At The Crossroads Of Truth And Fiction: How It All Ties Together In Lake Dungeoneva
By Theron Moore
Introduction:
Portions of Lake Dungeoneva blur the line between truth and fiction. The same holds true for Roswell: Book of the Dead, though to a lesser extent. With Lake Dungeoneva, I chose to weave personal recollections from my childhood and adult years throughout the narrative because they aligned seamlessly with the book’s subject matter, themes, and scope—and because they enrich the reading experience. The convergence of truth and fiction at this intersection creates something remarkably compelling, a place where memoir and imagination merge organically.
I took a house from my past and constructed a fictionalized narrative around it, transforming lived experience into story. Later in this essay, I’ll explore that process while sharing personal recollections and insights into how I built the legendarium that became Lake Dungeoneva.
Writing this book proved deeply rewarding because it allowed me to draw from meaningful touchstones in my life—gaming, Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and the landscapes of my own history—while unleashing the wild, otherworldly creativity that thrives deep within my imagination.
As a writer, I’m intensely critical of everything I commit to the page. Yet with both Roswell: Book of the Dead and Lake Dungeoneva, I find myself genuinely satisfied with the final results. Both books achieved what I set out to create.
Part I: Dungeons and Dragons
ake Geneva, Dungeons & Dragons, and the entire genre of fantasy roleplaying games have had a massive influence on me creatively, stretching all the way back to the 1980s and continuing to the present day.
For example, all the D&D and gaming references in Lake Dungeoneva—none of that was an accident. Hell, even the title of the book, which combines “Dungeon” with “Geneva,” is a direct reference to the game and its historical roots in that town. Lake Geneva, if you didn’t know, is the birthplace of both D&D and tabletop wargaming.
Back in the late fall of 1983, I got my driver’s license, and by spring I was heading up to Lake Geneva every month or so to spend my hard-earned McDonald’s money at the Dungeon Hobby Shop. I’d buy anything I could afford that was Dungeons & Dragons or fantasy roleplaying game related.
TSR, which published D&D and other cool RPGs as well, used to be located on the second floor of the same building where the Dungeon Hobby Shop was housed for a while. It was Mecca for all gamers. Sometimes I’d build up the nerve to ask the cashier:
“Hey, is Gary Gygax or Ernie up there right now?”
I always expected to be shut down by whoever was behind the counter, but they were always friendly and cool to me.
“I don’t know. I can call up there and see. Have you met them before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“They’re good people. They love talking to fans and gamers.”
“Wow.”
That’s how I remember it. I’m sure I’m paraphrasing quite a bit here. There was also another time when I visited the store and saw an 8½ × 11 piece of paper taped to the door—posted by Ernie Gygax, Gary’s son, advertising his cat for adoption. I think I may have mentioned this in a previous essay, but man, that one really got me. I wanted that cat.
For some reason, I had this image in my head of playing D&D with my friends at my house with Ernie Gygax’s cat walking around near us. What a collision of reality and surreality that was for me. One time I bought gaming dice at the Dungeon Hobby Shop, and it occurred to me—while I was gaming with my friends Jay and Jon—that I was playing a session of D&D with dice I purchased at the Dungeon Hobby Shop run by the Gygax family that created this game. It was so absurd to me.
When I think back on those trips to Lake Geneva about a million years ago, I was a timid kid who came from a small farm town in Northern Illinois, with that Midwestern shyness a lot of us had back then. Deep down, I think I didn’t consider myself worthy enough to meet my heroes, let alone adopt one of their cats.
That paradigm changed later in life when I started interviewing rock musicians for whatever publication I was writing for at the time and came to find out that most of these people I held in high regard were no different than myself. And that’s when the hero worship stopped. Thank God it did.
I’m happy to say I eventually met Gary Gygax at a used bookstore in Rockford, Illinois, in the mid-’80s. I expected the store to be jammed with people, and when my dad and I arrived, there was no one there. We spoke with Gary for nearly half an hour before other people began trickling into the store to see the godfather of gaming. He was great to talk to.
I was a nerdy, starstruck kid with a million questions about every aspect of D&D you can think of, as well as wanting to pick his brain regarding fantasy and sci-fi movies. He never rushed me along or seemed disinterested. And that’s stuck with me to this day—what a great dude he was.
The same holds true for Ernie Gygax, whom I interviewed for a series of articles I did which appeared in the online version of New Noise Magazine several years ago. And for the record, Ernie was a mensch too—a real down-to-earth guy who just loved to talk about gaming and his time with TSR.
Shout out to Jeff Leason at the now-defunct Dungeon Hobby Shop Museum in Lake Geneva, who I met several years ago as well. Super cool guy and a legend in the gaming world with a legit TSR pedigree to boot. He, like Ernie, had no problem talking to you—or anyone else who wandered into the museum—about gaming, fantasy, and everything in between. Gary, Ernie, Jeff: all so friendly and fan-accommodating, never afraid to actually talk to you as opposed to being aloof or unavailable.
