. Beneath the arching limbs
(02:22):
of a live oak once used to lynch pirates, Bryant
Monroe stroked his silvery whiskers and scowled. The chill in
the air off the water made brittle his aging bones.
Even as a young man, he had felt the icy
sting of October dusk heralding winter on this gentle rise
(02:43):
set above the Carolina shore. Nothing ever changed in Rocky
Point Bryant Monroe had not come home for many years.
The burden that had kept him in exile for decades
stemmed from both grief and regret, and had transformed into
a bitter, bleak and lonely soul. Tonight, he swallowed his
(03:06):
guilt to find an old acquaintance. He descended the cobblestone
steps and tramped through a weedy meadow while the moon
gradually scaled the twilight summit. The moonglow exiled some sinister shadows,
but lent depth to others even more menacing, Bryant negotiated
the narrow, winding lanes beneath the serpentine sable limbs of
(03:28):
the live oak canopy. He examined ancient mansions and their
crumbling gables, the raised porches cloaked in darkness, the shuttered
windows and uninviting doorways, and ethereal gardens of the century's
old fishing community. As he passed the old burying ground,
he reluctantly skirted the wrought iron fence and circling it.
(03:51):
His gnarled fingers squirmed nervously around the bars of the
gate as he struggled to recognize names on the closest tombstones.
I wondered how many people he had known had come
to rest in this forgotten field, ultimately abandoned by mourning survivors,
allowed to drift into vague and formless memory, until they
(04:13):
existed as little more than indistinct faces in boxes of
photographs or unfamiliar names in family trees. They were all here, friends, family,
fellow fisher folk, and their kin. Generations of people whose
lives were governed by the whims of the sea rested
beneath his feet in the cold, callous Carolina ground. They
(04:36):
disclosed their final secrets, confessed a lifetime of sins, and
recounted the highlights of their lives to swarms of apathetic worms.
Bryant Monroe brushed a tear aside. He could not find
the stone he sought amidst the beguiling shadows. He wished
he had visited it at least once before this night,
(04:59):
out of re specked or grief or regret. Still he
had not come to mourn her. Now he shambled through
the vacant streets downtown, wary of shuffling indistinct forms down
on the docks. Midnight fast approached, and he had little
time to spend chasing echoes of former shipmates, or reminiscing
(05:21):
over a pint in the tavern with the barkeep, whose
tails had surely grown as stagnant as his ale. Shop
windows blackened, street lamps dimmed, this effigy of Rocky Point
seemed suddenly lifeless and distressing. He half imagined children playing
in the empty schoolyard, young couples walking hand in hand
(05:42):
along the waterfront. Around each corner, though and down each avenue,
he found nothing more than hazy memories superimposed upon the
cruel backdrop of reality. Moving slowly down Hall Street, he
recognized immediately the two story house at the end of
the lane. The lattice work framing the three steps to
(06:03):
the front door glistened in the moonlight. Hmm. He had
kissed her on those very steps when he was only seventeen.
Out back, he saw her sitting in the gazebo, staring
innocently at the constellations, waiting for him to return after
all these years and teach her the names of familiar stars.
(06:27):
Unlike him, she had not aged a single day. Unlike him,
the years had not ground down her features and bowed
her frame and made frail her slender limbs. Unlike him,
rampant cancer had not riddled her with tumors. Bryant, She
(06:51):
called to him across the lawn. Her smile sent a
host of shadows scrambling for more melancholy venues. Bryant, is
that you. He had not seen her for forty years.
He left her right there in the gazebo, promising her
he would return, promising her they would make a life
(07:13):
together and raise a family. The lore of steady work
in the Everglades had beckoned him. Laborers from towns all
along the eastern seaboard flocked to Florida to make miniature fortunes,
constructing a road across the vast river of grass. Bryant
swore he would save every penny, return to Rocky Point
(07:34):
and settle down with her. Late that summer, a pack
of thunder clouds drifted off Africa's western coast and raced
across the Atlantic. The heat of the ocean fuelled the cyclone,
the whims of the sea guided it. When the hurricane
reached the Carolina coast, the seaside village of Rocky Point
(07:57):
virtually disappeared. Overnight. Rescuers waded through marsh and forest for
days trying to reach the town. They found not a
single building left standing, not a single boat afloat in
the harbor, not a single living inhabitant. They found corpses
(08:19):
and debris, and tragedy. Authorities faced the grisly task of
recovering the bodies, identifying as many as possible, and laying
them all to rest in the old burying ground, one
of the few recognizable landmarks to have survived the storm.
After the final memorial service, Rocky Points subsided into the
(08:41):
pages of history. Bryant Monroe learned about the disaster months
later when he returned to Wilmington. He squandered the money
he had earned in Florida, trying to drown memories of
Rocky Point and whisky. He scuttled his dreams and resigned
himself to misery. He made a living doing the only
thing he knew how to do. He signed up to
(09:03):
work the shrimp boats out of Smithville. Over the years,
he had heard the tales. Fishermen probing the coves and
creeks near Oak Island swore that they had seen the
village of Rocky Point as though it had never vanished.
