#HALLOWEEN: RECOMMENDED READING: THIRTEEN HORRORS OF HALLOWEEN

Isaac Asimov is a name that carries a lot of weight in the literary world, whether you’ve read his works or not. Personally, I never have and likely never will, as frankly his history of writing “hardcore sci-fi” just doesn’t appeal to me on a general level.  For instance, I adore Ray Bradbury, but would never attempt to read his journey into the sci-fi realm, as it’s just not my thing—not to mention I probably wouldn’t even be able to follow along with either author’s prose.

So color me surprised that, like Bradbury, I one day randomly discovered a small book of Halloween short stories called Thirteen Horrors of Halloween compiled, edited by, and with a contributed story by Asimov. Naturally I gave it a shot – that H words gets me every time. What I found was a mixed bag; the stories that dipped their toes in the horror pool were fairly solid; those utilizing a safer genre (from mystery/noir to scientific espionage) were, sadly, less impressive. Though the day/night of Halloween was their constant, the stories’ tie to it were sometimes tenuous at best.

Anthologies by nature are usually a mixed bag. An anthology’s editor will attempt to compile great writers with different styles united in one common theme. Because of this, not every story will appeal to every reader. Kudos to any editor who ever broke that code, because I have yet to read an across-the-board anthological success. This collection is no different. Some of the stories are fantastic, some are average, and some, well…

Let's get with the good, first.

“The Forces of Evil” by Isaac Asimov (Foreword)

This introduction is incredibly interesting as it delves into the history of Halloween. Most Halloween compilations feel the need to do this, so some of this information will be familiar, but some of it will sound quite new—like Halloween’s connection to 500 B.C. Persia…or even the bible. And did you know that in certain parts of the world there is a second Halloween—May 1?

Imagine the possibilities…

“Unholy Hybrid” by William Bankier

A rather simple story about a farmer named Sutter Clay, renowned for his keen ability to effortlessly grow the most impressive and even visually interesting crops in his small town. His crops are proudly displayed each year at the town’s autumn celebration; his fellow townspeople have come to expect nothing less. He’s a man who prefers a life of solitude, but one rainy night, a drifter knocks at his door asking for temporary refuge from the nasty weather. Described as a “homely” woman, she proves herself immediately useful by cooking him meals and cleaning the house. Soon it’s several months later and she hasn’t gone anywhere—she’s used to having a place to stay, and he’s used to having her cook and clean. Things get complicated, however, when one night she confesses to him that she’s pregnant—with a direct and unavoidable implication that it’s his—and he’s none too happy about that. Without a clear reason why, Sutter solves the problem the only way he knows how. And that’s when that thing begins to slowly grow out of his grounds and haunt him.

“Unholy Hybrid” is great Halloween pulp. It’s rather dark and bleak, and its plot rather simplistic. It’s like a scenario any burgeoning writer concocts in their own mind as a possible story idea to pursue before waving it off and rightly assuming it’s already been done. Still, that doesn’t make it any less entertaining. And I like that, unlike most Halloween-set tales, this one actually begins months before the holiday. Entire seasons pass during Bankier’s careful yet momentary details, and it all leads up to Sutter Clay’s final terror—in the late hours of a new-born Halloween night.

“The October Game” by Ray Bradbury

Honestly, if you’re even reading this and showing an interest in Halloween-based literature, it’s likely you have read perhaps the greatest Halloween short story of all time. I’m not even sure how you could have missed it, as it appears in nearly every Halloween anthology I own. (Read it now.) It’s a story about a man who has grown completely unhappy with his life – caused by his loveless wife, Louise, and who gains no feelings of fulfillment by the love of his young daughter, Marion. Forced to host a Halloween party for friends and their children, the story opens with him staring hard at a gun in his bedroom drawer and pondering potential futures before he plasters a fake smile across his face and begins to host the night’s festivities – including a rendition of a familiar Halloween party game involving a nasty story and pieces of food you’ll never forget.

Apropos for Bradbury, “The October Game” is as nasty and mean as it is darkly humorous. Bradbury is an absolute master of his craft and easily envelops his readers with the emotions of his characters. Bradbury is a man who loved life and remained wholly optimistic about it for most of his career, but his ability to write about despair, isolation, and sadness would make you think otherwise. The antagonist of “The October Game” isn’t a monster or a sociopath; he is the embodiment of a very real fear to which most people can relate – his life is the end-result of choices he wish he hadn’t made, and which has come to feel more like a prison than anything else. And he sees only one way out. “The October Game” ends with a wicked last sentence, which by itself is innocuous and even amusing, but takes on a much different meaning after having read the events leading up to it.

“Halloween Girl” by Robert Grant

One of the several tales in the collection  that sheds the horror in lieu of something different. Timmy and Marcie became fast friends not long after Marcie and her family moved into town. The two discovered they have a lot in common – especially when it comes to horror. They love everything about the genre and have spent countless hours in libraries and movie theaters soaking up every dread-filled second. Naturally their most anticipated day of the year is Halloween and the next one is looming, but it’s also one that will prove to be incredibly unforgettable.

Grant’s tale is an extremely sweet and melancholy story. It’s about young love, death, and growing up over the course of one Halloween night. It does a fine job of keenly making the reader recall the same types of friendships from his/her own childhood and it works well because its own simplistic yet effective iteration of a shared childhood works in tandem alongside your own. The ending will bring a sad smile to your face, for sure.

“Night of the Goblin” by Talmage Powell

Told from the point-of-view of two fathers – one a caring and thoughtful man, whereas the other is anything but – two young children readying for a Halloween party will cross paths in a way that where one of them is changed for good, while the other will have no idea the part they played. And all it takes is one Karmel King.

“Night of the Goblin” is not horrific in an obvious way – there are no monsters or killers – but it does touch on themes of emotional and possibly physical abuse, and what a victim of said abuse is willing to do in order to save himself. And it uses an infamous Halloween urban legend to do it. There is a very clever re-imagining of "trick-or-treat." There is a plot within the plot, masterminded by one individual. This is the trick. But this mastermind will be utilizing the most mundane thing in his candy bag to pull it off. This is where the treat comes into play. Though not a challenging read, Powell's tale sets itself off from other Halloween tales in that focuses on something much more real and much closer to home. It's likely the story you won't think much about soon after finishing it, but will soon come back to fester somewhere in your mind.

“Pumpkin Head” by Al Sarrantonio

A little girl named Raylee, a shy introvert at a new school, is encouraged by her teacher to tell aloud a scary story during their class Halloween party. Raylee shares with her classmates the tale of Pumpkin Head, a sad and lonely boy born with a mutant head shaped like – you guessed it. It would seem Pumpkin Head could only take all the bullying of his students for so long before bringing something to the front of the classroom to show his teacher: a metal lunch back. And in that lunch box is a knife. “My lunch and dinner,” Pumpkin Head tells his teacher. “My dinner and breakfast.” Raylee’s teacher halts the story before its gruesome ending, but the kids seem to love it, anyway. One of the students smiles and invites Raylee to her Halloween party that night. It’s the last party many of them will ever attend.