But times change, right? Gary and Ernie have since passed away. The Dungeon Hobby Shop in downtown Lake Geneva went out of business a long time ago, and unfortunately, the Dungeon Hobby Shop Museum is no longer operating either. All these years later, I still visit Lake Geneva, and now I have the privilege of taking my wife to this great city whenever we’re in the area. We’re even talking about retiring there someday—her idea, which I gladly support.
Part II: Lake Geneva & Wisconsin
The first time I incorporated Lake Geneva into my writing was back in the mid-’80s when I bought the game Call of Cthulhu at Gen Con in Kenosha, Wisconsin. I was very much into a movie called Dead and Buried at the time, and I had this idea of taking the premise of that film and tweaking it to become a Call of Cthulhu-inspired adventure set in Lake Geneva. Let me go back a bit further to give you more insight here.
When I found out that Arkham House—the masterminds behind all of the Lovecraft and August Derleth books I so adored—was located not too far away in Sauk City, near the Dells, my mind was blown. All of a sudden, this state took on an otherworldly feel to me. It hasn’t been the same since. Gaming, cosmic horror, great food, cheese and sausage—what more could you ask for?
Wisconsin, in general, was always—and still is—a favorite place of mine to visit for many reasons. It’s got a vibe and a groove that naturally fits my creative sensibilities, whether it’s gaming, the legacy of Arkham House, or visiting oddball locations that seemed straight out of Twin Peaks when I was a kid.
There was one time back in the ’70s when we visited Mineral Point, Wisconsin—one of many times, actually. Now, I don’t accurately recall what I’m about to tell you happened there, but I think it may have.
My parents, being the artsy intellectuals they were, heard about an artists’ colony there, so naturally my brother and I were dragged up to visit. I recall one location that grabbed my attention: a large, refurbished barn complete with a blacksmith, a glass blower, and various artists creating and selling their work. One group identified themselves as witches. Their artwork was, from the vantage point of an elementary school-aged kid, scary and weird.
The witches themselves, although nice and very cordial to their guests, had something “off” about them. I could sense or feel a type of energy inside that barn that was different and peculiar. One of the alleged witches caught me staring at a particularly disturbing painting on the wall and told me not to look at it—it was cursed.
Now remember, or maybe you don’t know this, but as an elementary school kid I had already encountered the paranormal in two different houses, in two different towns I lived in. You can read more about this in Lake Dungeoneva. I don’t hold anything back regarding my experiences.
I’m sure this lady was playfully messing around with me, but it was enough that I asked my mom to take me outside to wait for my dad. And the image of that painting stuck with me for years—hell, even to the present day. It was a portrayal of a woman who was screaming, as if trapped in a state of terror. And wherever I walked inside that barn, it felt like her eyes followed me everywhere.
The Dead and Buried adventure, the one inspired by the movie, found its way into Lake Dungeoneva. And the witches I encountered in Mineral Point, Wisconsin—I included them as well. Even though both stories are true, I embellished them for the sake of the story. These memories were too good to pass up and not include in some way, shape, or form.
Part III: UFOs and the Paranormal in Lake Dungeoneva
In a previous essay, I explained that the movie Poltergeist was a major influence on sections of this book. In fact, the principal paranormal investigator in Lake Dungeoneva was originally conceived to be the daughter of the Poltergeist character Dr. Lesh. And a certain character in ‘Poltergeist’ was based on Dr. Lesh’s friend Tangina, the medium featured in the movie. I eventually scrapped that idea because of the legalities involved with that intellectual property. Plus, I didn’t want to piggyback on or hijack somebody else’s original idea(s).
So, I rewrote it all.
I think it turned out even better this way.
The “House on High Street” was a real house that I lived in as a baby in Freeport, Illinois, and yes, it was rife with paranormal activity. The haunted house in Lake Geneva, although fictional, I connected to the house on High Street in Freeport via the “Shadow Dimension” and the strange portals inside each one. If one haunted house was good, two had to be better, right?
Lastly, “A Clowder of Cats,” a story I’m immensely proud of, features the infamous “House on High Street” in the center of its plot. The black cats that live there and protect it are a nod and a wink to the infamous black cat that lived with us inside that house when we occupied it.
The interview conducted by the principal paranormal investigator in Lake Dungeoneva with “the family”—that never happened, obviously. But the transcript of the conversation that appears in the book is real. It did indeed take place with my mom, brother, and wife after a very good Thanksgiving dinner was served a few years ago.
The background on my mother’s story about the UFO she and my father encountered goes back decades. My father spoke about it frequently as well. If memory serves, we talked about it maybe a couple of weeks before he passed away in 2010. They were never shy about talking about it with my brother and me, so much so that it just became part of our family history—family lore, per se.
Thank God I digitally recorded two separate conversations I had with my mom about this encounter. I still have both saved on my phone, and each conversation is about twenty to thirty minutes in length. I wish I would’ve done the same with my dad before he passed as well.
I think they told a handful of people outside our family the story of their UFO encounter, but it wasn’t very many. They kept that memory to themselves for the most part. I won’t go into details about the UFO encounter or what happened inside the house on High Street—that’s all documented in the book for you to read. It’s all right there, and I hold nothing back.
