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“Gravesite Surprise – An Urban Trick-or-Treat Legend” – A Halloween Short Story I Wrote (Last post of 2023 Halloween season)
I don’t have much to say, really. Just, well, enjoy this story. Oh and….Happy Halloween!
Gravesite Surprise – An Urban Trick-or-Treat Legend
Halloween. A night of trick-or-treating. For some. It’s the younger kids that love this Halloween ritual. It’s all about candy. Lots and lots of candy. As for the older kids, trick-or-treating might be okay but they want something more. Trick-or-treating and something extra. Something more adventurous, more scary. Exploring a scary, urban legend just might be the “treat” to do “the trick.”
The legend involves trick-or-treating at a certain grave at a local cemetery. Twelve-year-old Jacob Matthew, or “Jay’M” for short, is down with this. His brother Paco Jesse (He goes by “PJ”), older by three years, thinks it’s kid stuff and dismisses the legend. But PJ is looking out for Jay’M so he must put up with his little brother’s pain-in-the-ass ideas. Little does PJ know that this will be the scariest night of his life.
*****
The little shit ran fast. Damn his own legs. They couldn’t keep up with his little bruh. Fifteen is no age for PJ to start getting all sore in knees. Too many hours crouched on the floor with his PS5. Tired from a simple sprint up a hill. Jay’M already made it to the top. The boundless energy of a twelve-year-old.
“I beat you!”
“I don’t care. Only toddlers want to run everywhere. Might as well skip like a sissy. Kids my age take things in strides, bruh!”
Jay’M stood there and looked around anxiously. He didn’t want to go anywhere without his older brother.
“Hurry!”
“Dude, I don’t even want to be here.”
The neighborhood cemetery was at the top of this hill. Every kid living within a two mile radius heard the legend. Find the grave of Joseph Zielinski. Stand over it, look down and holler “Trick-or-Treat”. Holler that phrase several times if necessary. Most kids who tried this left disappointed. Every once in a while, some lucky kid (or some bullshitter) reported hearing a disembodied voice that some believed belonged to a witch. She would both cackle and groan at the same time. While this was scary enough, there was more. Supposedly, Joseph Zielinski himself, dead for over thirty years, would make contact with the kid who dared utter that Halloween phrase over his grave. But had this ever really happened? Had anyone really experienced what might equate to “the horror jackpot?”
“One dude woke Joseph Zielinski. I shit you not,” one kid might say.
“Bullshit. Who?” was a common retort.
“He doesn’t live around here anymore.”
“He doesn’t live anywhere. He doesn’t exist.”
Then another more curious kid might say, “What happened when he woke up?”
“His ghost appeared hovering over the grave,” to which the skeptic would follow, “Oh yeah, how come I heard the ghost comes up behind you to grab your shoulders? See, you guys can’t even keep your stories straight.”
Jay’M believed it. He at least believed the part about the witch. Gina was sitting by herself at the bench below on the trail that led up the hill. She had just told him she was at the grave and heard the witch, only ten minutes ago. If it happened only ten minutes ago, that meant the witch was really out this Halloween. Invisible, maybe, but also real.
Gina used to babysit Jay’M. As her former charge, he was convinced she wouldn’t lie to him. Besides, at seventeen, she was almost all grown up.
PJ eventually made it to the top of the hill. Soon after, Jay’M was running again.
“Come on! I know where it is! Tony at school told me where to look for it.”
PJ followed slowly, distractedly.
“Hurry up! You scared?”
“Hell no. Bored AF is more like it.” Halloween or no Halloween, it was nine pm on a school night. He could be home right now playing Diablo 4 on his PS5
“Found it!” Jay’M said. He was excited. Over here!”
“Dude, chill. I heard you the first time.”
Both boys were at Joseph Zielinski’s grave. Jay’M had his phone’s flashlight shining down on it. There was nothing special about it. It was a flat stone mostly hidden by grass. PJ was secretly impressed that his little bruh had found the damn thing. The graves next to it were better kept; the edges around the plaque trimmed, some even had fresh flowers.
Almost immediately Jay’M shouted “Trick-or-Treat!” PJ shoved an earbud into his ear and turned on his tunes.
“PJ, you’re not going to hear the witch!”
“What?”
“I said, ‘YOU’RE NOT GOING TO HEAR THE WITCH!”
“”Bruh, there is no witch. I’m not missing anything.”
Jay’M shrugged and continued on with “TRICK-OR-TREAT! TRICK-OR-TREAT! TRICK- OR-TREAT!” Nothing. No cackling or moaning. PJ clandestinely turned the volume down on his phone just to see if his little brother’s efforts were paying off. They weren’t.
”Hear anything?” he asked, knowing there was nothing to hear.
“Well, I think I might have heard…wait..wait…I hear something!”
“No you don’t. I turned down the volume. There’s nothing.”
Jay’m looked dejected. Finally he said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Now let’s go, we gotta get home. Mom’s going kill us for staying out so late.”
The two boys strolled out of the cemetery and down the hill. There were now two girls at the bench. Gina’s friend Maxie had joined her.
“Hear anything? See anything?” Gina wanted to know.
“Nothing,” PJ said.
“That legend is total bullshit!” Maxie said, “For the hell of it, I tried earlier tonight. Nothing happened.”
“Girl, I swear to God, I was just up there twenty minutes ago. I heard the witch!”
“Maybe that was your echo. Talking to yourself again, Gina?”
“Bitch, shut up!” The girls laughed. PJ smiled. He had a crush on both of them. But they were two grades above him and he knew they weren’t interested in him in that way.
“You believe me, don’t you Jay’M?” Gina winked at him.
“I do! She wouldn’t come out cause PJ wouldn’t listen. He had his tunes on.”
With that, PJ realized he didn’t have his earbuds.
“Shit! I think I lost my earbuds”
“That sucks, bro!” Maxie said.
“You dropped them! Serves you right!” Jay’M said.
PJ turned to his brother, “Look, run on home. I’m going back up to look for them.”
“I want to come with you!”
“Just do as I say. You’re younger than me and Mom will be more pissed if you’re out late than if I am. Tell her I’m right behind you!”
“Fine.” And Jay’M left. Home was only a block away. But PJ was in no hurry to get his earbuds. He just wanted to be alone with the girls.