“Pumpkin Head” by Al Sarrantonio has been printed in several different Halloween anthologies (just like Bradbury’s "October Game") and there’s a good reason: it’s fantastic. It is a very clever and accomplished amalgam of Halloween traditions, present both in the upfront setting, but as well as a thematic level. It’s about wearing costumes – obvious ones, not so obvious ones, and ones beyond our nightmares. It unfolds with suspenseful inevitability, but you're not quite sure for whom you're concerned. Is it Raylee, the introvert who just wants acceptance? Or is it her school mates, whose allegedly good intentions might actually instead be motive to make Halloween for little Raylee a lot more like hell?

“The Circle” by Lewis Shiner

A group of thirty-somethings continue their tradition of gathering together every year in an isolated cabin on Halloween night to share the scariest stories they could find – whether of their own creation or by a celebrated author. Among them is Lesley, somewhat pensive about attending this year’s meet after having a tryst with Rob, a former lover she had brought with her the previous. Their romantic whatever ended rather abruptly and she hadn’t heard from him since, but she attempts to forge ahead. Once the member stake their seats, one of the takes out a letter from Rob, explaining that he would not be attending that year’s get-together, but requests the enclosed short story be read aloud. After a bout of silence, Lesley agrees to read it. And things take a turn for the worse when she realizes that events in the story seem to be closely mirroring real life—VERY closely.

“The Circle” is a pretty great offering. It is a brief tale, but it packs a mean punch. Lesley is surprisingly fleshed out, given the brevity of the events, and it even manages to add a satirical bent, eager to go after what seems to be the target of literary critics. I can certainly get behind that! (Read the whole thing on the author's website.)

“Yesterday's Witch” by Gahan Wilson

A group of kids who one Halloween night tempt fate and knock on the door of Miss Marble, whom the children believe to be a witch. The yearly visitation of her house by neighborhood kids has become a Halloween tradition, but the most any kid was willing to do was knock on her door before hightailing it out of there. But this year, one particular boy has decided he's going to knock...and wait for her to answer. And who should answer the door? The elderly and harmless Miss Marble, who invites them in for treats? Or does a bonafide witch, like so many of the kids believe, answer the door?

Perhaps both...

Written less like a story and more like a childhood recollection, "Yesterday's Witch" ably captures the spirit of Halloween in a rather innocent fashion. It's certainly one of the more PG offerings in the book, but still manages to chill you, should you let it. Gahan's choice to recollect the story using a child's memory strengthens the details and even catches you off guard with its wicked ending.

The remainder of the collection offers stories either so-so or less so. “Halloween” by Isaac Asimov is a very brief mystery that takes place in a hotel on November 1. It would seem some plutonium has gone missing and the man who stole it is dead, his last words being – you guessed it – “Halloween.” There’s nothing horrific about this tale at all, and its ties to Halloween exist only to create a quick mystery before ably solving it. Even the most loyal fans of Asimov's work regard this as a curious but forgettable piece from the author's otherwise pretty expansive and impressive body of work.

“Day of the Vampire” by Edward D. Hoch is a pretty Tales from the Crypt-inspired tale of a vampire living among other citizens of a small town. It’s a decent little time-waster, and accept for taking place on October 31, it doesn’t really have anything to do with Halloween. And you know how I feel about that...

“Trick-or-Treat” by Anthony Boucher uses the traditions of Halloween as a plot device. It’s a ho-hum affair story with very basic ties to Halloween, but if you’re a fan of vintage mystery writing, you might appreciate it.

Ellery Queen is another famous figure in crime writing—both the actual name of the detective as well as a pseudonym for its author—and what we have with “The Adventure of the Dead Cat” is a mystery that needs to be solved at a costume party. It’s not one of my favorites.

Nor is “All Souls'” by Edith Wharton, an early 20th century author who, like her peers Poe, Lovecraft, and M.R. James, committed to paper some very intimidating and (now) antiquated writing. If I sound like an ignorant cretin, I guess I’ll accept that, but “All Soul’s’ ” is just dull, simply put, and its length was determined by masochists everywhere.

“Victim of the Year” by Robert F. Young is probably the most unusual. A man severely down on his luck runs afoul of a witch at the unemployment office who warns him that he has been targeted by a coven to bear a year’s worth of bad luck. You could argue the man finds redemption and even gets the girl, but still…the girl's a witch. What if you piss her off?

Thirteen Horrrors of Halloween hasn’t been in print for years, but used copies can be snagged on Amazon for literally a penny. It’s more than worth it, if only for a handful of great stories as opposed to an entire collection.

#HALLOWEEN: JACK-O-LANTERN

#HALLOWEEN: YIKES

 

You will never be the same.

#HALLOWEEN: AUTUMN WINDOW

Autumn Window by Sam Wolfe Connelly. 

#HALLOWEEN: YOUR FINAL SACRIFICE

"When Michael Myers was six years old, he stabbed his sister to death. He was locked up for years in Smith's Grove Sanitarium, but he escaped. Soon after, Halloween became another word for mayhem... If there's one thing I know, you can't control evil. You can lock it up, burn it and bury it, and pray that it dies, but it never will. It just... rests awhile. You can lock your doors, and say your prayers, but the evil is out there... waiting. And maybe, just maybe... it's closer than you think."

#HALLOWEEN: UNSUNG HORRORS: DARK NIGHT OF THE SCARECROW

Every once in a while, a genuinely great horror movie—one that would rightfully be considered a classic, had it gotten more exposure and love at the box office—makes an appearance. It comes, no one notices, and it goes. But movies like this are important. They need to be treasured and remembered. If intelligent, original horror is supported, then that's what we'll begin to receive, in droves. We need to make these movies a part of the legendary genre we hold so dear. Because these are the unsung horrors. These are the movies that should have been successful, but were instead ignored. They should be rightfully praised for the freshness and intelligence and craft that they have contributed to our genre. 

So, better late than never, we’re going to celebrate them now… one at a time. 

Dir. Frank De Felitta

1981

CBS

United States

"[I] seen it, Otis. The scarecrow. The same one. Bullet holes, everything. Just like before. Only now it was filled with straw."

Scarecrows have become infamous iconography of Halloween, though as far as I know, there are no myths about scarecrows that concern our favorite day of the year, and their history don’t lend themselves to such a connection. Perhaps we can thank Nathaniel Hawthorne’s 1852 short story “Feathertop,” about a scarecrow brought to life by a witch in Salem, Massachusetts. Their connection to farmland and harvest (and hence, autumn) could argue for their association as well. But regardless the link remains and I’m cool with it, because they make a fine addition to a fine holiday. Go to any Halloween party store and you’re likely to find a scarecrow mask or costume, or even a decapitated and blood-dripping scarecrow head. (Don’t think about that one too long, or you’ll ruin the fun.)

Sadly, scarecrows are slowly being phased out of regular usage, as farmers are opting to instead use wooden silhouettes of large predatory creatures or even beach-ball-shaped contraptions that do god knows what, but do apparently scare away birds. More effective they might be, they are certainly less interesting.

