âAt this rate, weâll never get out of here,â said Teddy Mealer, gritting his teeth as he yanked the steering wheel of his compact car and laid on the gas. His Prius, as it turned out, wasnât built for blizzard-level conditions in the Catskills, and he was reminded of it every time his engine roared in a vain attempt to retreat from the large snowbank.Â
âDonât say that, honey,â replied Margo, Teddyâs wife. She looked out at the snow piled up against her window and was trying not to panic. It was a vision of white on all sides of the car; each window was suffocated by snow, with only a hint of an opening out of the rear window.
âI donât think you understand, babe. I canât move. I think weâre stuck here.â
âAre you serious?â She nudged the handle on her door, then proceeded to yank it and kick at the door before her husband restrained her.
Teddy shook his head. âYouâre wasting your time. Iâll keep trying, but I donât think itâll do any good. Weâre packed like sardines.â
Nearly another half-hour had passed, and Teddy was still unable to free the car from the clutches of the cold, white mass. He punched the steering wheel in frustration. âWeâre nearly out of gas. Weâve got to get out of here soon or weâll freeze. Or worse, thereâs the whole carbon monoxide thing.â
Margo took her cell phone out of her purse for the third time in as many minutes, but she couldnât get any kind of signal. âTeddy, Iâm scared. What are we going to do?â
âI donât know.â There was a newfound weariness to his voice, as if the dread that his wife was fully immersed had finally caught up to him.
Margo was about to throw a fit when she heard the roar of another engine. She looked outside to see the headlights of a large, black pickup with an attached plow pull up behind their car. The front door opened and out stepped a bearded, middle-aged man in a brown parka and dungarees.
âTed, I think this guyâs going to help us out!â Margo beamed. She took her husbandâs hand and squeezed it in excitement.
âThank God!â
They watched as the man retrieved a chain and attached it somewhere underneath their car. He then returned to his truck and gunned it in reverse. Teddy and Margo let out a mutual sigh of relief when their car slipped out of the snowbank and onto the road.
The man got out of his truck again, detached the chain from their car, and threw it back onto the bed. He stopped and looked inside at the couple for a brief second before getting into his vehicle. Teddy and Margo watched as their Good Samaritan drove away.
âWhat a nice man,â said Margo. âHe didnât even ask for anything. Didnât even wait around for a thank-you.â
âPeople out here look out for each other,â said Teddy. âThatâs a good guy, there.â
Teddy went to drive away, but the car wouldnât move. They were out of the bank, but the vehicle was immobile. âSon of a bitch! What now?â
Margot was agonizingly silent.
âThe rear axle might be broke. Shit. Whyâd that guy have to leave in such a hurry? I mean, he was a big help and all, but whereâd he go?â said Ted. He forced his door open and looked down the road, but all he could see was a dense, white snow fog. He examined the rear of the car and, sure enough, the wheel was crooked because the axle was broken.
Teddy returned to the car and sighed. With their gas tank almost empty, the couple decided that they would have to leave the Prius behind and seek shelter. They stepped out of the vehicle and were instantly struck by the frigid, winter air. Luckily, they only had to walk for a couple minutes before they noticed a small cabin set back just a few hundred yards from the road. They decided to head for it and ask whoever lived there if they could come inside.
Teddy and Margo soon arrived at a modest cabin. There was a small porch attached to the front, on which sat Adirondack chairs with snow piled up on each seat. A wide, stone chimney jutted out just off to one side of the porch, many of the stones having fallen to the ground nearby. They stepped onto the porch and wood cracked beneath their feet.
Teddy knocked repeatedly on the door, but no one answered. He turned the doorknob and it felt like it wasnât locked.
He called out before they ventured inside. âHello? Is anybody home?â
No one answered. The icy wind howled through the evergreens behind them.
âI guess not,â said Margo.
The cold snapping against their faces, the couple had no other option but to enter. As they passed through the doorway, they were immediately taken aback by a sharp musty smell.