Gina suddenly grinned immensely. “Now that the kid is gone, I can do this.” From her coat pocket she pulled out a THC pen.
“That’s why you’re hearing shit,” Maxie said, “Smoking that stuff will make you hear anything.”
“True that, but I haven’t puffed yet tonight.” Gina looked at PJ. “I didn’t want your little bruh to think his former babysitter was a bad girl.” She laughed, inhaled, then handed the pen to PJ.
“No thanks,” he said shyly. She shrugged and handed it to Maxie, who obliged.
Suddenly PJ was feeling awkward. He wasn’t into smoking or vaping, whether it be THC, nicotine or whatever it was that kids puffed into their lungs. Maybe he would be in a year or two, but not now. And he didn’t know how to talk to people who were high.
Coming across the way were two boys, the same age as Gina and Maxie.
“Ramon! Jason! Come pop-a-squat!”
Obviously Gina knew the boys and they sat down, four people squishing on the bench while PJ remained standing. Gina introduced them to PJ, but the older boys weren’t very interested. They puffed on Gina’s pipe and Gina told them about her experience at the grave.
“I heard the witch too!” Ramon said. “Last year. I shit you not and that kind of stuff freaks me out.” Jason confessed to trying the trick-or-treat thing but said he heard nothing.
PJ was feeling left out, out of place. He excused himself to go back up the hill to the cemetery to hopefully reclaim his lost earbuds.
“See ya around!” Gina said.
“Don’t get in trouble up there cause we ain’t coming after you,” Ramon said.
The older boys were treating PJ like a kid. As he started the uphill climb, he heard the older teens laughing. Laughing at him, most likely. He figured it served him right tho’. He had sent Jay’M on his way, making him feel like a little kid.
PJ went over the legend in his head as he neared the cemetery. Some people he knew heard the witch, so they said. No one he knew ever saw any incarnation of the old man buried eight feet under.. Whatever. It was all bullshit anyway. Ramon and Gina were stoners, of course. Stoners hear strange shit. Ramone was also an asshole. Assholes are assholes and they can only hear themselves fart.
A few short minutes later, PJ found himself at John Zielinski’s grave. He aimed his phone’s flashlight down on the ground. Sure enough, his earbuds were there. He snatched them up quickly and put them in his ears.
PJ couldn’t help but smile. Here he was at this legendary grave and, what the Hell, he felt playful. No one was around to judge him. Yet he spoke quietly as if not to wake the dead. But wasn’t that the whole point of this, what do you call it, this “game?”
“Trick-or-treat,” he whispered. Of course, nothing happened. Why should anything have happened? Still, he had to admit, he felt disappointed. Admittedly, the tone of his voice had been quite lame. He could have done better than that. No mumbling. Proper annunciation. And louder. Much louder (but not too loud, he didn’t want the kids down the hill to hear him.)
“Trick-or-treat!” he said, almost but not quite shouting those words.
Two seconds. Five seconds.
“Why am I wasting my time,” he said to himself.
Just as he was about to walk away, he heard it. The moan. The cackle. The continuing sound of a squeaky-voiced woman in agony, crying out through obstructed airways. There was nobody else around. He was alone.
Suddenly he remembered. He had left a YouTube video running and his Bluetooth was on. The moan/cackle must have been from the video..
PJ removed his earbuds. His ears were tuned only to the sounds of the night around him.
The moan/cackle persisted.
He took stock of his surroundings. He saw no one. He saw nothing unusual. Everything was still. There was no passing of shadows. He heard no shuffling of feet, he heard no rustling of branches or shrubbery. No one was hiding.
However, he did hear from off in the distance Gina’s wild laughter.
That’s it, PJ told himself, the kids down below were fucking with him somehow. Figures.
Gina’s laugh, coincidentally, resembled a cackle. When her far off laughter died down, PJ realized that the moaning and cackling sounds that had been so close had stopped as well.
PJ didn’t know how she threw her voice like that. Was he scared? He had to be honest with himself. Yes, he had been scared. Was there an Amazon Echo device hidden around here? Whatever, he wasn’t going to look for it.
“Good one, Gina, you got me,” he said out loud. One last look down at the grave. His flashlight was powered on. He smiled. One last turn at this game.
“Trick-or-treat!”
Suddenly, a hand reached out from underground, tearing up through the grass and soil. Its wrist was covered with decayed skin. Bones were visible.
The witch moaned once more.
The hand grasped PJ’s ankle in a clenched-finger grip.
PJ’s scream tore into the night.
Down below, in response to the scream, Ramon said, “ I told him not to get in trouble. Kids never listen.”
Thirty Years Prior
Gretchen had pneumonia. This was the last thing she needed. Her immune system was already severely damaged from all the chemotherapy. She had tongue cancer. She had undergone a total glossectomy – the removal of her tongue. No one knew what brought on this cancer. She was neither a smoker or drinker. She was never infected with a HPV virus. Just bad luck.
Or..
Some say she brought on the cancer herself. Her two sons thought so anyway. Not a religious man but not above invoking The Lord into situations that could not be explained, her oldest son Paul said, “All the negativity, all the nasty comments over the years, The Good Lord finally said ‘Enough!’ and took away her speech.”
Gretchen still spoke though. Or she tried to. Still fueled with hostilities, she screamed and cussed almost every time she tried to speak. Her foul speech was reduced to a demented cackling noise.
Neither son would have anything to do with her. Her youngest son Rick went through a bitter divorce all on account of his mother. His wife Jenna was not good enough for him. Gretchen told her so to her face many times. Rick was forced to choose between his mother and his wife. He couldn’t make the choice so Jenna made it for him. She left him. Rick remarried, and right away Gretchen started giving his new wife shit. This time, Rick cut off all communication with his mother.
Paul suffered from his mother’s toxic diatribes as well. She told him he was dumb. She told him he was a son of a bitch, to which Paul had said, “Can’t argue with that.”
Both sons loved their father, but Joe always stuck up for his wife. “You should respect her more, you should listen to what she says.” He was a weak man under the thumb of his domineering wife. So when Gretchen came down with cancer, after her tongue had been removed, neither son would help their father in taking care of their mother. When both Mother and Father dies, days or even hours apart from each other, the sons did handle the burial arrangement. Their parents had done some pre-funeral planning, but for whatever reason, they had only purchased one grave.