The scarecrow has been used only moderately throughout horror cinema, which is a shame, because their visage is effortlessly creepy and could make for a good on-screen threat given the right approach. Unfortunately, most of the scarecrow’s voyage into celluloid have resulted in count-them-on-one-hand entries actually worth your time. 1990’s Night of the Scarecrow is a fun and low-budgeted little thriller featuring a very young and beardless John Hawkes; 1988's Scarecrows is a flat, though sometimes bizarre, offering; 2011’s Husk is a decent time-waster that gets more right than it does wrong. And the less said about the direct-to-video Scarecrow Slayer series, the better. But 1981’s Dark Night of the Scarecrow will likely always reign supreme. Recently resurrected for an unexpected video release in 2010, and nearing the end of its license before it goes back out of print, Dark Night of the Scarecrow, for decades, belonged to that dubious club of horror films that continued to live on after their first theatrical or television appearance through bootleg networks. Following a 1986 VHS release (and going out of print soon after), legitimate copies of the film were nigh impossible to track down. It was one of those movies that risked being lost with time. But, as any loyal horror fan will do when denied their white whale of a film, they set out to horror conventions or to the many websites specializing in unavailable or never released films to secure themselves a copy likely created from a 37th generation VHS tape.

When the legitimate release was announced in 2010, I wasted no time in snapping up myself a copy. After all, I had heard nothing but praise for the film for many years, and having a rough idea what it was about, I was incredibly interested and excited to give it a watch. About scarecrows, set on Halloween, and allegedly scary. Of course I was all over it. After all, the quote from Vincent Price proudly blazed across the front – “I was terrified!” – was quite possibly the only marketing a horror film would ever need.

My copy soon arrived and I saved it for near-Halloween. And I watched.

And though I found the film to be well made and well acted, I was surprised by how…uninvolved in the story I found myself. And I was a little disappointed in another regard: the lack of scarecrows. I was expecting to see that infamous canvas-bag face sitting atop the shuffling straw-filled figure as it chased down its victims one by one. But that didn’t happen. In fact, the lone scarecrow remains limp and still for pretty much the entire running time – and is only on screen for about five minutes.

I remember at the time chalking it up to just yet another film I had lost to the hype machine, as nothing could have lived up to the years and years of folks saying they recall having watched it when it aired on television and how scary it was, etc., etc.

But something unexpected happened: though I thought the film was reasonably good, I held onto it. (This is important to note, as I was once an avid collector of films, CDs, and books, and would immediately get rid of anything I felt wasn't worth keeping.) And in the days following my first viewing, I found myself thinking back on the film, as it had somehow stuck with me. So, a few weeks later, I watched it again.

And I got it.

I saw what the big deal was and this time I simply allowed myself to be taken away by the story.

In a nameless mid-western town, a young girl named Marylee Williams and a simple-minded man named Bubba Ritter (Larry Drake) play together in the middle of a field.  These two are good friends – have been for some time – and this really bothers a few townspeople, namely Otis (Charles Durning), Skeeter (Robert F. Lyons), Philby, (Claude Earle Jones), and Harliss (Lane Smith). He and his cohorts believe that Bubba is potentially dangerous and perhaps even a pervert, and such should not be allowed near any young child. "He's a blight...like stink weed and cutworm that you spray and spray to get rid of, but always keeps coming back," Otis seethes. "Something's got to be done...but it has to be permanent."

While harmlessly sneaking into a backyard to play with a decorative garden fountain, a dog viciously attacks Marylee and Bubba manages to save her. She is brought to the hospital bloodied and unconscious and Otis naturally assumes the worst. He gathers up his hateful posse and heads out to the Ritter farm to exert some private justice.

Bubba’s mother (Jocelyn Brando), having hidden her son within the scarecrow poled in their back field, forbids the men from entering the house. She attempts to lie and says Bubba is nowhere on the property, but the men know better. They instead begin their search outside, and through the holes on the scarecrow’s burlap-sack face, Otis sees Bubba’s terrified eyes. The men open fire, killing Bubba with an obnoxious amount of bullets. Then they find out the truth – that Bubba hadn’t been the one who hurt Marylee at all, but had actually saved the girl’s life from what everyone learned was a dog attack. Otis places a pitchfork in the dead Bubba's hand, his mind already piecing together a possible way out of trouble. An eerie wind picks up immediately after...announcing a vengeance soon to come.

Otis and his posse are tried for Bubba's murder (rather quickly), but they claim self-defense, and because the prosecutor can present no witnesses and no evidence, the men find themselves free – at least from the courts. Having just gotten away with murder, the men are feeling pretty good. But then each of the men begin seeing the Ritter farm scarecrow – the same one in which Bubba had attempted to hide – planted in the middle of their own fields. And then the men are picked off one by one by an unseen killer in the order following their visitation by the scarecrow, as if someone were taunting them…or letting them know who would be next.

There are plenty of red herrings provided to us. The killer could be anyone: Bubba's mother, who in a fit of rage loses her mind and begins tracking down the men who killed her son; or perhaps it's District Attorney Sam Willock, who tried to prosecute the men and was nearly thrown back in shock when they were set free; it could even be one of the men responsible for Bubba's death, buckling under the simmering guilt he has successfully hidden away from his friends.

Or perhaps it's the ghost of Bubba himself, back from the grave to take his revenge on the men who took him away from his mother and his only friend...

A friend of mine was killed the other night.

So I heard.

They all think it was an accident. I don't.

There's other justice in this world.

Besides the law?

It's a fact. What you sow, so shall you reap.

Dark Night of the Scarecrow is intelligently engineered so that our antagonists suffer for pretty much the entire film. Though they begin to succumb to the fear of their being murdered, and are haunted by the harbinger of doom that is the Ritter farm scarecrow, they never show regret. They never break down and say, “Oh, I wish we hadn’t killed that poor man!” And because of this, we watch without conflict or guilt as each of the men are hunted down. We pity none of them are they are each killed on their own farms in the middle of the night.  We certainly don't pity Otis, as the film bravely dedicates much of its time with this man who is seemingly willing to do anything to save his own skin…and is very willing to kill again. It is a very bold move to have your audience spend the majority of the film following around a completely despicable character. After all, we’re never going to pity him, or show him our sympathies – there will be no catharsis for him – so in the interim until his inevitable fate, we will enjoy watching him squirm.  His death, for us, will be a release – especially when young Marylee finds herself in peril once more.

There’s no reason at this point to reaffirm Charles Durning as one of the greats (RIP, sir), but I’ll reaffirm, gladly. At this time in his career, Durning was enjoying himself in little thrillers like this, as well as When A Stranger Calls and The Final Countdown, and he was certainly open to taking on the role of Otis, a complete scuzzball in every sense of the word. He’s an unapologetic murderer, this we know, and an insensitive asshole who doesn’t know when to quit as he takes it upon himself to begin harassing Bubba’s mourning mother, whom he assumes is behind the tragedies befalling his fellow vigilantes. But he’s also something else, too. Though the film does a very good job of straddling this fine line, it’s very carefully intimated that Otis is a pedophile. He’s a single male, one among many in the boardinghouse where he lives, and the earlier scene with Otis and Mrs. Ritter confirms as much, as she tells him she knows "exactly what [he is]. This is a small town. Everybody talks.”