âUgh, Teddy. That smell. Who the heck lives here? Donât they clean?â
âI donât think anyoneâs lived here for years. Or it might be a poorly kept hunting cabinâthis is deer country, after all,â said Teddy. He looked around. They were standing in a small living room which had a loft area above. There was a TV and a sofa, which was adorned with a blanket, on which was stitched a grey wolf howling at the moon. A large mirror hung over the sofa.
The living room led into a kitchen with a modest-sized refrigerator and stove, and a table for two. The kitchen had the sole working light on the first floor, which hung from a string, and shone into the living room. Cobwebs covered every corner and piece of furniture in the cabin; crunchy leaves and various forest debris were scattered about the floor.
âItâs like they just ran out and left everything behind,â said Margo.
Teddy found a book of matches inside a kitchen drawer and used it to light a fire in a small wood stove in the corner of the living room. Dry kindling and enough wood for the night was conveniently set near the entranceway. He took a seat next to Margo on the sofa and they held each other, warming up until the room was a bearable temperature.
Worn out from their ordeal, they quickly passed out on the cabinâs sofa.
Margo wasnât asleep twenty minutes when she tapped Teddy on the shoulder. âWhatâs that noise?â
There was a heavy pounding on the loft floor above, as if someone were stomping around. They listened with intense curiosity as one set of footsteps traveled down from the loft, followed by a second, heavier set.
Margo tucked her head into her husbandâs shoulder. âOh, my godâsomebodyâs inside. Maybe the owners came homeâŠâ
âDonât you think they would have come in through the front door? Maybe saw us on the couch and woke us up? Why would they be running up and down the steps?â said Teddy. âIt might be some rats, or raccoons, or something. Who knows what openings or broken windows there might be in an old, forgotten place like this?â
Teddy was about to lay his head back against the cushion when he heard someone scream. It was that of a woman, and she kept repeating the same thing in a frenzied tone, over and over. âNo, no, no!â
Neither Teddy nor Margo moved. The screaming continued, traveling from upstairs to downstairs, growing louder, more intense with each passing minute. This continued for another ten minutes, when suddenly, as if someone had flicked a switch, it stopped. No more screaming, no more footsteps. The sound gone, all they could hear was the creaking of the house and the whistling of the wind outside.
âWhat was that?!â whispered Margo, her face tense.
âI donât know. It sounded like someone being chased around. But I didnât see a thing.â
âTeddy, is this place haunted?â Margo couldnât believe she was asking such a question, or that she half-considered it to be a possibility.
They discussed leaving the cabin for a moment but realized they still couldnât venture outside. Not at least until morning. The snowfall had waned, but the wind had picked up quite considerably.
Hungry, and unable to sleep, they searched the kitchen for food. Margo opened the refrigerator and nearly vomited at the pungent, death-like smell that wafted out. Undefined molds lined the drawers and compartments. She quickly slammed the door.
Teddy had a little more luck. He managed to scrounge up a couple cans of fruit cocktail from a lower cabinet that was less than a year past expiration. He found a can opener and they shared the meager portion.
Their bellies as full as they would get for the night, and the cabin now comfortably warm (and quiet) Teddy and Margo climbed the stairs to the loft to explore. The closet light held the only working bulb in the loft, and it shone a comfortable glow into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, and it looked as if the sheets had been thrown on the floor in a fit. A pair of panties and a pair of boxers were strewn with some other faded articles of clothing.
âIt looks like a couple lives here. Or should I say âlivedâ here,ââ said Teddy.
They flipped the mattress and dug a clean, moth-bitten bed sheet out from a dresser, then laid down together. They were sound asleep minutes later.
âNo! No! Oh, God, no! It doesnât mean anything! I love you! Oh, please donât hurt him!â
Margo let out an awful cry as she awoke, the shrill womanâs voice again filling the cabin around them. She looked at her husbandâs watch. She and Teddy hadnât been sleeping twenty minutes.
