Apr 21, 2015


I'm formally announcing that this shall be the last post on The End of Summer. I opened this blog a million years ago back in July of 2011 (my first post was a review of Insidious, if you're curious) and since then have done my best to provide you with insights on every horror-related thing I could conjure. Now, nearly four years later, I've said everything I have to say and am looking forward to seeing what else may be out there for me to pursue. This blog has allowed me to "meet" a wonderful array of people, some of whom whose contributions to horror cinema I've respected for way longer than I've been blogging for TEOS, whereas other people I've met I now consider to be my friends. 

TEOS itself isn't going anywhere - it will remain upright and fully-stocked for your late night reading; though I did my best to provide you with daily updates of constant oddness, think more of the blog as an archive of the creepy and the morbid for you to scroll through at your midnight leisure. 

For anyone who ever stumbled upon TEOS at random and decided to check in from time to time, I thank you. For anyone who ever bookmarked TEOS with the intention of checking in every day, or "followed" the blog for that same reason, I thank you more. 

If it's midnight, stop by. You never know what you'll find.

Now Available:
The world’s oldest celebration comes to life in The End of Summer: Thirteen Tales of Halloween, an anthology that honors the darkest and strangest night of the year. Each story is designed to be intrinsically and intimately about Halloween—its traditions, its myths, and its effects—and they run the gamut from horrifying to heartbreaking. Halloween night is the tapestry through which a haunted house, a monstrous child, a late-night drive to a mysterious destination, and other tales are weaved. Demons are faced, death is defied, and love is tested. And not everyone makes it out alive. The End of Summer has arrived.


For those who have stuck with me over the years, you know that The End of Summer goes all out every year on April 21st (at midnight) in honor of John Carpenter's The Fog.

Sorry to tell you: I don't have anything planned for this year. Instead, please enjoy one or all of the following celebrations from previous years:




Apr 20, 2015


"In five minutes, it will be the 21st of April. One hundred years ago on the 21st of April, out in the waters around Spivey Point, a small clipper ship drew toward land. Suddenly, out of the night, the fog rolled in. For a moment, they could see nothing, not a foot in front of them. Then, they saw a light. By God, it was a fire burning on the shore, strong enough to penetrate the swirling mist. They steered a course toward the light. But it was a campfire, like this one. The ship crashed against the rocks, the hull sheared in two, mars snapped like a twig. The wreckage sank, with all the men aboard. At the bottom of the sea, lay the Elizabeth Dane, with her crew, their lungs filled with salt water, their eyes open, staring to the darkness. And above, as suddenly as it come, the fog lifted, receded back across the ocean and never came again. But it is told by the fishermen, and their fathers and grandfathers, that when the fog returns to Antonio Bay, the men at the bottom of the sea, out in the water by Spivey Point will rise up and search for the campfire that led them to their dark, icy death."

Apr 19, 2015


In 1930s Detroit, a man named Joseph Figlock was to become an amazing figure in a young (and, apparently, incredibly careless) mother’s life. As Figlock was walking down the street, the mother’s baby fell from a high window onto Figlock. The baby’s fall was broken and Figlock and the baby were unharmed. A year later, the same baby fell from the same window, again falling onto Mr. Figlock as he was passing beneath. Once again, both of them survived the event.


Apr 18, 2015


Run fast.


The thing that lives in your mind

A young girl stares at her reflection in the mirror. A voice in her head talks to her slowly, in words she can understand.

“Who are you?” She asks the voice slowly.

“I am your friend.” the voice replies. “I can play with you when you get lonely.”

“But what’s your name?”

“My name? I am the Un-you. I live in everyone.”

“How do you do that?” The little girl asks slowly?

“Would you like to see me?” The voice asked.


The girls reflection began to move.