This, frankly speaking, was a fucking ballsy move to impart on this otherwise straightforward ghost movie (made for television, no less).  It also adds a very seedy new layer: Perhaps Otis hadn’t so impulsively killed Bubba simply because the man-child’s friendship with Marylee disgusted him. No… perhaps Otis was jealous, even being… territorial.

Gross.

Larry Drake’s screen time as Bubba is understandably limited, as he’s shot full of holes within the first twenty minutes, but it’s nice to see him play a simple and innocent character like Bubba Ritter. He is so ingrained in our minds thanks to his villainous turns in Dr. Giggles or the Darkman films that typically our only affiliation we have with the man is being a cigar-cutting or pun-hurling sociopath. To Drake's credit, it’s always tough and potentially career-damaging to play a character with developmental deficiencies, but Bubba really just comes across as a child – easily prone to fear and shy around girls. He’s charming and even cute – by design, as I’m sure the filmmakers wanted you to feel especially angry towards the men who eventually take his life.

The film is very dissimilar from the previously mentioned Night of the Scarecrow, Scarecrows, and Husk – those films' directors were not afraid to make their straw-headed killers vicious and violent. People are hacked apart, strangled, even raped with penetrating straw spears. But in Dark Night of the Scarecrow, all the gruesomeness is left to your imagination. The men are killed, oh yes, and in imaginatively painful ways, but never on screen. It is old school in its execution because it is old school. A swinging shaded bulb complementing a man’s desperate screams is far more affecting than a man being folded in half by random farm equipment front-and-center on screen.

Despite the obvious constraints of a television budget, director Frank De Felitta (The Entity) shows real skill and creativity. The first scene of the ghostly Ritter farm scarecrow stuck into Harliss' field is captured in one extreme long shot, making the scarecrow barely visible, yet still unnerving and nightmarish. But the second sighting in Philby's field is perhaps better; we see the man looking horrified at something off-screen and in the distance, and he begins to run towards it. Finally he falls to his knees as the camera pulls back...and reveals the scarecrow.

Stationary bird scarers have never been creepier.

De Felitta also knows how to use the quiet mid-western night to maximum effect. What should be peace and solitude is instead interrupted by the humming of machinery kicking on by itself, or the squealing of disturbed pigs, or the crunching sound of methodical footsteps. It's classy yet familiar, yet also entirely effectively.

Honestly, the film is smart enough to know all it needs to be scary is this:

---

#HALLOWEEN: THE DANGERS OF HALLOWEEN

 

The artist.

#HALLOWEEN: MASQUERADE

#HALLOWEEN: TRICK OR TREAT

Don’t bother trying to find it. You won’t find anything about the name of the town or what happened here. This manuscript will be found long after the events that transpired in this place, but I hope against everything else that you’re someone in a position of power. I pray to God Himself that you can prevent this from ever happening again, but I don’t want to give you too much credit. Like me, you are only human, after all. They are not. They’ve been around for a very, very long time. 

Fat chance, really. You probably don’t want that responsibility, and even if you did take it upon your shoulders to track them down, you can’t single-handedly stop the children. Their manipulators are not “on the grid.” Whoever engineered this is in control of the world on a very disturbing level.

This is what I want you to do. Read this, if they’re still legible, and take what you will from them. Don’t go on a wild goose chase, and realize that when you find this book that it will not be in the place where I left it. They’ll move it somewhere else, to deceive you. I’ve left my mark on a tree there. Only then, when you see my name, will you know, “this is the place.” You may have even heard of it in the history books, but be assured, any rumors on Wikipedia or Google pages that you pull up will be guess-work at best. None of them are even close to the truth. When you find the place, there may already be another town just like it. That’s what I’m trying to stop. If we’re not successful, then just realize, above all things, that evil exists. I’m not talking about bad people, or tragic accidents. I’m talking about real, intelligent, ancient evil. It is calculated, and it is always one step ahead of you. Should you decide to take my place and become the paragon to prevent the corruption of the hearts and minds of children, I thank you in advance.

I told you that I’m human. I lied. I used to be, before All Hallow’s Eve on that fateful night. I’ve been alive since then, far longer than any human being, and the reason is because I love children. I’ve always loved them in their purity and their innocence. That’s why I was taken in by their ruse. That’s why I’ve finally decided to put all this down, centuries later. I won’t be here much longer, and someone has to take up the burden.

I’ve waited… until I saw them return. They’ll be back this year. They’re planning the same thing again, and I can’t stop them. Again, I can’t expect that much from you, but I’m only giving you all this so you’ll believe me. I have to be believable. If you think I’m crazy, you’ll ignore this, and more people will disappear. It’s time to tell you what happened. I’m rambling.

Back then, All Hallow’s Eve was the time for evil’s ascension. You’ve all forgotten. If you left your house on that night in the old country, you were a devil worshipper. “Halloween” was not the term we used. We fled to the shores of this country because we were persecuted for our lifestyle choices. We worshipped nature, the changing of the seasons, the solstice of spring, autumn, winter, and summer. In the purest sense of the word, we were Druids. Our names and accents were English, but we were servants of the earth.

We were some of the first to celebrate it as a holiday. The natives here were puzzled by our behavior, but also frightened by it, and so they left us alone. They misunderstood. We were not the ones to be afraid of. At the time, I was relieved. They’d attacked us in our settlements, time and time again, but as it drew closer to the end of October, they stayed away. Maybe in their own noble bonds with the earth and soil, they knew something terrible was on the horizon.

They were right. John Hunter’s little boy wanted to be a native, with a bow and arrow and a real headdress. Little Mary Taylor made a dress that was crafted after the local schoolhouse teacher’s prettiest outfit. She idolized her educator, of course. They all had their get-ups; they were the first trick-or-treaters in what was to become the United States of America, one hundred and fifty years later. We sent them out to frollick about the settlement, collecting apples and tarts and other sweet things in to their burlap goody bags. There were no Snickers or Milky Ways, and yet, the magic of this “holiday” held no less sway over them than it does the youth of our current time. They dress up as the Joker, the Power Rangers, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. These children were their predecessors.

I sent my daughter with Mary and John Hunter, Jr. Despite our mistrust and wariness of the Anglican church and the monarchs that presided over it, my little girl was dressed as the Queen of England. I refused to crush her fantasy world, and so I simply indulged her. We heard promises to return after sundown, to say yes ma’am and no sir, and not to linger too long if they were invited inside the households of our community.

We didn’t realize that the house on the edge of the settlement existed until we saw the children go inside. There were no lanterns or sources of light in the windows, no fire or harvest dolls on the outside of the dwelling. As we sat in the middle of the town hall, imbibing in the pleasures of distilled moonshine amongst our brethren, we watched our young ones gravitate across the middle of our town, to the foreboding household that had seemingly been constructed overnight. When we gazed upon it, it seemed as though the place were “shimmering.” It pained my vision to look upon the building, as if my senses were being forced and propelled in another direction. Such a thing is difficult to put in to words, but I seemed to be the only one who realized that our kids were all heading to the same place. When I questioned John Hunter as if something were odd about their actions, he stared at me as if I were insane.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “There’s no house there. They’re going to play by the stockades.”