When the moon swung low over the Atlantic, and sea
fog caressed the coastline. They swore that a ghostly likeness
(09:28):
of the village would materialize. They spoke of shadows in
the form of men, and voices whispered on the sea breeze.
Bryant had listened to sailors spin the stories time after time,
rewarding them both with fascination and with beer. Still he
could not return to Rocky Point, not until now. Bryant
(09:52):
Monroe gazed upon his first and only love. He climbed
the steps and sat next to her in the gazebo,
watching the moonlight pierce her vaporous form. It is you, Bryant,
she said, leaning against him. Yes, Lydia, I've come home.
(10:13):
He could smell her perfume, and her hair tickled his neck.
Had she any misgivings about his tardiness She forgave him instantly.
She knew why he had finally returned to her. Everything
will be fine, sweetheart, She kissed his forehead gently. You
(10:34):
will be safe now that you're home in Rocky Point.
What I loved about this story is the mood. Lee
Clark Zumpe doesn't rush. He sets the stage the way
the classic writers did, letting the setting settle into your
(10:57):
bones before the supernatural begins to whisper. When I first
read it and learned that he had promised to come back,
had left his woman waiting for him, but that he
hadn't returned for decades, I thought, Okay, here we have
another story with a guy who made promises and didn't
keep them. But he did keep his promise, he didn't
(11:18):
abandon his love. She was taken from him. I read
a lot of stories, many that are predictable, so it's
always nice to be pleasantly surprised, and this one has
a happy ending. They get to be together in death.
So thank you so much, Lee for such a nice story.
The kaidon Kai has so many interesting stories like this
(11:40):
one from every genre, so please subscribe to the podcast
and follow us on whatever social media you prefer. We
have accounts on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, and some stack.
All the information is in the episode description, so thank
you so much for listening today. I'll see you next week.
Welcome to the kaidon Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host Linda Gould,
and tonight I'm reading Return to Rocky Point by Lee
Clark Zumpe. Tonight's story is steeped in missed memory and
(00:32):
the pool of a place that refuses to let go.
An elderly man returns to Rocky Point, a place where
he was happy and had great expectations. But he's drawn
there now by regret and a love that never died.
Is it too late for some of those expectations to
(00:52):
be met? Lee Clark Zumpe is an entertainment columnist with
Tampa Bay Newspapers and a fiction writer who's York has
appeared in numerous literary and genre magazines. A lifelong fan
of horror, his stories blend character driven narratives with cosmic dread.
He lives in Florida with his wife and daughter, and
(01:14):
now dim the lights, settle in and prepare yourself for
Return to Rocky Point by Lee Clark Zumpie and Joy
Mist crawled over the lumbering surf coiling itself around the
(01:36):
base of the lighthouse on Oak Island, and slithering through
the gently sloping sand dunes. Along with the encroaching twilight,
it skimmed across the glassy surface of the inlet, lapped
at pilings in the harbor, and washed over the wharves.
In downtown Rocky Point. Gulls noisily scuffled over meager scraps
near the fish house, while one lone shrimp boat crept
(02:00):
across the horizon. The distant crew carefully skirted the ragged
coastline on the Atlantic, heading further north to another point,
either Smithville or Waite's Inlet. Standing on a bluff overlooking
the seaside village, a solitary figure inventoried the shadows haunting
the somber streets of Rocky Point. Beneath the arching limbs
(02:22):
of a live oak once used to lynch pirates, Bryant
Monroe stroked his silvery whiskers and scowled. The chill in
the air off the water made brittle his aging bones.
Even as a young man, he had felt the icy
sting of October dusk heralding winter on this gentle rise
(02:43):
set above the Carolina shore. Nothing ever changed in Rocky
Point Bryant Monroe had not come home for many years.
The burden that had kept him in exile for decades
stemmed from both grief and regret, and had transformed into
a bitter, bleak and lonely soul. Tonight, he swallowed his
(03:06):
guilt to find an old acquaintance. He descended the cobblestone
steps and tramped through a weedy meadow while the moon
gradually scaled the twilight summit. The moonglow exiled some sinister shadows,
but lent depth to others even more menacing, Bryant negotiated
the narrow, winding lanes beneath the serpentine sable limbs of
(03:28):
the live oak canopy. He examined ancient mansions and their
crumbling gables, the raised porches cloaked in darkness, the shuttered
windows and uninviting doorways, and ethereal gardens of the century's
old fishing community. As he passed the old burying ground,
he reluctantly skirted the wrought iron fence and circling it.
(03:51):
His gnarled fingers squirmed nervously around the bars of the
gate as he struggled to recognize names on the closest tombstones.
I wondered how many people he had known had come
to rest in this forgotten field, ultimately abandoned by mourning survivors,
allowed to drift into vague and formless memory, until they
(04:13):
existed as little more than indistinct faces in boxes of
photographs or unfamiliar names in family trees. They were all here, friends, family,
fellow fisher folk, and their kin. Generations of people whose
lives were governed by the whims of the sea rested
beneath his feet in the cold, callous Carolina ground. They
(04:36):
disclosed their final secrets, confessed a lifetime of sins, and
recounted the highlights of their lives to swarms of apathetic worms.