“Fuck it,” Paul said, “Let’s throw them in the same grave.”
Rick agreed and this is what they did. But the tombstone only honored their father.
Before their deaths, their father spent several agonizing years with his decrepit wife.
Joseph Zielinski was Gretchen’s sole caretaker.
Gretchen gave him Hell. Wore the man down.
The moan meant his wife was in pain. The cackle meant she was demanding that he do something for her. Even if her pain was minimal, she let it be known, loudly, that she wasn;t 100%.
Gretchen found sanctuary in the upstairs bedroom. She never left it.Joe brought her meals. Up and down the stairs Joe trudged. He changed her dressing or helped her to the bathroom. Through it all, she bitched and, mostly, moaned.
Then came the pneumonia. It was too much for Joe. When he could, he sat on his easy chair in the living room. Sat and did nothing. No TV watching, no reading, just staring at the wall and wondering :”why me?”
Gretchen moan/cackled over the littlest things. Any kind of noise disturbed her. If a car alarm went off outside, she moan/cackled. When he ran the garbage disposal, the same. When there was a knock on the front door.
Halloween night. The trick-or-treaters came. Joe didn’t want to get out of his chair to answer the door. Sometimes the knock and the “trick-or-treat!” went unnoticed by his wife upstairs. These were her final days and she slept off and on. She would be in a deep sleep one minute, then only lightly sleeping the next.
The damn kids in this neighborhood, even with the main door closed they still shouted “Trick-or-treat.” When awake, the sound of the kids seemed to upset Gretchen the most.
“Unnnnnnnn-eeeeeee–klahhhhhh-oooooooan!”
Joe tried to ignore both his wife and the kids at the door. Very soon, he would be successful at ignoring his wife altogether, through no fault of his own. How can a dead man come to the aid of a dying wife? Impossible, so Gretchen too died, on November 1st. But on Oct 31, at around 9:00pm, the last of the trick-or-treaters came to their door. Had Joe known it was to be the last, he would have ignored it. He was frazzled, half out of his mind.
Knock knock knock knock! “Trick-or-treat!”
“Unnnnnnnn-eeeeeee–klahhhhhh-oooooooan!”
Joe rose out of his chair. He was very dizzy, the left side of his body was numb. He was having a heart attack. Still, he managed to reach out to the front door.
Gretchen moaned once more.
Joe died as his hand grasped the knob in a clenched-finger grip.
A Haunting in Venice: Second of Two “Haunt” Films I am Reviewing That Have Recently Premiered
Haunt 1! Haunt 2! Hike! We are hiking steadily through the month of October. We move on to :”Haunt 2”, one of two relatively recent movies with the root word “Haunt” in the title. And here we are, across the Atlantic, in post World War 2 Italy, enjoying the creepy nights in Venice, riding the gondolas in the moonlight through the web of canals, floating past water-logged villas and palazzos. At least one of these palazzos is reportedly haunted. Hence we have “A Haunting in Venice”.
At the time of posting, A Haunting in Venice is still in the theaters. That’s refreshing. Thinking that EVERYTHING in movie-theater land would be sacrificed at the altar of Taylor Swift and her eucharistic experience that is Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour film, which premiered this past weekend, I made sure my ass was in the theater watching this film before the Swift Second Coming (first coming the concert, second coming the film). My older sister joined me. It was nice. Hi Roxy!
Turns out, there are still other movies one can see that don’t involve this modern-day pop diva. The horror movies are out there. Many Chicago theaters run classic horror films. Then there are at least two horror films that have premiered this month, both of which are sequels to classic horror movies. The Exorcist: Believer and Saw X. And…both of them suck poo-poo, at least according to the reviews (I have not seen them). So it seems that the best modern film to get your Halloween fix would be A Haunting in Venice. Though it is not a horror film (it’s genre= Crime/mystery), it takes place on Halloween, it is deeply submerged in spookiness, it introduces viewers to a Venetian-style Italian haunted house, and it just might have a ghost or two booing around. Or not. It’s a mystery.
But make haste! This film premiered mid September. I foresee it disappearing before Halloween week as movies such as this with a modicum of success tend not to stay in theaters for more than a month.
I suppose there are several ways one can rank this film and evaluate its quality. According to wikipedia, it is loosely based on a 1969 Agatha Christie Novel: Hallowe’en Party. It is one of several films to feature director/actor Kenenth Branagh as “Hercule Poirat”, detective and solver of murder mysteries. Hercule Poirat is a prominent character in Agatha Christie fiction, appearing in 33 of her novels
Thus, one can compare the most recent Agatha Christie movies-turned-film. Roxy says she prefers Death on the Nile, and Murder on the Orient Express to A Haunting in Venice. Perhaps it is the least of the three films of Kenneth Branagh. I haven’t seen them, nor have I read Hallowe’en Party. In fact, I haven’t read anything by Agatha Christie. I’m an AC virgin! But maybe an avid reader of the Christie chronicles can explain everything that every filmmaker gets wrong when attempting to translate her work from page to screen. I cannot. Likewise, I am not an expert on the mystery genre in general. I barely know how to play the game Clue. So I cannot compare it to other whodunit flicks.
What I can do is apply my criteria for what makes an effective haunted house film to A Haunting in Venice and see if that affects my overall liking of the movie. I will do that. Apply! Apply! Apply! Results: I like this film.
Hercule Poirat has retired in Venice, but mysteries go on, even in his own retirement sanctuary. He is called to observe a séance, set to take place on Halloween night at a palazzo where a young girl supposedly threw herself out the window several years prior. It also happens to be the same locale of a former orphanage, where many children were abandoned to the deadly clutches of the Plague. The surviving mother seeks to reconnect with her deceased daughter. Several people are in attendance and it is Poirat’s job to debunk the medium who performs the séance.
The séance ensues and several scary things happen. Later on the same evening, someone has been murdered inside the palazzo. Poirat locks everyone inside; no one is leaving until he solves the murder mystery. A guaranteed creepy night awaits as our humble detective is subjected to some terrifying encounters, possibly even ghosts!