The sun had set by that point, but as I said before, none of them were concerned. The natives hadn’t shown up for weeks. I decided to walk to the phantom dwelling that only I and the children could see, to peer inside and see who these new settlers were, and why it called to the youths as if it were a black hole in a sea of stars.

I tried to stand outside, to look through the window, but when I saw what was happening, it was too late. I breached the doorway with my buck-knife drawn, but there was nothing about the things inside that I could harm with a weapon.

There’s something deep inside of us, something embedded within the human spirit, that’s perfectly aware when we encounter something truly terrible. Fear, horror, evil, revulsion…. it all hits you in a spastic wave, like a fierce exploding bullet that shatters the innermost parts of your soul with a relentless and powerful fury. I saw it in that moment, standing in that darkened doorway.  

They weren’t people.

They were halfway there, lingering over the unconscious bodies of my daughter and her peers in their hooded black robes of half-existence. There was one, in particular, who made me feel as though my eyes would pop like ripened cherries when I stared at it. It was the leader, the source of that tug, that pull... and it was slowly fading, disappearing like a gaseous black cloud of death, through my little girl’s nostrils and mouth. She was gasping for air, as if every breath after the one that preceded it were filled with acid... as if she were hungry for real, fresh air in her small lungs. With every breath, the figure faded deeper in to her, along with the rest of them.

I wish I could say that I was a hero, and that I hacked them all to bits; I wish I could say that I saved the day and made Halloween a night when the worst thing that children have to worry about is poisoned candy. It didn’t happen. There was one of them left, floating toward me on elongated, blackened tendrils of shimmering nothingness. By all real means of my imagination, it shouldn’t have BEEN there, but it was, and soon, it was going inside of me. The last thing I saw were their little feet, scurrying out of the phantom-house and in to the town. I FELT that something terrible was about to happen. I had no idea. Everything went black, and then, I was outside of myself. I was conscious, but observing my feet, my hands, doing things beyond my own scope of physical control.

They led me and our children in to our meeting hall, where, of course, the kids were embraced by the open, loving arms of their parents. I witnessed the betrayal, the brutal moments in which the truth instilled by the love for family and offspring would transform in to a cause for the destruction of our village.

They absorbed them. There’s no better adjective for what happened. One moment, they were there, and seconds later, they were nothing but dark essence, filtering in through the eyes and noses and mouths of their devil-children. It was over in minutes. A night that should have been a celebration of nature, of the seasons, had turned in to the end of everything that we knew and loved here in our new land.

I started to fight it. The kids knew. The moment I began to resist, to try and reclaim my limbs and mind from the corrupting influence within, their heads snapped back from their feast of souls to survey me in my struggle. My daughter’s eyes were sunken, black pools of the abyss, devoid of any emotion, any semblance of the bright-eyed stare that she once held for me in all her love and adoration for father. I miss that the most, really. The way she’d run to me when I came in from the fields every evening as the sun went down. I lived for that. What reason do I have to live now, other than to find her and stop them? I’m incapable. That falls on you, my friend.

They took the part of my daughter that counts, the part that I loved and cherished, and turned her into a servant. You ask me why I’m still alive, and again, it’s because I love her, so very, very much. Her body is a hollow shell, filled with the malice and blackness of evils beyond our world.

The black-robed things have grown as centuries have passed. They are from some place that is not of this universe, but their urgency, their hunger, to devour and destroy, is insatiable. It’s an exponential, amplifying contagion on mankind, and All Hallow’s Eve is their pinnacle, their Christmas. I’ve done my best to warn you throughout history, to leave my mark in places where their desolation has left nothing but dust on the wind and empty houses. A deserted football field in a Texas ghost town. A card room in the back of a night club in Chicago, right under the nose of civilization. Roanoke Island, North Carolina, before John Rolfe found it in the aftermath. 

The thing that I expelled through sheer force of will alone has left me with an unusually long and empty life, devoid of anything but my desire for revenge. I have failed. I’m pleading with you. October 31st is not long away. My little girl, or what’s left of her, is going to lead them to the same place. It’s been re-founded, except now, it hums with sport utility vehicles and cell phones. I don’t want this to happen to your child.

Go to Roanoke, and stop them from repeating the ritual. Those bodies they inhabit now are frail, on their way out. It’s been almost five hundred years. They’ll need new ones on this Halloween. Look for a building that appears as though it shouldn’t be there. It will be across from that very tree where I signed my name, where I made my mark. I changed my title, named myself after the tribe of natives who knew it was coming…. who, perhaps, tried to warn us, but for some reason, we failed to heed or recognize their warnings. They were more closely attuned to the earth than us, and yet, they were still wiped out, eventually. 

Trick or treat?

Go now. You don’t have much time.

- Croatoan

Story source.

REVIEW: JUG FACE

Jug Face is a tough film to breakdown and criticize. It is extremely well-made with what no one would refuse as an original story. It is an uncomfortable experience at times, and injected with the kinds of seediness you'd expect in a film featuring incest, filthy backwoods simpletons, roadkill for dinner, and Larry Fessenden. 

In Jug Face, a young girl named Ada (Lauren Ashley Carter) looks her destiny literally right in the eyes and refuses it. This decision sets off a chain of events that will rattle her small backwoods community and leave behind a wake of blood. As simple a summation as I can make without sending readers less willing to sit through an uncompromising experience like Jug Face running for the hills. To offer up additional story details (as I'll do in a moment) is to risk turning off those looking for a more straightforward story about forest voodoo, but, you should know exactly what you're getting into.

Writer/director Chad Crawford Kinkle has crafted an interesting story here. It's layered enough to bring legitimacy to even the most absurd development, but purposely vague enough that the events of the present aren't overshadowed by the mythology of the past. And from a stylistic standpoint alone, Jug Face is very good. Its unique story is backed up by a great cast, including Larry Fessenden and Sean Young as Ada's parents, and Sean Bridgers ("Justified") as the simple-minded shaman of sorts. 

Deep southern territory is always an interesting place in which to set a story. It is in these areas where ties to religion remain the strongest and the most unshaken. At first its people were only characterized by their religion, but recently, under the political microscope, their religion has come to define them. And it's made them an easy target for mockery. Their beliefs mixed with their unfortunate histories of offensive ideologies (and add a dash of that long southern drawl) can sometimes make them seem simple, foreign, and even intimidating. So, when you've got a film in which a small group of inbreeding families live deep, deep in the southern woods and who offer human sacrifices to a magical pit in exchange for said pit's healing powers, and when the person being sacrificed is chosen by a ceramic jug made by a simple-minded man with ties to a mysterious force, well, you might just respond with, "Yeah, and? This is the south, after all. Who knows what goes on there?"

None of that is really supposed to read as offensive; instead it's supposed to shine a light on the extreme chasm between the northern and southern sensibilities that have been in place since basically the formation of the United States. The north thinks the south are simple and crazy; the south thinks the north are godlesss baby killers. This is not something with which I necessarily agree, but a person can only resist such broad beliefs and stereotypes before some of them begin to take root. (I bet I'm one of the few with the balls willing to admit that.) 

