Spooky Halloween

They did the mash
They did the Cthulhu mash
Iä! Iä! The Cthulhu mash
It was a dreamy smash

In deep R'lyeh, the mash
It caught on in a flash
They did the mash
They did the Cthulhu mash

 

 

Happy Halloween!

illustration from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg

 The Bump under the Rug

“Ah! It’s a rat!” cried Mrs. Harris, my dear every Thursday bridge partner. “I’m not going in there anymore!”

“I’m telling you, it’s the fairies!” said tiny Mr. Field, with his tiny voice, trying to see something from behind Mrs. Harris who wouldn’t budge from the door despite her fear of rats. "They come every night!"

“Where’s your cat, Mr. James?” asked Barry, the delivery boy, in his usual cheeky tone.

“Right there,” I replied annoyed. Kitty was standing at the edge of the rug, too scared to attack, watching warily the big bump under the rug. The bump began moving again, even faster than before, toward that corner where the rug reached right underneath the big, old chest of drawers.

Under our four pairs of unbelieving eyes, the bump vanished. Kitty darted towards it, but it was too late.

Just like one week before. And one week before that, when it had first happened. Barry had been there too, and Mrs. Harris, and Mr. Field.

I said "good bye" to my neighbours, tipped Barry for delivering my bag of groceries from his uncle's store, and returned to my apartment.

I knew there was nothing behind the chest, because I had checked last time, but just to be sure, I checked again. Nothing. At least my neighbours had seen it too so I wasn't imagining things.

That night I didn't go to bed. I sat on the armchair, with a baseball bat in my right hand and a plastic bowl in the other, and waited. I was determined not to fall asleep this time so I didn't eat anything, not even the almond cake. Barry's uncle made a terrific cake.

Soon after midnight, I heard a scraping sound. I kept still, pretending to be asleep, but I was watching carefully. Soon enough, a bump began moving under the rug, from the corner underneath the chest. When it reached the center of the room, I jumped and threw the bowl over it.

Whatever it was, I had caught it.

"Let me go!" said a tinny voice.

I fell on my back.

The bump wasn't moving anymore, but it looked like it was shaking. Kitty was hissing loudly and wagging his tail.

"Who's talking?" I managed to say. "Who are you?"

"Let me go and I'll tell you."

"Talk, or I won't let you go. Who are you?"

"I'm the previous owner of the apartment above yours..."

Mr. Allen? How could that be? I knew him well. We'd been neighbours for twenty years. He'd recently sold his apartment and had moved to Florida. The apartment was rented now by a young woman, Miss Jones. How could that be?

"Do you like almond cake?" the tinny voice continued. "So did I... so much that I ate some every night. Barry's still delivering it, I see. All full of Uncle Gary's black magic. Until one night, it will be Uncle Gary delivering the cake. His spell will turn you into a doll too. A little, animated, docile doll...And then you too you'll have to obey him. Go through the apartments, steal things, scare people into selling them dirt-cheap to... guess who? Uncle Gary..."

Poor doll guy Mr. Allen. I felt sorry for him. I let him go after he promised not to bother me anymore. In fact, he was quite scared of Kitty so he was somehow glad that I found him so he couldn't come to my apartment anymore.
  
As for me, that was the last time I was going to eat almond cake, or any cake for that matter.

 Happy, Spooky Halloween!

And these are my carved pumpkins for this year...

 

Trick or Trick

We gave him a good face, not too scary, not too funny. The mouth was a bit too big but it looked great with the light inside.

When we came back from our trick-or-treating, the pumpkin was still looking fierce, although the candle was almost extinguished and the top was almost cooked.

Before we went to bed, we took him back inside. We didn’t want the squirrels or the skunk to eat him.

“Where’s all the candy?” the oldest said the next day.

“I put it in the pumpkin,” the youngest cried. “The pumpkin ate it all!”

“No, you ate it all,” the oldest said.

They went on quarrelling.

The pumpkin sat on the kitchen floor and seemingly watched us all with his big eyes. Did he want to say something with his big mouth or was he grinning?

“I’m telling you, this is an evil pumpkin,” the youngest said. “I know, the squirrels! Put him outside and the squirrels will take care of him.”