As mentioned earlier, I am not a mystery buff. Scooby-Doo is more my speed when it comes to this stuff. So I wasn’t deeply entrenched into the whole whodunit theme. Much of the plot concerning who all the characters were and why they were at the séance was lost on me, as the characters often spoke in heavy accents. There were no subtitles for guidance. So I just sat back in my reclining theater chair and took in all the atmospherics.
The black sky. The storm. Waves crashing into the wooden poles that surround the palazzo. The creepy projection show for the kids. Tall doorway arches. Long halls and high ceilings. Statues with lifelike faces. Old time pendulum clocks. Crashing chandeliers. Flickering lights and shadows. Arcane camera angles
The mood is right. The performances are solid. Though technically not a horror movie, A Haunting in Venice is a haunted house movie and a good one at that. Not the best of all HH films, just as it probably isn’t the best mystery film. However it is satisfying and capable of fulfilling one’s urge for some Halloween chills.
October Garden – A Narrative Following an Autumn Greeting from Yours Truly.
Happy Autumn to you, Happy Autumn to you, Happy Autumn dear readers, Don’t forget to go “Boo!”
Wait…I didn’t mean for you to “boo” the song, or “boo” me for that matter. I meant to make a ghost sound because Halloween is just around the corner and… Oh, nevermind!
It is Oct 1 and I’m here to tell you what I have planned at this blog to celebrate the Halloween season.
It all begins with a narrative I wrote concerning the coming of October. This spilled out pretty darn quickly from brain to screen, so it hasn’t gone through an extensive editing process. A little odd maybe, some awkward grammar here and there perhaps. But I think it’s alright.
Later this month, I want to review two haunted house movies that have come out recently and somewhat recently. Both have the root word “Haunt” in them.
Lastly, toward the end of the month, I’ll present a short story. It involves trick-or-treating, urban legends, and cemeteries.
How’s all that sound? Sounds pretty damn awesome, right?
Since today is the first of October, let’s get right to it.
I present to you:
It all happens on an empty field. A prairie where nature is allowed to run her course. The grass is tall and there are dips in the land collecting water. Frogs splash around and add ribbits to the night.
There are houses on either side of the prairie. They are identical and evenly spaced apart. They are accompanied by cul-de-sacs and maze-like lanes and courts. Those that dwell in the cookie-cutter houses parade about in their fenced-off yards, petting their pink flamingos and warming their upturned noses under tiki lights. They spit at the early setting sun, pounding their asses into lawn chairs to hold down summer. Folding their arms, hearts shielded from the telling breeze of early autumn. Lemonade seltzers between their shaking thighs. Oh my.
At least there are trees here and there. Does anyone look at them? Does anyone care?
Albert Jenkins knows what’s up. He’s the only one. A loner by trade, but he’s never lonely. No more lonely than the huddled asses sheltered in their confines in lonely groups of two, three of four. Two lonely + three lonely + four lonely = lots of loneliness. Remove all the extra asses to decrease the loneliness down to one. One who is more than ready to say “bye-bye” to the early setting sun. (“Bye-Bye sun, hee hee, Bye bye,” Albert says) Albert knows The Spirit is only one. The only one. The One Outside. Her will shall be and its best to open your own spirit to her inevitable ways.
Albert knows. Albert knows.
The thirtieth of September fades away and come October first, while the divided dwellers log onto their devices after dinner, Albert connects instead with the network configured by The One Outside. He has always been one to look toward the sky but this evening he does so with his back pressing into the Earth. The tall grass of the prairie threatens to cover him up like a discarded body from someone’s car trunk. But that’s okay, she will always see him. She looks at him from all directions, down, up, across, and out. Mostly out. Outside of time and space, beyond that blue substance that we call sky.
“Hear me please, my Only One! To you on the Great Outside, hear my cries!”
Albert hopes The Great Spirit will hear his pleas that originate from the inside. But of course she will.
“Let October come not with hesitation, but mightily. Allow it to flourish in every single atom. In every living cell. Birth its spirit generously, and let it carry in its essence the seeds of the hallowed. Eve be early, for the Hallowed are always welcome. Prepare us for Halloween!”
The One Outside hears him. She hears him indeed.
This evening, the early darkness is welcomed, if by no one else than Albert. This single welcoming is enough for The Great Spirit to double down on her duties. To pull the veil across the sky with greater speed. To hesitate not with the coming of the night.
The nighttime skies as of late had been rather sparse of celestial bodies. Not tonight. The One Outside does her thing, pressing the tip of her finger against the firmament, burning into the black veil of night a crescent moon. So much more spectral than a moon of full light. Shaped like the Grim Reaper’s scythe, hiding its fullest essence in darkness. With a wink she twinkles into being the stars. One million bright reflections of just one of her eyes. One blink yields a legion of flickers, and thousands of her eyelashes rain down in flutters. They come to life in the form of bats, crossing the moon in their flight and spiraling downward.
Albert smiles, and the long grass blades that surround him curl and retract. Poised like snakes in the moment before an attack, they allow him to have a clear view of the sky. His heart welcomes the descending bats, for what kind of Halloween season would it be with an empty sky void of creepy moons and scary bats?
There is more. The bats aren’t the only dark animation to decorate the night. Conjured from the shadows that cover most of the moon, silhouette witches on broomsticks flee the silvery glow. They are gigantic incarnations of the wall-hanging Halloween decorations in the days of yore. Albert sees them in the moonlight. Of the shadow and from the shadow, they make their descent. So far away yet Albert sees them all.
The bats have arrived, diving in steady arcs from tree to tree. The silhouette witches, shrunken to the size of the wall-hanging decoration they resemble, have finished their descent as well. Beings of pointy hats and noses. Their broomsticks like wild projectiles curving and dipping.
“Look at them go!” Albert cries as he takes delight at the hundreds of scattering witches. And go they do, beyond the trees in the distance, over the rooftops of the cookie-cutter house dwellers. Down into their 
chimneys, through the crevices in their foundations. Of the shadow and from the shadow, to return to the shadow. They hide within the darkest corners of the houses, their distinct shape dissolving as they blend in uniformly with the blackness. Unseen, yes. Unfelt, no. The dwellers will know. The dwellers will know.