âWhat the fuck is that?â asked Teddy, now wide awake beside her. âIâm going to check it out.â
âNo,â said Margo, throwing herself over her husband. âPlease donât leave me.â
This time, they heard the pounding all around them, coming from the staircase and traveling toward the bed. The couple screamed as the bed lifted off the ground a few inches and then crashed back down to the floor. The footsteps traveled from the loft and all the way down to the kitchen, and possibly the basement. This time, the chaos ended with a loud âcrack,â as if someone had fired a gun. Then another âcrack.â Then silence.
Tears streamed down Margoâs face. âLetâs go. Oh, God, letâs get out of here!â She hopped out of bed and ran down the stairs, ready to bolt out the front door, but Teddy chased after her and blocked the doorway.
âWhere are you going?â he asked.
âTed, this place is haunted. Iâm scared!â
He held her tight by the shoulders and nodded. âOkay, okay. I believe you. I think itâs haunted, too. Some repetitive haunting is going on here. I heard about this kind of thing watching all those seasons of Ghost Stalkers. Someone who dies under extreme circumstances often ends up repeating the events leading up to their death. I think someone might have been murdered here, and itâs playing out like the cabin has the awful memory imprinted on it.â
âThen letâs go! Why are you standing there if you know whatâs coming!â
âBecause itâs a goddamn blizzard out there, and weâll die if we spend an hour out in it. Itâs two in the morning and weâre miles from anywhere. Nobodyâs going to stop by. That nice guy with the truck is long gone.â
âSo, what do we do, Teddy?â
âI donât think the ghosts can harm us. Theyâre dead and simply re-enacting a scene; weâre just observers,â said Teddy. âThose poor bastards. Could you imagine being forced to re-live the same horrible event, over and over?â
Realizing the bed in the loft played a major part in the haunting, Teddy convinced Margo to return to the couch on the first floor. They werenât going to get much sleep anyway.
Every few hours the haunting commenced. The bed in the loft, the pounding footsteps descending the staircase, through the living room and into the kitchen. Then the basement gunshots. But Teddy and Margo werenât exactly in a better position in the living room, as it turned out. As the night wore on, more chaos unfolded. They watched in horror as objects flew across the roomâclothes, pillows, books. They were forced to duck, and dive, as heavier objects arced through the airâa lamp, dishes, and at one point even a small television.
Teddy held close to Margo beneath the wolf blanket; they were too frightened to keep stoking and tending to the fire. They both shivered as each hour the horrors seemed to escalate. It was a form of torture, one they dreaded more as each minute passed, knowing that the next repetition would be more intense, more violent.
Teddy was nodding off during one of the lulls between repetitionsâthe sun just beginning to make its presence known through the dirty windowsâwhen Margo let out a wild scream. He watched as his wife was lifted into the air. She clutched at her throat, trying to tear away an invisible set of hands. Her face was straining and turning a horrid shade of purple. He jumped up and threw his body into the phantom perpetrator. Teddy connected with the unseen force and Margo fell to the floor, gasping for air.
When Teddy looked up, he caught site of the reflection of a man in the mirror over the couch. Although it was darkâwith only a little light coming into the room from the bulb in the kitchenâhe could have sworn it was the same man in the brown parka and dungarees that had helped tow their car out of the snowbank.
Footsteps pounded down to the basement again. Followed by the two gunshots that ended it all, but this time a third shot rang out, just moments later. That was all the Mealers could take. They ran outside just as the sun began cresting over the mountains. The storm had passed, and the air was noticeably warmer.
âI think I figured out what happened,â said Teddy, out of breath from his exertion. âThe man who lived there killed his wife. The underwear on the floor? I think he caught her in bed with another man and chased them around the house. It all ended in the basement, where he shot them both, then himselfâthe third shot.â
Margo merely nodded as they put distance between themselves and the cabin, postholing through the deep snow. She didnât care who killed who; she just wanted to go home.