So back he was next to the front door.

“What’s this pumpkin doing back inside?” I said in the evening.

“I didn’t bring him in,” the oldest said.

“I didn’t bring him in,” the youngest said.

Out with him again. Maybe the squirrels hadn’t been hungry the day before.

The next morning, who was grinning from the kitchen table?

The pumpkin.

“Mom,” the youngest said. “Maybe we should let him stay. I’m not cross with him anymore.”

So, he’s back in. Watching the room from a corner. Grinning. He’s just as orange and nice as he was on Halloween. So many months later. The cat doesn’t go near him. We make sure no candy goes next to him.

We confess, we’re a bit scared of him, but he’s ours, isn’t he? And if he keeps looking this good, we might not have to carve another for this Halloween.

Happy Halloween, everybody!!!

 

The Flying Dutchman Redivivus

Come…
Come…
Come…

What whisper summons me?

Is it the wind

in drying leaves?

Come to me…

Whispers of doom,

or hoot of owls

or howls of wolves?

Come...

I am coming, yes…

The whispers grow,

and whirl, and growl…

In their cold embrace,

I glide

on the dark shore,

in noctambulous walk.

The sea - a beast of tar -

sends rumbling surf,

torn veils

of phantom brides,

onto the sand.

Come to me…

From far, from near,

a song of death

and love

entwined.

I am here…

I see the ghostly ship,

its masts, and spars, and sails

bleak statues of decay,

no living soul on it

yet full of empty souls.

My home,

to make of thee?

A stir in me…

Run, I could

still run away!

Too late,

the boat slides

nearer.

My bride… Come…

Ghosts

ply the oars.

And at its bow

I see your eyes of fire

bear down on me

with sweet

infernal

love.

Like in a dream,

I step into the waves.

Come…

I’m coming…

My robes are heavy

chains held by Okeanos.

Unearthly arms of fog

extend to help me.

How proud you are,

tall at the prow,

your gaze of embers

lights your

handsome face -

a beacon

in my night.

Come quicker… Hurry…

But what is this?

I falter,

my eyes still

in your hypnotic grasp.

Shouts, vile barks,

thunder of guns

awaken me, while

torches light the sand.

The sea’s aflame.

The spectral boat

is fading,

multitudes close in.

A step

and then another,

The sea embraces me.

Come…

I almost touch your hand.

Strong voices call my name,

voices alive,

not... dead…

My struggle’s vain

I’m dragged away

pulled from your ghostly grip

by warm, live arms of men.

I know, my darling,

all is lost,

until next time…

And, as I close my eyes

against the burning night,

carried afar,

your waning whisper echoes

on my face,

Next time…

This is my entry for Haunting October Blogfest. This poem has appeared on this blog exactly six years ago, as part of my first Halloween in the blogosphere... The painting of the ship belongs to Marco Hassman at Last Travel Art. Comments are, as always, most welcome. Happy Scares!

Treat Yourself for Halloween – Step into Charles Gramlich’s Harmland

... that is, if you dare...

"Harmland" by Charles Allen Gramlich

From the menacing title, through the eerie cover, into the eclectic world of nine tales that take you from a grave in the swamplands to the undergrounds of the Miskatonic University, this is a truly scary trip that stayed with me long after I finished it.

After all, I had the finest guide... through and through, he kept me on the edge of my seat, with his mix of unrelenting action, dark humor, and very creepy hauntings, while still allowing a few moments when I could simply admire his beautiful writing.

As always, “About the Stories” gives fascinating insight into the creation of the stories, just as interesting to read as the stories themselves.

And, Charles, really? Are almost all the details except the “toad” itself and what it turns out to be absolutely true? :-) Then, yes, we should be very afraid...