The events of Jug Face are far-fetched, ridiculous, and some might argue stupid. What's not far-fetched, ridiculous, or stupid, is that I could very easily read in tomorrow's paper that a small patch of isolated people living in the woods passionately believed in the power of a magical pit, human sacrifice, and anthropomorphic jugs. I'm not making fun. I'm saying this because this is where Jug Face is at its most affecting and powerful. When it comes to religion, people will believe anything. They will believe in the resurrected dead, angels, demons, magic, miracles, reincarnation, and anything else, so long as their parents before them believed it and bestowed it at a young enough age. 

Jug Face is creepy, seedy, disturbing, startling, and a little fucked up.

And I highly recommend it.

#HALLOWEEN: MOUNDSHROUD

“Miraculously, smoke curled out of his own mouth, his nose, his ears, his eyes, as if his soul had been extinguished within his lungs at the very moment the sweet pumpkin gave up its incensed ghost.”

#HALLOWEEN: RECOMMENDED READING: HALLOWEEN – MAGIC, MYSTERY, & THE MACABRE

The Halloween anthology has become a large part of my yearly October traditions – whether decades old or hot off the press, I’m always eager to snap up a “new” one and give it a read. These days it’s easier than ever to slap together an anthology, upload it to CreateSpace or whatever self-publishing medium, and unleash it onto the world. Amazon is dripping with e-books available for free download offered by hopeful authors, and like anything else that becomes saturated to that extent, it becomes difficult to find the truly special collections.

And here we have Halloween: Magic, Mystery and the Macabre, edited by Paula Guran, barely a month old as I write this. The cover sports names that I certainly recognize, but most of them do not ring a bell. I did enjoy Guran’s previous collection, simply titled Halloween, for the most part, and she was kind enough to lend me a copy of her second anthology to read and present as part of my October celebration.

Eighteen stories make-up this collection, and let me just spare both you and myself the following: This time out I’ll avoid doing my usual breaking down of each story, as we’ll be here all day and no doubt there are pumpkins out there to be carved and witchy ceremonies to perfect. As I’ve mentioned before, anthologies by nature are a Rorschach test. For those of a less critical mind, I suppose it’s easier to find an anthology in which every story enthralls and entertains, but frankly, it’s tough to put out such a collection with different authors taking different directions that still manages to please everyone. That’s the beauty of the individual.

Halloween: Magic, Mystery and the Macabre is no different.

So, the standouts:

Norman Partridge is an author with whom I am well familiar, as his novel, Dark Harvest, is frankly one of my favorites. (Read all about that one here.) His contribution here, “The Mummy’s Heart,” is hands-down one of – if not the – best in the collection. A story that begins with two brothers setting out for an innocent night of trick-or-treating and encountering a local kid named Charlie Steiner, who may very well have lost a little bit of his mind and perfected his mummy costume to the extent that he ordered water scum from the River Nile and cut off his own tongue. When the boys cross paths with this mummy, the story is legitimately eerie and upsetting—and it packs a rather hurtful revelation. Partridge is great with details, insofar as making each minor thing such as the moon or darkness seem alive and contain motive. He writes his story with such a realistic approach that it honest-to-gosh feels like it happened to him. At one point he even says something to the effect of, “Google it and see for yourself,” which I fully admit to doing.

The first part of “The Mummy’s Heart” seems like nothing more than haunted childhood recollection. You nearly expect it to end once the faux ending occurs, but there’s much more to this story – so much that it goes from a pulpy monster story to something much more haunting and heartbreaking. “The Mummy’s Heart” plays around with this idea of becoming someone else on Halloween night with the aid of a mask and costume, but what it really seems to be about is being driven to insanity by the idea that one is not happy with the person they are and wishes to become someone/thing else – and will do nearly anything to make that transition happen. And that’s just for the “villain.” It also plays around with refusal to recognize reality for what it is – to be haunted by dreams much more than nightmares. It’s the reason I continue to celebrate Partridge the author as years go by. He so easily writes about human emotion and longing that frankly it doesn’t matter what kind of ghastly device he’s using to frame his story – it’s always about much more.

Laird Barron continues this theme of love lost and found with “The Black Dog,” a tale in which a young (?) couple meet on a blind date in a restaurant. They embark on witty banter and attempt fact-finding missions about each other – the usual first-date kind of stuff. But here’s the thing: Is she, in actuality, dead? Is he? Both, or neither? Under the All Hallow’s sky, these two lost souls meet and remember what it is to yearn again. Though it’s told primarily from the man’s point of view, the woman provides us enough insight that it’s clear she’s just as troubled and lonely as he is.

There’s a beautiful ambiguity draped over every inch of “The Black Dog.” As the story progresses, you nearly want to race through every sentence to unearth the revelation that will hopefully explain the very odd circumstances in which these two people have found each other. A meal at a restaurant to a night walk across a bridge to sitting together in the woods – it’s a first date many would be consider to be ideal…except for that ominous idling van, of course.  By my nature I’m attracted to things with a certain kind of sad beauty. It’s a reason why I love the works of Norman Partridge, and it’s also why I’ll certainly be checking out more work by Laird Barron, as well.

Source.

Switching things up is “For the Removal of Unwanted Guests” by A.C. Wise. A story about a man named Michael moving into his new house who must contend with the random witch who shows up on his doorstep telling him she’ll be moving in. Just like that. The witch brings with her a black cat, as well as every manner of magical skill – she knows that one of the steps in the house is made of wood taken from a shipwrecked vessel, or the answer to one of the riddles in the old crossword puzzle Michael is holding. (She’s a witch, after all.) At first Michael wants nothing more than for her to leave – he even finds a spell in the witch’s book of magic strictly dedicated to (insert the story’s title here) – but after a while, what should be an easy decision to make becomes one with which he wrestles, to the point he might even MISS her once she’s gone…

“For the Removal of Unwanted Guests” is wonderfully and addictively absurd, yet charming. It’s a quirky story that seems to become more so as the pages turn. It’s nice counter-reading to the other darker and more haunting stories. There’s nothing especially horrific about the tale, except of course for something Michael’s unwanted guest states:

“Life isn’t fair. Nobody gets to choose whether they have a normal happy one or not. If they did, do you think anyone would get sick, or have their hearts broken? Would anyone die? It doesn’t work that way.”

Still, it might just be the most horrific statement in the entire book…because it’s absolutely true.

“We, the Fortunate Bereaved” by Brian Hodge breathes life into the scarecrow legend of Halloween, which may or may not be rooted in historical lore. The scarecrow has been associated with Halloween for a long time, and Hodge’s story concocts a perfectly appropriate scenario as to why. Every year on Halloween night, in the town of Dunhaven, townspeople gather objects that symbolize the dearly departed in hopes that, if left as an offering, the spirit of their deceased loved one will fill the scarecrow and share a message with the bereaved. Many townspeople vie yearly for this chance, and among them for the first time are Bailey and her young son, Cody, who wishes to see the resurrected spirit of his father, Drew. Also hoping to see the return of a loved one is a young woman named Melanie, whose sister, Angela, went missing several years before and was never found, so was presumed dead.

I rather liked this story, as it reinforces the idea of “maybe it’s better not to know.” Cody is eager to ask his father about the afterlife and what the “rules” are, while Melanie wants to ask Angela who was responsible for her disappearance and death. The story’s themes are open to multiple interpretations, but I prefer to think that existence, as we know it, is so terrible – lacking actual humanity amongst its humans – that the dead don’t so much as choose to come back as they’re forced to.