And the blades of grass on their finely-cut lawns laugh. From blade to blade, they pass along what sounds like a possessed doll’s chuckle. Blade leaning into blade, the maniacal chuckles pass beyond the property lines and into the grass of the no-man’s-land prairie, until the blades of grass surrounding our man Albert strike at him with their tiny little tips and Albert is overcome with a fit of mad giggles as he receives a tickling of knowledge.
He knows what has happened. He knows the witches haunt the homes of the dwellers. And, he knows of “the beats.”
Existing in the shadows since the dawn of time, the witches possess the ability to echo the wildest beats nature has ever known. From the crashing of tides to the eruptions of volcanos, carrying with them the tromps of the mighty dinosaurs, the silhouette witches merge these beats into a wild but capturing rhythm that overcomes these dwellers. In spasmatic movement, they flee their premises of shallow dreams in a mad, hypnotic craze. Moving unnaturally, limbs contorted, bones snapping and breaking. they arrive at the prairie and continue on with their “Autumn Dance.” Tear marks appear on their bodies and foul innards and toxic entrails spill out. Clots of blood drip in pulps. Broken bones fall from their sources and litter the lands.
Albert hears this dance and all the accompanying footsteps. He prays to The One Outside for their redemption.
“Give them a second chance. Salvage from them what is good. Let what is bad be eaten by the earth!”
The One Outside grants his wish. To the prairie she speaks in a silent tongue that only the ground understands. It is a salutation that calls for a response and the earth dares not commit blasphemy through inaction. With utmost respect, it opens not one but several mouths.
Hundreds of chasms unfold across the prairie with deafening roars. The One Outside hears these roars and she is pleased.
In deference to the mouth’s hungry roars, the silhouette witches cease with the rhythms and the Autumn Dance comes to a halt. The broken people see these foreboding chasms and hear the mighty roars. They are the shivering, hyperventilating ones, now crazed with fear, for they see all that which has spilled from their bodies coagulating together into sluggish blobs. The foulest elements of their beings, sprouting sluggish arms, pull their remains forward. Part skeleton, part blob, they crawl in a path toward their fates. Toward their graves.
These “Path-Etics” hover at the edges of the mouths. The earth’s gravity, measured in hunger, strengthens and the Path-Etics are sucked inside the mouths. When every person present has fed the worst parts of their being to the earth, the mouths close and their lips pucker into mounds of satisfaction to form burial sites.
Now, this quaint October scene upon a prairie is blessed with a Halloween staple – a cemetery. Yay for Halloween.
The terrified ones still have more to give. The One Outside draws a hearty breath. In doing so, she sucks the cancerous components of their souls out of what remains of their skins. A horde of homeless souls hover outside the bodies that once kept them so protected. Attached to nothing, their forms threatened out of existence by the whims of chance and change, these banished ghosts wail into the night.
“Save us! Keep us whole and give us a place to be!”
The One Outside looks down upon Albert. He gently nods his head. All the stars twinkle as she returns his nod with a wink, sending delightful shivers up his spine. The ground too shakes. It has been blessed by the Spirit as well and the tremors are felt over yonder by the grounds that behold the empty dwellings where the witches hide. Overcome by such a blessing, the grounds turn soft, permeable and willing. All the houses, garages, lanes and courts sink deep into the soupy grounds, never to rise again.
Out of nowhere, looking down upon the prairie, a new house has formed. A dark, mysterious mansion with a crooked terrace, loose shutters and broken windows. To this house the lost souls are banished. They take up residence immediately, taking their sorrow with them for company.
The overall setting looks quite different than it did twenty minutes ago. The sky is in full night time mode. The moon is menacing. Both bats and witches are out and about, for the witch silhouettes fled the houses when they were sinking into the ground. Only one house stands – a house of lost souls.
And yet there is still the matter of the community of former cookie-cutter house dwellers. They have lost the toxic, bile-ridden parts of their body; converted to slime, buried in graves. They have had the toxic parts of their souls removed from their essence. Though several hundred stand, there is very little left in each. It’s amazing how much toxicity consumes a person, leaving behind only a small percentage for goodness. Whatever is left stands bewildered upon the grounds. Old and young looking aimlessly in all directions. Bodies weak from depletion. The aftermath of a spiritual lobotomy. They are practically zombies.
Albert knows there is a plan for these folks. The One Outside has granted all his wishes so far. She is not about to leave the people in such a dismal state. From outside the boundaries of all that is known, She whistles a haunting melody, sending it inside a wind. The wind falls upon the land, stripping leaves from the trees to make for a picturesque autumn setting. It seeps into the soil, dropping deep, deep and deeper. The song that is inside her heavenly breath is meant for “the slithering one” that lurks deep within the earth. It alone will take in its seductive call.
Still lying with his back upon the ground, Albert’s spine feels the vibrations of the waves created by the snake-like entity. It is awake. It is the One True Root from which all living things grow. It unites all roots as it slithers among them. It passes undetected from host to host, extracting life out of every seed and cell. Its branches are infinite. It is everywhere all the time.
Tonight, The One True Root is potent like never before. The Spirit’s voice penetrates its scales and echoes throughout its elongated body. It stimulates each and every branch. Tonight the branches rise to the surface and break through the earth’s floor. They slither around every single person that stands on these grounds. They burrow into their skin and deposit seeds. New life forms sprout from within their bodies. Vines break through their stomachs, tendrils squirm out of their noses. Yellow and orange flowers break out everywhere. Green leaves unfurl throughout the entire surface area of their skins.
Firmly rooted to the ground, these people never need to move again. This is their place. It’s out with the old and in with the new. The new is coming through, breaking through their heads like hatchlings cracking through their eggs. Their new heads are big, round and orange.
The graveyard that was once a prairie is now a pumpkin patch as well. Halloween, here we come.
But the setting is not yet complete. For the first time since the beginning of this October transformation, Albert stands on his feet. He knows what he must do on behalf of the members of the community. He must empty the little bit that exists within their hollow heads. Rid them of preconceived notions. Using a pocket knife, he slices into the pumpkins and pulls out their guts. Continuing on, he carves eyes into the pumpkins’ heads so that his former neighbors may see their new environment. Next, he chisels out noses below the eyes so the former cookie-cutter house dwellers might smell autumn’s
aroma, maybe for the first time ever. Below the nose he cuts out mouths, not so they can speak but so they can smile at their brand new lives with appreciation.