âI think the guy with the pickup was the one who killed them,â stated Teddy. âHoney, I think we got pulled out of that ditch by a ghost!â
They made it back to the road, hoping they could flag down a passing motorist and hitch a ride into town. As they neared the scene of their accident, they were surprised to see the car was no longer sitting where they had abandoned it, as it was firmly lodged in the snowbank. They stopped dead in their tracks when it was clear that the same black pickup from the night before was pulling their Prius free.
âHoney, that ghost. Heâs back again,â said Margo.
They stood silently, watching as the man in the brown parka and dungarees exited his truck to retrieve the chains. The man then peered into the driver-side window of their car, shook his head and jogged back toward his truckâshouting back over his shoulder, âI live just up ahead. Iâll go call an ambulance!â
Margo and Teddy walked over to the Prius after the truck tore down the road. They couldnât believe their eyes. There they were, sitting in the front seat, their faces ghastly white.
âWhat is this Teddy?! Who are these people?â Margoâs lip quivered. A nasty wind chapped her face. âThey look likeâŠâ
âUs! Thatâs because it is us, honey. Weâre dead. That guy was the killer. See him driving away? Heâs going to go find his wife in bed with another man and kill them both. Donât you see? He returned home early because he was going to go and call us an ambulance. He didnât know we were dead. Weâre just like him, repeating our final episodeâŠâ
Brhel & Sullivan are co-authors of Corpse Cold: New American Folklore and Resurrection High.
Who truly knows what lurks in dark corners or in the darkest of hearts? WHAT WAITS IN THE DARK contains eighteen illustrated tales which explore the horrors found at the periphery of shadow and light.
A Soviet doctor attempts to play God during the Battle of Stalingrad.
Friends come face to face with a Japanese urban legend in Syracuse, New York!
A woman hears her husband sweetly singing to their daughter over the baby monitor, but soon realizes heâs not home.
A raucous fraternity takes a haunted hayride through the woods that they wonât soon forget.
These and 18 other creepy tales can be found within WHAT WAITS IN THE DARK.
ILLUSTRATED HORROR STORIES FOR KIDS: A âSCARY STORIES TO TELL IN THE DARKâ LINEAGE
-- Check out some of the sick illustrations in this article! https://tinyurl.com/ydgoj9nj
Our summer novel release. Resurrection High is a coming-of-age comedy, a cross between The Catcher in the Rye and Donnie Darko. Read the first chapter and find out more about the book here.
This is my definitive guide for the 90s kidâs horror anthology series Are you Afraid of the Dark? The Top 20 episodes are must-see TV. I ranked them based on creepiness, originality of material/transformation of source material, and rewatchability. There were 91 episodes over 7 seasons. There are only 5 episodes included from the 2 revival seasons. Episodes in the 3/5 tier range from an average episode from the original run of the series to an above average episode. An average episode from the final 2 seasons would rate 2/5 in this ranking system.
 5/5:
1. Midnight Madness
-Dr. Vink is a creepy movie producer. The production of the silent film shown in the Rialto is the highlight of this episode. Vampires have never been done scarier in a kidâs show.
2. Dark Music
-Andy discovers a monster in the basement of his new house. There is genuine suspense and the viewer is left wondering whether Andy will make it out of the basement alive.
3. Old Man Corcoran
-Every time cemeteries appear in an episode theyâre excellent backdrops to the action. Playing hide and seek in an overgrown cemetery at night was every weird little kidâs dream. Ghost story.
4. Lonely Ghost
-Runs the gamut of haunted house tropes until it delivers its fresh twist. Probably the most believable haunted house in the series.
5. Dead Manâs Float
-It might be derivative of âThe Raftâ from Creepshow 2, but it delivers with the same suspense, and the monster is really neat looking. Good use of Poltergeist-style backstory.
6. Whispering Walls
-More of a fun house than a traditional haunted house story. The weirdness is off-the-charts with this one, but itâs one of the best chillers.