As you can imagine, I’m really fun at parties.

These aren’t the only stories in the collection worth a read, but they were my personal favorites. Halloween: Magic, Mystery and the Macabre, as they say, has something for everyone. I’m personally drawn toward the dark and bleak, and so stories of that nature were my own highlights. But the book celebrates every kind of genre and approach – real history is intertwined with lycanthropy; real international conflicts are explored through themes of cults, insanity, and vampirism; some stories are quirky, some are anything but. My one real complaint about the anthology (and it’s one I often have with Halloween anthologies) is that while many of the stories contain Halloween elements, they’re not actually about Halloween in any way. Werewolves and vampires are fun and all, but their only ties to Halloween are that they’re spooky and monstrous, and so is Halloween, and so therefore, a connection. However, I can’t in good conscience say any of these stories are poorly written because they’re not; they’re just not entirely what the title promises.

Still, I heartily recommend Halloween: Magic, Mystery and the Macabre. The book itself is nice and weighty; its girth confirms you'll be getting a lot of bang for your buck. It's not quite as large as, say, October Dreams, but it's certainly one of the larger anthologies out there that (mostly) celebrates this time of year. Pretty jacket art, too.

Paula Guran has released a second collection of strong stories, and though not all of them will scratch that Halloween itch, most of them will, and that’s worth the price of admission alone.

Contents:

Introduction: New Boo – Paula Guran
Thirteen – Stephen Graham Jones
The Mummy's Heart – Norman Partridge
Unternehmen Werwolf – Carrie Vaughn
Lesser Fires – Steve Rasnic Tem & Melanie Tem
Long Way Home: A Pine Deep Story – Jonathan Maberry –
Black Dog – Laird Barron
The Halloween Men – Maria V. Snyder
Pumpkin Head Escapes – Lawrence C. Connolly
Whilst the Night Rejoices Profound and Still – Caitlín R. Kiernan
For the Removal of Unwanted Guests – A. C. Wise
Angelic – Jay Caselberg
Quadruple Whammy – Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
We, The Fortunate Bereaved – Brian Hodge
All Hallows in the High Hills – Brenda Cooper
Trick or Treat – Nancy Kilpatrick
From Dust – Laura Bickle
All Souls Day – Barbara Roden
And When You Called Us We Came To You – John Shirley

Buy.

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Contest!

If you've read this far, then you're in luck. I'll be giving away one copy of Dark Harvest, a novel by Norman Partridge, one of the authors featured in the above collection. 

You only have to do two things:

1. "Like" The End of Summer on Facebook.

2. E-mail endofsummerblog@gmail.com (subject line DARK HARVEST CONTEST), verify your Facebook name, and share with me one of your favorite Halloween books. It doesn't necessarily have to be about Halloween – just something you may read every year to celebrate. Most importantly: Tell me why you read it! 

That's it!

(Contest closes at 11:59 p.m. on Saturday, October 19. Winners will be contacted via e-mail.)

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#HALLOWEEN: CRAPPYPASTA: THE ACCIDENT

The one was a bunch of kids that always dressed up like it was Halloween and there parents didn’t like them so they told the bud driver to chain them up and take them to a quarry and run the bus of the cliff so the bus driver turnened into the quarry and the little vampire kid got out of his chains and killed the buss driver and drove the buss right off the cliff the all died and 8 years later on Halloween 4 kids investigated the place and the kids came out of the quarry and ate all the kids butt one

Um...[sic].

God love you, Crappypasta.

#HALLOWEEN: THE OCTOBER GAME: EC STYLE

#HALLOWEEN: PUMPKINFACE RUM #CONTEST

Just look at that bottle, filled with smooth aged rum, and tell me you don't want it.

Of course you do. It's booze in a glass jack-o'-lantern, people. Who doesn't want that? Or ten of them?

Well, here's your chance to win one for yourself. The End of Summer and PumpkinFace Rum are partnering for this very fun and sinfully easy contest. But first, appreciate the distillery who has bestowed upon us all our new yearly tradition.

The Story

The pumpkin is a symbol of celebration to people around the world. The origin of the pumpkin can be traced to North American seeds dating back to 7000 BC. The word pumpkin comes from the word "pepon", which is Greek for "large melon" and later changed by American colonists to "pumpkin". Colonists would often slice off the pumpkin top, remove the seeds, and fill it with cream, honey, eggs and spices. They cooked the pumpkin in hot ashes until blackened then enjoyed its contents. Pumpkin Face Rum honors the spirit of this tradition by filling the bottle with the finest ultra premium rum in the world. 

Continue the tradition and celebrate the pumpkin!

The Rum

Pumpkin Face White - Beautiful, delicious, and naturally smooth. 

Pumpkin Face Reserve - A blend of decades old hand selected aged Dominican rums.  

Pumpkin Face 23 - Made in 1980, aged 23 years in Oak barrels, and rested for over another decade in Dominican Republic, this rum shows extraordinary elegance with complexity.

So how do you win one?

There are several ways, and they're all easy. Pick one and you're entered. Pick them all and increase your chances.

1. Facebook users: "Like" the official PumpkinFace Rum page and share this contest page on your own wall.  
2. Twitter users: Follow the official PumpkinFace Rum twitter feed and tweet the following message to @PumpkinFaceRum: "I want #PumpkinFaceRum!"  
3. Instagram users: Upload a picture of a pumpkin or jack-o'-lantern and tag your photo with #PumpkinFaceRum.

Contest is open to folks within the continental United States only; those who enter must be 21 or older. Those under 21 will be immediately disqualified (and believe me, we will be checking). 

Contest ends 11:59 p.m. on October 16. Winners will be contacted directly via their Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram accounts. 

#HALLOWEEN: LEVITY

The greatest headline...ever.

THE BOY WITH NO SHADOW: AN INTERVIEW WITH LONESOME WYATT

Lonesome Wyatt and The Holy Spooks are no stranger to The End of Summer. Having featured this delightfully dark musical act three times before, finding a new way to describe it/him/them is a fool’s errand. Fact is, I could very well use the whole “so and so meets the guy from this thing” and dozens of other lazy comparisons ad nauseum, but all I really need to say is this: Listen for yourself, because if you're not, I feel sorry for you. Though he made a name for himself with Those Poor Bastards, an act that infuses country and Americana with goth and darkness, it is as Lonesome Wyatt and The Holy Spooks where something clicked with me in a way that it feels legitimately special. Add a scratchy layer of vinyl grain and Wyatt’s music could easily sound as if it were plucked right out of the 1970s, where society seemed suddenly enamored with death, evil, and the very real possibility of the devil walking amongst us.

While on a break from touring, Wyatt was kind enough to answer a few questions about his newest release – “Halloween is Here” – his history with/as The Spooks, and his life as a seeker/celebrator of the morbid.

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TEOS: I’ve listened to enough of your music (and read your first Edgar Switchblade misadventure) to recognize a fellow dark-side dwelling miscreant when I see one. What draws you to this odder road less traveled?