The final task. Albert points to the sky. The One Outside blows him a kiss and it descends to the earth in a ray of light. The light strikes Albert on the finger, causing it to glow. “All around the neighborhood, I’m going to let it shine!” Albert says, quoting a song from his childhood. Into each and every pumpkin he inserts his glowing finger. A portion of the glow remains inside every one.
It is the best neighborly gesture ever. By the power and grace of The One Outside, Albert lights souls into existence. The light inside each pumpkin absorbs whatever portions of the old souls that have been left behind and transforms them into something fresh, something new.
It’s October at its finest. Gone are the tacky houses and the artificial people they hid. In its place is a graveyard, a pumpkin patch, a haunted house, and brand-spanking new spirits as fresh as pumpkin pie! The witches and bats make fine spectators and they take in the scene as well. Albert is mad with glee! The One Outside appoints him the caretaker of this October Garden and he accepts this position proudly. He turns to look at all the lit pumpkins. Oh how they smile! They love it. Everyone loves it. October is going to be a great month. The best. Happy Halloween!
The Uninvited – My Impressions of Haunted House Theater
Hey everyone, how y’all been?
I haven’t posted in this blog since the Halloween season. There must be someone out there who missed me.
During my time away, I’ve read several haunted house books. I’ve even seen a haunted house movie or two. So I’ve got a backlog of things to write about.
Being that it’s spring, I’ll begin fresh. What if I bring you a review that is not a movie or book? For instance, how about a play? Yes, this will do nicely. However, the play is based on a book. And a movie of it came out long before the play was written. ( Playwright Tim Kelley adapted it in 1979). So in a way, there’s a connection to film and literature.
So, a play it is! I’m sure I have everyone’s endorsement. I will feel that buzz of approval radiating from my screen when I go back and read this after it’s published. Oh I know I will.
Anyways, sorry that I haven’t updated this blog since October. I didn’t mean to “Fall” away, but let me “Spring” forth with a long overdue update.
So come on in. I’m welcoming you. Don’t worry, you won’t be “Uninvited.”
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So there I was on Facebook, scrolling up and down, and suddenly there was this ad. I’m sure it was a targeted ad, since FB knows how much I love ghosts. It looked something like this:
“Hmmm,” I said to myself. What did I do about this “hmmm?” I bought tickets to the play, that’s what I did.
For those that don’t know, College of DuPage is a community college just outside of Chicago. It was my first time on campus. It is closer to where I work than where I live, so I went straight from work one Friday evening. I went all by myself, but hey, I got myself a seat right by the stage.
. Not since I took an Intro to Theater course at N.I.U. back in 1990 did I attend a college play that didn’t star a relative. I’ve attended plays as a class requirement. I took in theater performances to support family members. In both cases, I enjoyed myself. But this was the first time I attended a play for the theater experience itself. The play’s story I knew from film and I was anxious to see how it translated to another platform: The theater.
The Uninvited is a ghost story written by Dorothy Macardal in 1941. I know very little, if anything about the book. I’ll have to change that. Most of what I do know is from this article for the Dublin Inquirer. I was introduced to the story from the 1944 film of the same title, which is directed by Lewis Allen. I saw the film twice, both times on Svengoolie! I wrote about it here at this blog. Honestly, I thought it was an okay film with an okay kind of story. But I didn’t attend the play to reimmerse myself in the narrative. I attended to see how a stage can transform into a haunted house.
Being as close as I was, I felt as if I was part of the environment. I was in the haunted room itself!
Look at this photo of the stage:
Behind those green curtains in the back of the photo is a fictional entrance to an outside walk that leads to the sea. There are shutters on either side, and it thrilled me to pieces when unknown forces caused them to open and close, open and close, bang bang bang! Often accompanied by a compelling audio of a strong seaside wind, these shutters were the highlight of the play!
Continuing with the subject of compelling audio, I enjoyed the ghostly sound of a phantom woman crying from inside the nursery, which is inside the white door. It is open now and then throughout the play, but only half way. A light shines from inside. Then there is the music. Eerie melodies begin when a character recites lines foreshadowing ghostly events. They start off softly then gradually get louder.
So there’s an excellent use of the scenery. There’s absorbing audio. Then, there’s a nice working of shadow and light. Was it my imagination or did a shadow traipse across the stage from left to right? Or was it an atmospheric beam of light? By George, I think it was both! The spotlight captured the woman in the portrait from time to time while the rest of the stage darkened. She may or may not be the ghost in this story.
So, that’s that! Great review or what?
Oh, was I supposed to say something about the story? As long as I’m questioning myself, what about the actors and their performances?
As far as the performances are concerned – they were, ya know, good. Mostly impressive. Sometimes overacted. Great job with accents. What else can I say, after all I was there for the stage atmosphere and haunted house happenings!
As I hinted earlier, the story is so-so. I’ll just state the obvious. There is a ghost in the house. The homeowners and guests want to get rid of it. That about sums it up.
The play, as well as the film, suffers from using too much backstory to explain the plot. This is not the fault of the play’s director or the actors. In a meet-and-greet after the show, Director Amelia Barrett postulates that this play may be harder for modern audiences to take in due to all the back and forth dialogue. For me, if it was natural flowing dialogue that brings the story to new heights I would have no problem. It’s just that the mystery and the solving of said mystery is all worked out through conversations concerning several characters that are only mentioned and never seen (Cause they’re all dead.) Admittedly, this is quite boring.
I’m making a stronger case for myself to read the book. I’m betting the plot unfolds at a more natural pace on the page. Hopefully I will read it.. Then I can do a book/film/play comparison. I hope this sounds exciting. I’m tickled with giddy-snorts thinking about it. Are you?
My Novel “The Acquaintance” is on sale for 99 Cents!
Today, my latest book The Acquaintance went on sale. For one week, it will be sold for the low, low price of 99 pennies! Of course, here in the digital age, you don’t have to scrounge around for 99 pennies. You can just use your Amazon account and download it to your reader, and your credit card will figure out how to give Amazon 99 pennies. Pretty nifty, huh?