Bryant Monroe brushed a tear aside. He could not find
the stone he sought amidst the beguiling shadows. He wished
he had visited it at least once before this night,
(04:59):
out of re specked or grief or regret. Still he
had not come to mourn her. Now he shambled through
the vacant streets downtown, wary of shuffling indistinct forms down
on the docks. Midnight fast approached, and he had little
time to spend chasing echoes of former shipmates, or reminiscing
(05:21):
over a pint in the tavern with the barkeep, whose
tails had surely grown as stagnant as his ale. Shop
windows blackened, street lamps dimmed, this effigy of Rocky Point
seemed suddenly lifeless and distressing. He half imagined children playing
in the empty schoolyard, young couples walking hand in hand
(05:42):
along the waterfront. Around each corner, though and down each avenue,
he found nothing more than hazy memories superimposed upon the
cruel backdrop of reality. Moving slowly down Hall Street, he
recognized immediately the two story house at the end of
the lane. The lattice work framing the three steps to
(06:03):
the front door glistened in the moonlight. Hmm. He had
kissed her on those very steps when he was only seventeen.
Out back, he saw her sitting in the gazebo, staring
innocently at the constellations, waiting for him to return after
all these years and teach her the names of familiar stars.
(06:27):
Unlike him, she had not aged a single day. Unlike him,
the years had not ground down her features and bowed
her frame and made frail her slender limbs. Unlike him,
rampant cancer had not riddled her with tumors. Bryant, She
(06:51):
called to him across the lawn. Her smile sent a
host of shadows scrambling for more melancholy venues. Bryant, is
that you. He had not seen her for forty years.
He left her right there in the gazebo, promising her
he would return, promising her they would make a life
(07:13):
together and raise a family. The lore of steady work
in the Everglades had beckoned him. Laborers from towns all
along the eastern seaboard flocked to Florida to make miniature fortunes,
constructing a road across the vast river of grass. Bryant
swore he would save every penny, return to Rocky Point
(07:34):
and settle down with her. Late that summer, a pack
of thunder clouds drifted off Africa's western coast and raced
across the Atlantic. The heat of the ocean fuelled the cyclone,
the whims of the sea guided it. When the hurricane
reached the Carolina coast, the seaside village of Rocky Point
(07:57):
virtually disappeared. Overnight. Rescuers waded through marsh and forest for
days trying to reach the town. They found not a
single building left standing, not a single boat afloat in
the harbor, not a single living inhabitant. They found corpses
(08:19):
and debris, and tragedy. Authorities faced the grisly task of
recovering the bodies, identifying as many as possible, and laying
them all to rest in the old burying ground, one
of the few recognizable landmarks to have survived the storm.
After the final memorial service, Rocky Points subsided into the
(08:41):
pages of history. Bryant Monroe learned about the disaster months
later when he returned to Wilmington. He squandered the money
he had earned in Florida, trying to drown memories of
Rocky Point and whisky. He scuttled his dreams and resigned
himself to misery. He made a living doing the only
thing he knew how to do. He signed up to
(09:03):
work the shrimp boats out of Smithville. Over the years,
he had heard the tales. Fishermen probing the coves and
creeks near Oak Island swore that they had seen the
village of Rocky Point as though it had never vanished.
When the moon swung low over the Atlantic, and sea
fog caressed the coastline. They swore that a ghostly likeness
(09:28):
of the village would materialize. They spoke of shadows in
the form of men, and voices whispered on the sea breeze.
Bryant had listened to sailors spin the stories time after time,
rewarding them both with fascination and with beer. Still he
could not return to Rocky Point, not until now. Bryant
(09:52):
Monroe gazed upon his first and only love. He climbed
the steps and sat next to her in the gazebo,
watching the moonlight pierce her vaporous form. It is you, Bryant,
she said, leaning against him. Yes, Lydia, I've come home.
(10:13):
He could smell her perfume, and her hair tickled his neck.
Had she any misgivings about his tardiness She forgave him instantly.
She knew why he had finally returned to her. Everything
will be fine, sweetheart, She kissed his forehead gently. You
(10:34):
will be safe now that you're home in Rocky Point.
What I loved about this story is the mood. Lee
Clark Zumpe doesn't rush. He sets the stage the way
the classic writers did, letting the setting settle into your
(10:57):
bones before the supernatural begins to whisper. When I first
read it and learned that he had promised to come back,
had left his woman waiting for him, but that he
hadn't returned for decades, I thought, Okay, here we have
another story with a guy who made promises and didn't
keep them. But he did keep his promise, he didn't
(11:18):
abandon his love. She was taken from him. I read
a lot of stories, many that are predictable, so it's
always nice to be pleasantly surprised, and this one has
a happy ending. They get to be together in death.
So thank you so much, Lee for such a nice story.
The kaidon Kai has so many interesting stories like this
(11:40):
one from every genre, so please subscribe to the podcast
and follow us on whatever social media you prefer. We
have accounts on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, and some stack.
All the information is in the episode description, so thank
you so much for listening today. I'll see you next week.
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