I Wish

I wish they were true

these things

I’ve been telling you

to soften your worries

that there are only the trees

whipping the roof

with their fleshless arms

only the wind’s fingers

strumming old shutters

to forlorn melodies

only aged floorboards

-nothing else, what else-

moaning slowly

under the bitter

October air

(not the house

not this house

coming to life)

(you are such a nice boy

-a luminous soul-

so trusting)

I wish you hadn’t lost

your way

in these woods

I wish you hadn’t seen

in my eyes

the shelter you were seeking

instead of

the nightmares

(and the wine

the sweet wine of abandon-

I wish you hadn’t been that thirsty)

if only I could tell you

to run away

as I am going out

-I left the door unlocked this time-

and you’re falling asleep

and the house gets ready

to feast

http://abstract.desktopnexus.com/wallpaper/840136/

Lucifer’s Orphan by Roland Yeomans

Ah… October… Finally, the month to indulge in all things creepy. Deliciously creepy… The dark arrives early and seems more reluctant to depart, dead leaves rustle… or is it more than leaves? And what is the white vapour floating above the grass, at the edge of the woods? Morning fog or a breath of something from beyond?...

Yes! I love it!!! Can you tell? :-)

Well, this is a good time to head over to Writing in the Crosshairs, Roland Yeomans’s blog, who is holding his first blog fest this month, in celebration of Halloween and of his serial novel “Lucifer’s Orphan.”

I don’t even remember what I was searching for on the web when I discovered Roland’s blog. Once there, I saw the cover of “The Legend of Victor Standish” and I fell in love with the amazing art of Leonora Roy. The cover alone tells a fantastic story. As do the covers of all of Roland’s novels. (I really wish they were available in paperback too…) Then, I read the outrageous blurb of the book, read the first few pages of it, and was totally hooked… But, Victor Standish is for another post…

 

Now, I have just finished reading “Lucifer’s Orphan.” Let me tell you a little about it…

This is the story of an orphan who has known no solace in his short, sad life except for the Book that has once belonged to the mother he has never known and the hope in The Father watching over him. When he is adopted by a rich stranger and shipped to New Zealand, it appears that things get a turn for the worse, if that’s even possible, or are they?...

The narrator is Blake himself, the 13 year-old orphan. He is an old young soul with a distinct voice, a mixture of perpetual self-irony, compassion, and the encyclopaedic erudition of someone who’s had mostly books as friends (although his adverbs are mysteriously absent…) I found him instantly likable, felt for him for his tragic past, and rooted for him as he gradually discovered friendship, meaning, truth, and more challenges than one could imagine…

In a way, the monsters in the story are too farfetched to be truly scary on the immediate level, but they are indeed very frightening on a deeper level, the one we glimpse when we are forced to search inside our souls. For this is, I find, much more than a simple adventure/fantasy.

The prose is effervescent and with a care for detail that brings surprises literally on every page. The author’s choice of names, for instance, is particularly intriguing, from Assyrian to Lovecraftian references and beyond. In short, a delight to read. Also, and very importantly, not just once I found myself laughing aloud while reading. But perhaps humour is one of the best ways to diffuse darkness. And there is a lot of darkness in Blake’s life…

I highly recommend this volume and I’m very much looking forward to reading the next one.

Yes, so why not visit Writing in the Crosshairs and have a look for yourselves? Be a part of the Halloween blog fest…

That Moon

There was a strange Moon that night

(that night when I was looking for you)

-not even poets would’ve known what to make of it-

red rimmed and pallid

with eyelids of dark clouds, ever blinking

like a giant eye in the sky

as if all the things from beyond

were peeking at Earth

Maybe lovers still exchanged vows

still made promises

by its silver light

seeing only dreams and celestial beauty

oblivious to such alien evil

No ghosts, no witches, no vampires

could scare me-

only the utterly alien cosmos

only the cosmic cold breath

of things unsayable

crushing my bones crushing my soul

watching me watching us

from up there

I was looking for you

my somber, my lost one

and I was alone and I was afraid

under the light of that Moon

I wished

how I wished to be

the squirrel

that squirrel who stole

the last apple from the apple tree

Counting

A ghoul or two

have come to you

You only took

three seconds, or four

to open the door

Five ravens, no, six

began flapping their wings

Wisps of mist,

seven, eight,

rose from the grave

Then she came

with nine whispers, or ten

Oh, the terror, oh, the pain

of seeing her again…

The Great Pumpkin Ball

For your enjoyment, here are a few of the participants at this year's Great Pumpkin Ball at the Montreal Botanical Gardens.

Happy, Sweet, Spooky Halloween!