It’s a relatively short read but it’s slightly over 50,000 words, which is considered to be the minimum novel length. But come on, not bad for 99 pennies!
To get an idea of the story and writing style, I offer this excerpt. Hope you enjoy it!
(Click the picture below to go to the Amazon buy link!)
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It happened again. Footprints formed before his stunned eyes overabout 150 yards across the field, one ahead of the other. This time they weren’t passing along the side of the house. This time they made their way toward the window. Coming at him. One after another, pressing their way into reality with silent “pops!”
Jonah flew into a rage. He ran quickly to his coat, hat and gun. He gathered these items in his arms in one scoop. His gloves he handled with more care. Seconds later he was out the door, haphazardly dressed, his gun on a strap and hanging loosely over his shoulder. His gloves covered his hands from his wrists to the tips of his middle fingers.
Walking around to the rear of the house, Jonah made his way across the field, walking in the direction from which the footprints had come. He could see them up ahead. There were tracks leading to his picture window, that was for certain. They seemed to have originated from somewhere in the middle of the field. No longer were they forming in real time. Jonah marched forward, following the tracks into the open field, tromping through the snow in his street shoes. He didn’t want to waste time putting on his boots and he was regretting that decision; his feet were freezing. Though he could see no one, he knew someone had to be there (Something?). Despite what his eyes told him, footprints didn’t create themselves.
By trekking across the middle of the field, he was abandoning all the precautions he had taken when he ventured out yesterday, precautions he had also neglected on his return trip back to the house. Bad habits, laziness, outright foolishness had come to describe his work. Jonah realized all this but he forgave himself. By and large, his gangster days were finished. He was retired, but he needed to make just one more kill. And at the moment, his rage made him feel invincible, even to bullets that just might happen to come his way from inside the surrounding woods. Yesterday’s Jonah was blinded by a similar rage. Today’s Jonah was a different man. Yes, he was terribly sick (he was short of breath throughout his walk) and over-anxious to catch whoever was stalking him, but he would think clearly this time. He would keep his wits. It wouldn’t be long now, since the trail of footprints were coming to an end. Jonah saw a pair of hightop gym shoes at the end of the trail. Sitting there as if they had always been in that exact spot, perhaps like one of the trees ringing the field.
They were as white as the snow that surrounded them, which might have been why he hadn’t seen them from the window. Still, none of this made any sense. Shoes couldn’t walk without a body, but the tracks stopped where the shoes stood. Jonah could only conclude that whoever had been wearing them ditched them before running off into the woods. However, there were no tracks leading into the trees indicating such a thing happened. All physical evidence pointed to the actual existence of a walking pair of shoes that more properly belonged on a basketball court, not on the snowy grounds of his hideaway.
They are trying to fuck with me! Whoever is trying to kill me is trying to drive me crazy before they go on for the kill.
Jonah approached the shoes slowly. Could there be a bomb attached to them somehow? Hadn’t a terrorist tried to blow up a plane by starting his shoes on fire, forcing travelers to remove their shoes at security checkpoints in airports ever since? He crouched down. He choked down a cough, fearing that its sound could set off the potential explosives. Carefully, he extended his hand . He would just press down on the rubber front tip of the shoe, just to make sure they were real. To make sure that…
Something happened.
Jonah recoiled and fell on his rear. His face was soaked with sweat. He was dizzy…and afraid. For the first time in many, many years, he admitted to himself that he was scared.
The shoe hadn’t blown up. If it had, this situation would have made more sense, would have at least conformed to the laws of the universe. Instead, the shoe backed away, moving as if it were pulled by some invisible force. All Jonah could do is look on in amazement, his eyes fixed not only on the left shoe now several inches out of line with its right counterpart, but also on the track line that the shoe had left in the snow after it slid across its surface.
Jonah sat there in the snow, dumbfounded. If he were to get up, stand on his own two shoes, what then? Would he move in on this pair of high tops? Was it these shoes that were his enemy, his target for termination? Seriously? How pathetic!
Perhaps he would simply back away, or even run away (he never ran.) This was the situation he found himself in…really? Debating on whether or not to retreat from a pair of fucking shoes? Oh, how he would rather have someone pointing a gun to his head. That would have made sense. He wouldn’t have to fear an approaching bullet, because a bullet would do exactly what it was supposed to do. No mystery, no surprise. But these shoes, they were doing the impossible!
The impossible suddenly became even stranger. The shoe closest to him, started to tap. Up/down, up/down the tip went, pushing itself in and out of the snow. It was the tap of a waiting person, like a pen against the desk at an office meeting, waiting for the boss’s decision. An empty pair of shoes, waiting for Jonah to get up off his ass, waiting for him to make his move.
Mesmerized, he watched the tapping of the shoe, transfixed. It was nearly hypnotic, like when a person stares at a watch on a chain swinging back and forth, back and forth.
Maybe that’s it, he thought. I’m hypnotized. All this is happening in my mind!
As if in response, the tapping shoe dug deeply into the snow. Coming back up, it kicked snow into Jonah’s face. He felt the stinging cold and wiped the wetness out of his eyes. Real sensations. Real snow on his face. That kind of assault would wake anyone out of a trance. If indeed he had been in a trance, he was awake now and still the shoes were there, causing mischief.
Sometime when he had been wiping his face, both shoes turned the opposite direction. They walked away from him toward the line of trees, leaving tracks in their wake. Jonah got back on to his feet. He approached the tracks and crouched over, examining one of the footprints closely. These were the same tracks he saw yesterday. He straightened up and watched as the creepy pair of shoes walked out of sight into the forest.
Where Have You Been?? (I’m here now!)
Ghosts. Haunted Houses. Halloween approaches and where am I, an author and blogger dedicated to writing about horror? I am here, that’s where! I know, haven’t posted very much this year. Have I posted at all? I dunno, let me go back and check. Hold on, listen to some music or something.
Well how do you like that? Not one stinking post for 2022. I need a beating. I really, really do.
Sorry about my inactivity. Been a different kind of year. Got a new job that keeps me busy. Then there was all this stuff I had to do. You know how stuff is. It bunches up, then begets other stuff. Soon you have stuff on top of stuff, stuff inside stuff. Suddenly there is so much stuffing you’d think we skipped Halloween altogether to arrive at Thanksgiving.