I suppose it all goes back to having a very secluded childhood with all those spooky cornfields rustling all the time. Too much solitude can make a fella a little strange.

TEOS: Much of your music is really story-driven – something Johnny Cash was always known for – so I hear a lot of his approach, including the dark humor, in your work. I also hear occasional glimpses of Timber Timbre and Tom Waits. 

Who else would you cite as an inspiration in your musical life? Was there a particular singer or songwriter, author, or perhaps filmmaker you may have discovered at a young age that made you realize this was what you wanted to do?

Growing up, I would say Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark and Gremlins were mostly to blame. I also remember getting a record called "Trick or Treat" by Oscar Brand from the library and that made a big impression on me. The songs were pretty goofy, but for some reason they really sent my tiny brain spinning.

Later on, Johnny Cash's "American Recordings," and Nick Cave's "Murder Ballads" showed me the mighty power of music.

TEOS: I can certainly appreciate your appreciation for the dark side and the supernatural. I've always been very intrigued by the paranormal. Tell me: how much of it do you believe? Do you believe in the existence of ghosts – in things beyond our understanding?

Well, there are sounds beyond our range of hearing and sights beyond our range of seeing, so who knows what we're missing? Maybe we're surrounded by horrible monsters and dead people. I sure hope so. I believe anything is possible and impossible.

TEOS: You are constantly trying new things, yet wanting to remain in this dark playground where your imagination is at its most potent. At this point in your career, are you consistently trying to reach new fans, or satisfying the ones you’ve already earned?

I try not to think too much about reaching new fans or how the project will be received or any of that kind of stuff. Of course I hope some people will enjoy it, but it's beyond my control. It just cripples you and fills you with anxiety if you worry about that. I try to keep things pure and create whatever idea I become excited about at the time. Hopefully it connects with someone.

TEOS: Moving onto "Halloween is Here"... I admit, and I say this more as a fan and less as a critic, I was a little disappointed the first time I listened to the new album.  I was anticipating something beautiful, dark, and more musically driven like “Ghost Ballads” – one of the new tracks, “Such a Fright,” for instance, is along the lines of what I was expecting – but it was probably halfway through my second listen that I “got” it – and loved it – and I realized you had a different goal: Instead of just doing a flat-out musical record, create this kind of old-school Halloween party ambience with flamboyant lyrics and quirky descriptions. And you really do nail that idea, right down to the perfectly vintage-looking album artwork. What other templates were you following when you were putting together this album? Who were you honoring, if anyone in particular?

That's always the problem when listening to a new album by someone whose last album you enjoyed. Your brain gets thrown in a loop when it's different than you expected. I just didn't think having this album really serious and quiet would make any sense. I see Halloween as more of a party for horrible things than a somber or sad experience. The whole thing is a tribute to all those obscure Halloween albums from the 50's-80's. No one makes this kind of stuff anymore, so I thought it was important to try to carry on the tradition. Hopefully it's not too insulting to those mysterious gods of the past.


TEOS: Your previous album as Lonesome Wyatt and The Holy Spooks, “Ghost Ballads,” is likely your most story-driven yet. The first track, “The Golden Rule,” doesn’t really get lost in poetic hyperbole – it’s a rather straightforward ghost story set to some pretty beautifully dark music. Listening to "Halloween is Here," however, it's evident you really didn't take this same approach.

Not really. This album is very different from Ghost Ballads. I think the only similar song would be "Such a Fright." Otherwise, it's not really as soft or pretty sounding. I was inspired by old Halloween records and wanted to try to capture that strange energy a lot of them have. There's quite a bit of group singing on this one. It sounds like a gang of deformed monsters. The rest of the album has stories, which were inspired by great albums like "Scary Spooky Stories."  It's really for all ages of creeps.

It was also important to me to make it sound and look handcrafted and not mass-produced. We printed all of the record and CD jackets on vintage style chipboard paper and I hand numbered them. The illustration by Strange Fortune Design Co. is just perfect and creepily vintage. I really hate slick, glossy things.

TEOS: Compared to previous Lonesome Wyatt releases, like “Heartsick,” for example, “Halloween is Here” has a sillier tone – not just in the content, but in the several songs where your vocals are accompanied by that sea of monstrous sounding voices you mentioned earlier. And on top of that, you add stories about werewolves suffering from depression, or kleptomaniac ghosts (from... Indiana). While the new album still has that patented Lonesome Wyatt darkness, it feels like you said, “Let’s just have some fun.” Was this a conscious choice? And if so, how early on in the realization did you know you just wanted to have a blast?

I just don't like doing the same album over and over. Ghost Ballads pretty much covered the gloomy horror, so I thought this one should me more rowdy and unhinged. It was my goal to create something that sounded like a bunch of crazy creatures having a celebration. I like to think of it as mentally ill rather than fun. Fun has some bad connotations.

TEOS: Probably my favorite aspect to the album is this kind of purposely implied feel that it’s something children would listen to at a party, but then at the same time some of the stories are pretty gruesome – especially “The Giant Fist.” So in a sense it sort of captures our fond recollections of Halloween (which more often than not stem back to our youth) and marries it to this kind of disturbing but quirky storyscape. It’s tough to explain but I think it makes the album that much more special – sort of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I'm glad you noticed that, pal. This is just the way I see Halloween. I think it should be both exciting and ridiculous, but also surreal and frightening. When you look at old Halloween decorations many of them were unnerving and disturbing, but now everything is smiling and cute. I don't like that at all. We need to return this holiday back to its peculiar roots. It should be full of creepy terror and graveyard thrills.

TEOS: What is it about October 31st that compelled you to construct an entire concept album around it?

I have always loved that odd Autumn feeling that blows through the air around Halloween. Everything is filled with death and wonder.

TEOS: When can we expect to see the first music video based on one of your Halloween songs? And if so, do you know which song you’ll be using?

Unfortunately, I don't think we'll have time for a music video with this one. There are just too many projects going on. It's a real shame. I think I have to slow down on all this stuff at some point.

TEOS: What does a typical Halloween night look for Lonesome Wyatt?

It's not a very pretty sight. I usually just stay at home and watch some horror movies on VHS and listen to Halloween records. As with most things, the idea of Halloween is much better than the stinking reality.

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I thank Lonesome Wyatt for taking the time to discuss his new descent into madness, and I’m especially thankful for him having used Halloween as its backdrop. It’s always been my favorite night of the year for a multitude of reasons, but it seems that Halloween seems to be less celebrated and feel less important year after year. It’s starting to feel like those people who care about it belong to this very unpopular club that doesn’t have all that many members. So, my genuine thanks to LW for trying to contribute to it in some way in an effort to keep it going and keep people enthusiastic.

“Halloween is Here” can be purchased on vinyl (no it can't - sold out!), CD, and digital download directly at the official Lonesome Wyatt site, as well as your usual online retailers.

#HALLOWEEN: SWANSON FIELD

There's this place called Swanson Field. I haven't been up there for a while. Well, more than a while, probably years. I drive past it all the time, but this time for some reason or another, I stopped. I remember back when I was a kid, people always said the field was haunted, though personally I don't believe in ghosts, but it's got enough people spooked to catch my attention...