But the UFO encounter had a profound impact on both of my parents. I think maybe my mom more than my dad, though I could be mistaken about that. They both attended local UFO lectures, as well as a famous one in Chicago with the renowned J. Allen Hynek. My mother even took a class at Rock Valley College back in the 1970s and received a certificate in “UFO Studies.”
The haunting on High Street, however, was something my dad talked about quite a bit, while my mom shied away from it. It made her uncomfortable to speak openly about it. I also included my own experiences from growing up in my childhood home in Belvidere, Illinois, and the paranormal events I encountered there, all the way up to the present day and my own impactful UFO sighting in 2017.
All of this and more, believe it or not, is included in Lake Dungeoneva, and it’s all true. It fits in seamlessly with the theme, the vibe, and the overall subject matter of the book in general.
There was only one experience I had that I didn’t include in Lake Dungeoneva, and in retrospect, I wish I had written it down. But with anything, time just gets away from you, and it is what it is. I’ll recount it here for you.
Part IV: The Story That Didn’t Make It into Lake Dungeoneva
Back in 1991, I was living in DeKalb, Illinois, and unsuccessfully attending Northern Illinois University. On a side note, I’m happy to say that I recently graduated from NIU with my bachelor’s degree, so all is good in that respect.
I was living with my girlfriend at the time, and things were miserably failing between the two of us. I didn’t want to be in that apartment with her any more than she wanted to be there with me. Not a personal swipe against her—that’s just how things were back then.
One night, I walked down to the library and went downstairs to the student lounge to hang out and watch TV. It was right around 1:30 a.m. After a while, I decided to leave and go back to the apartment and hopefully fall asleep. Upon leaving the lounge, I went down the hallway to the men’s restroom. It was dead quiet. No one was around. You could literally hear a pin drop.
The brick-walled hallway I was in was a long corridor, and the downstairs—I believe it was square-shaped, so it was all right turns. The men’s restroom was located up the hallway a bit. It was a very impersonal and somewhat intimidating space to be in.
I got right in front of the door to the restroom when I heard someone moving up the hallway and off to the right, towards me. It sounded like they were dragging one of their legs across the floor. Whoever it was, they were moving slowly.
They’d take a step, then drag their leg—that kind of movement. And I could hear them periodically muttering to themselves, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I stopped and listened because it was so unusual, and there was something about this that felt “out of place” to me. Then the movement stopped.
In full transparency, I didn’t know who this person was, nor did I care. They might’ve gone into a stairwell or entered an elevator and left the area. It was just so odd that it caught my attention.
I went into the restroom, entered a stall, and sat down. All I wanted to do at that point was take a time-out and mentally prepare myself for the long walk back to my apartment, which I hated—both the walk and the apartment. Time check: It’s 1:30 a.m., and it’s super quiet where the student lounge is.
I heard the muttering first. It started up again. It was kind of off in the distance a bit, down the hallway. And then I heard the step and the leg drag after. “Him” or “it” was getting closer to the men’s restroom I was in. And trust me, I was really hoping they were making their way to the student lounge and would bypass me altogether.
Whoever this was, they stopped right in front of the door to the men’s restroom—at least that was my perception. I definitely felt a twinge of anxiety and got real still. No movement. At times, holding my breath. Then I heard the door to the restroom open slowly and that familiar sound: step and drag the leg. This person was now two stalls away from me, either in front of the sink or urinal—I couldn’t tell.
I felt my heart race, and my breathing got harder, stiffer. They weren’t moving. They were standing still. All I could think at the time was, Who is this crazy person, and what are they doing? They’re so fuckin’ weird… Now, granted, I’m recounting an experience I had at least thirty-five years ago, so take that as paraphrasing. But what happened next was, still to this day, unexplainable to me.
That person muttered again and then spoke in a very withered, frail voice and said, “It’s not nice to call people weird or crazy.” And I thought to myself, “What the hell? I didn’t say that out loud—I thought that in my head! They turned around, and I heard whoever it was nervously giggle. Then the door opened, and they left.
I remained in that stall—either in shock or disbelief, or maybe some combination of the two—for at least ten or twenty seconds. Then I got up and left the men’s restroom. As soon as I got outside, I stopped in the hallway to hear where this person was, and I didn’t hear anything. And like I said before, this is a long hallway. If this person was moving slowly and dragging a leg, I should’ve been able to spot them.
I walked up a bit and turned a corner and looked down the hallway. Nothing. No one. I turned around, went back to the student lounge, and looked inside. No one fit this mystery person’s description. I went back down the hall to the elevator I came down in and went upstairs. That person, moving as slow as they were—I should’ve been able to see them.
Nothing. Gone.
After that, I went back to my apartment, and that was it. I’ve only told a few people about this encounter, and now it’s here in print for everyone to read. Decades later, I still don’t know what to make of it. Was this a real person, or was it a ghost? With my track record, who’s to say? It could have been one of those bizarre happenstances I somehow got entangled in—one of those “wrong place at the wrong time” situations. I guess we’ll never know…,
