Can You See The Window Sane?

I’ve been posting pictures of ‘haunted houses’ on my Facebook pages.

Okay, they’re not haunted houses exactly, but if I were a ghost I’d be happy to live there…or haunt there…you know what I mean.

So one day I get a message from my friend who is a school teacher. Her students, who are around 9 or 10 years old love those pictures. She’s been using them as story starters and the kids have been coming up with great ideas.

And then she told me they also told her what is really neat are the faces in the windows.

They love to see those faces.

I haven’t looked for them myself

I’m not so sure I want to.

Choices!

I remember standing in front of those Halloween Costumes at Woolworths, it was torture.

What was I going to be?

A monster? Speed Racer? A princess? What???? What was I going to be? Why didn’t I think ahead? Why didn’t I plan? Why were there so many darn boxes to choose from?

One year I did plan. I was proud of myself. I put a lot of thought into it too.

I was six.

I told my Mom I wanted to be a monster and she said…

” Good. So we don’t have to buy a costume. Let’s go. “

I’ll give my Mom this: When she is right, she is right.

amm

Once Upon A Time

I think it’s great story telling when someone is talking about a character they have written ( or portray ) and you get the sense they know these people.

They’ve made them real.

Very cool.

 

 

 

 

Harry Keeps Dieing

Home Scream Home

“Turn away,” the dark man groaned with a desperate look in his haunted
eyes.

She was standing next to him in that hallway that led to the basement in his own home. His own home. What a laugh. How could he have not known that monster had been under his feet for all of these years?”

That room and it’s dog- the woman standing next to him- had been master of his house all along.

” I don’t think so Chuck.”

” You’re going to kill me. ” he said. ”  The very least you could do is not look like you’re going to enjoy it so much.”

” You’re a fine one to lecture anybody about murder Chuck. And I’ve been at this way longer then you. Guess what. I wasn’t aware there were rules. Did Emily Post write a book on the subject? Because I LOVE Emily and I don’t see how that one could have got passed me.”

” You truly are evil.”

” No. I’m more of a concept. Now that basement of yours. Wow. That truly IS evil. I mean. Oh boy. It’s bad. Seriously Chuck. Did you think you were in charge of what happened down there? Really?

Because let me tell you. Do you really believe  someone who started off in this life with hurting small animals worked his way up to helpless women and children all by himself? Come on. Really. Think about it.”

” What’s down there. ” Chuck wondered out loud.

And then Chuck insisted, his voice choking tears  ” It was me. It was me. I did all of those things…me. Nothing is down there. Just me. It’s was all me.”

” You were a nightmare Chuck. ” she opened the door and pushed him through and down he fell ” Meet the dreamer.”

My Attic

 

The WItching Hour Is Upon Us

 

The WItching Hour Is Upon Us

It’s getting closer…and closer and closer

and before you know it

it will be close enough to reach out and touch you. 

Good luck with that.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Indeed It Is

Good Neighbors

” Did you see what Fremont Kevlin has done this time? ” Mr Bexley howled into my face before I opened my front door all the way. ” Did you see what he has wandering around in his Apple Orchard?”

” No. I don’t like apples.” I said.

“What?”

” Don’t like apples, I have no reason to be back in his apple orchard. What were you doing back there Mr. Bexley?”

” Retrieving my property. That’s what I was doing and that’s when I saw…”

” What property?”

” My gall danged wood chipper Mrs. Baker! He backed up his truck and took my wood chipper without permission and now he’s using it to-“

” Chip wood? ” I offered.

” Were that it was that simple Mrs. Baker. Do you really think him with the bars in all of his windows would be using a wood chipper to chip wood?”

” I suppose not.”

” That man. That inconsiderate son of a- pardon my French Mrs. Baker. But he helped himself to those bags of lime from the Green’s garage, the rope and copper wire from the Henderson’s place. You said yourself your shovels seem to grow legs and wander off and my wood chipper. My son of a bitching wood chipper is gone AGAIN.

” And now he’s got that thing wandering around in apple orchard- but ugly as it is, all bloated and stinking like the grave. It’s his new Handyman,  another one. But that is neither here nor there.  I’m sick of that man just helping himself to our private property. He’s a thief and he took my damn wood chipper-“

” Without permission. I get it. I’ll go talk to him. Again. It almost sunset, he’ll be up soon.”

I went over to my coat closet and pulled out my jacket. My hat, my gloves. I reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down hammer and wooden stake and threw them into my leather carry all case- just in case Fremont wasn’t in a reasonable mood.

” Okay. Let’ s go get your wood chipper back first. I have a feeling we might be needing it tonight.”

Oh, Dear.

It’s The Thought That Counts

As a writer of the strange and macabre I  must ask myself:

What am I afraid of?

My list is short and sweet.

Monsters.

And being lost.

I’m also afraid of the dark, being buried alive and I’m afraid of being hit by lightning.

I know. I get it. Monsters aren’t real, if you’re lost you can always find a way back to the point you lost your way, the dark can’t  wrap its hands around your neck and squeeze and I doubt if I’ll be buried alive because once your embalmed there’s zero  chance of being buried alive.

HOWEVER I have almost been hit by lightning twice.

So when I write about Monsters, or the lost or the dark or death and the many, many, many ways it can come for you,  I guess I can’t help but to feel…somewhere in all of that there is something true, something real…and I feel- with every ounce of my being

relief.

 

I’ve Been Waiting

It’s been a long time till October and I’m dieing to get back to work.

Now.

Where is that shovel… I mean pen.