Time to get my ass in gear. Every Halloween season, I do some kind of theme at this blog. Last year it was the Haunted House Ha Ha’s – comical films about haunted houses. Another year I compared books to their corresponding films. (i.e. The Exorcist, which is better – Book of movie?) One time I had access to Stephen King’s Rose Red miniseries and I posted a different episode each week.
This year I’m setting the bar low, so please watch so you don’t trip on it. My plan is to write and post a couple of articles I have been postponing all year. But wait – there’s more.
Remember that book I published last year – The Acquaintance? No? Oh I see, you did remember but you had forgotten. Well now’s your chance to “reacquaint” yourself with this early winter tale of a phantom pair of shoes that walks about in the woods. I’ll post excerpts and later this month, I’ll take 50% off the cover price!
Get your ghostly gear ready folks, because October is here and we are blasting off toward October 31’s waxing crescent moon. I’ll do what I can to add to the thrills of the season.
My Latest Novel -The Acquaintance – is Now Available for Pre-Order. For Now, Preview A Couple of Paragraphs.
Cyber Monday (November 29) is just around the corner. My latest novel eBook, “The Acquaintance” will be available for download on that day. But you can pre-order it now! (Hint: Click the Pic!)
It’s a short novel, filled with ghostly delights and other supernatural phenomenon. It draws upon elements that make up the genre Weird Fiction. Though H.P. Lovecraft is most associated with this genre, this novel is perhaps more similar to the works of Algernon Blackwood. It takes place in the late autumn/early winter in a woodsy setting, with creepy things hiding among the trees and roaming about upon the fallen leaves and snow. If offers a fresh imagination of a soul’s journey when discharged from the body upon death.
Here be some sample paragraphs:
Days will pass and it doesn’t matter where they choose to go. These days, “where” happens to be nowhere, smack dab in the middle of the remote. This is by design, of course. The rustic, two-story house stands tall, watching over its surrounding space with protective intentions. Taller than an average house, but not tall enough to see beyond the trees of the forest’s perimeter. It is the trees’ job to guard against any unwelcome outsiders. It is the house’s job to provide a comfortable spread for its sole occupant. With large picture windows, it lets this occupant see out into the acres of grassy fields that stretch between the house and the circling forest. Jonah Dalton, the occupant, could stand watch from inside the sitting room, looking out, making sure.
These days arrive and depart in a place far beyond the cities or towns. There are no roads connecting to any highway exit ramps that will lead to this house. It is just out there in Nowhere, USA. Never mind the state. The outlines on a map that signify a state’s boundaries would only get lost out here. All this to make sure no one can find Jonah Dalton.
It is quite cold these days. Autumn still has a few weeks to go before she goes to sleep. She has made her bed of leaves across Jonah’s fields. But her current wakefulness does not ward off the cooler temperatures or even snow. Depending on the given day, Jonah will either see snow or leaves on the ground. There’s always a covering, isn’t there? Jonah’s greener pasture days are long behind him, if he ever had such greenery. If he did, those were “those days.” These are “these days.”
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Strange days, these days. Dangerous days. Deadly days. Let’s explore some of these days in more depth. We’ll begin two weeks after Jonah moved into the house. He had been disturbed by other things in his new environment before then, but what he saw outside his window one particular morning brought forth a turning of what had been a gradually increasing sense of unease into an exponentially heightening recognition of his own terrorized state of mind. Let’s call this morning Day 1.
Halloween Haunted House Ha Ha’s Get Better With Beetlejuice
All that’s here is – Halloween Ha Ha’s
Halloween Boo Boo’s!
Haunted House Ha Ha’s!
Yes, it gets better but hardly magnificent IMHO. My first impressions of the movie? Oh shit, there’s that guy that shot his cinematography director and director; man does Alec Baldwin look young!
See folks, what’s happening here is this middle age guy is taking his very first plunge into Beetlejuice land in the year 2021, thirty-three years late. Oh I have seen a scene (“seen a scene” – isn’t that a cool phrase?) here and there over the years. I was very familiar with the dinner party scene before watching the film. But for the most part, I was a Beetlejuice virgin. How I wish I had seen this movie back in the 80s. I am sure I would have liked the film much better.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a good movie. But if I had taken a break from trying to sneak into bars and clubs back in March of 1988 when I was a minor and had gone to the movies instead, maybe I would have seen Beetlejuice then. The magical ways of Tim Burton would be fresh and awestriking. The claymation wouldn’t seem so dated. And maybe the starring couple Adam and Barbara Maitland (Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis) wouldn’t annoy me as 80’s style “squares.” Then, years later, say, oh I don’t know, a year like 2021, I might revisit the film, take note of the datedness, but still fondly enjoy it for its nostalgic appeal.
For me, Tim Burton is hit or miss. I like him but don’t love him. My main critique is “His films are too dark for little kids….” and here is where my niece interrupts and rebuts my criticism with “But Uncle Danny, his films aren’t meant for kids!” But here is the second part of the critique – “His films are too flavored with the stuff of fairy tales for adults”. The critique applies to Beetlejuice. I liked the film, didn’t love it. On a grade scale allowing for pluses and minus, I might give it a B. Lowest grade B+
The bizarre-looking creatures, the circus-like scores of Danny Elfman, the flamboyant characters, the colors, the animation, all of this I have already sampled and devoured in Burtons’ films that came later. I missed the launch of his style. Well, I did see Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, and while what would become his signature style is certainly present in that film, it isn’t a fantasy story involving magical or spooky characters.
It is a unique plot I do admit. A ghostly couple wants to rid the house they are haunting of humans so they hire a bio-exorcist. His name is pronounced “Beetlejuice”. Ghosts wanting to exorcise their house of humans, great twist! And Michael Keaton as the grisly uncouth ghoul steals the show. I was surprised at how little screen time his character had. More Keaton would have been much better. The “world of the afterlife as portrayed in this film – interesting and creative. And how cute a young Winona Ryder was!
Of course, that dinner party scene – Day-O (Banana Boat Song – is dope! It’s the best part of the film and here it is! (Unless YouTube has taken it down) It’s worth several “ha ha’s”
The Books of Daniel 