7. Laughing in the Dark
-Haunted fun house. Excellent backstory and usage of a live carnival backdrop. Aron Tager at his finest, and heâs not even playing Dr. Vink in this one.
8. Water Demons
-Best usage of zombies in the series. The suspense mechanic is too fresh, and I havenât seen anything quite like it since this episode(released in 1994.)
9. Bigfoot Ridge
-Three friends stranded in an abandoned cabin in the mountains during a snowstorm and they have to keep the lights on because of what creeps in the shadows.
10. Watcherâs Woods
-Girlsâ summer camp and a haunted woods Bermuda Triangle-trope. There is plenty to criticize about this episode, but the Watcher is one of those original monsters that make the episode.Â
 4/5:
11. Super Specs
-Sardo and his magic shop delivers in this episode about interdimensional conflict. Would likely be a 5/5 episode if not for the interdimensional beings playing basketball. Sinister ending.Â
12. Silent Servant
-Scarecrow stories are hard to do. Very similar to a Goosebumps story that was released a few months before the episode aired. Perhaps the most âadultâ use of dark magic.
13. Dangerous Soup
-Weird play on the Vincent Price movie The Tingler. Of course, Dr. Vink makes a soup from fear extracted from the employees at his 5-star restaurant.Â
14. Crimson Clown
-This one probably shouldnât be rated as highly as it is, as it almost feels derivative of the second half of âLaughing in the Dark.â A clown doll terrorizes a naughty little brat. Â
15. Sorcererâs Apprentice
-Cult action in a high school based around a creepy wizard resurrection. Actor playing Goth: 11/10 on the overacting.
16. Prom Queen
-Vanishing Hitchhiker urban legend retelling, set in a graveyard. Thereâs an awesome seance scene in a boat on the river.
17. Hunted
-Expression of primal fear. There isnât much to this episode but it sticks with you long after viewing, despite the hokey âdebateâ over hunting itself that takes place.
18. Apartment 214
-This one shouldnât be creepy on repeated viewing, but for some reason it is. Haunted apartment that new girl in town investigates. Ghost Story.
19. Dollmaker
-Intricate storytelling, not necessarily scary or even creepy unless you have a phobia of turning into a doll. It hits with the suspense and youâre not sure if the protagonist is going to make it home safely. The haunted house within the haunted house motif is neat.
20. Vampire Town
-Enough intrigue, actual catacombs scenes, and coffins to make things interesting. Sinister endings are always a plus.
 3/5:
21. Frozen Ghost
-The finest atmospheric piece the show has ever done. Everything about the story is cold, chilling. They make no bones about it; a little boy was murdered in a hollowed-out tree by a thief.
22. Nightly Neighbors
-One of the few campy episodes that still delivers with a shocking moment or two. The mystery of whether or not the neighbors are actually vampires keeps you guessing. Strong Fright Night flavor.
23. Hatching
-Not exactly a creepy location at the boarding school. End chase scene brings this episode to slightly above average. Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
24. Highway 13
-Repetitive haunting, boys stuck in a time warp, forced to race against a crazed trucker over and over. Reminiscent of some of the best parts from Jeepers Creepers and Joy Ride.
25. Reanimator
-Basically a retelling of Goosebumps Stay Out of the Basement. When the kids reanimate a bad guy from a grave in the cemetery the episode takes a nice turn.Â
26. Phone Police
-Strong urban legend flavoring. Every kid was worried about what might happen if they ever got caught making prank phone calls. However, the story is less interesting as an adult.
27. Ghastly Grinner
-Ultimate camp here. Some good horror imagery, probably too schlocky at this point. Good for one viewing.
28. Quicksilver
-Opening portals in a haunted house, seances, demon summoning etc.Â
29. Night Shift
-Empty hospital slowly overrun by vampires. They could have gone creepier, but held back. Final face off with vampire is fun.
30. Dream Machine
-A number of scary story motifs rolled into one. This episode should make you laugh, but itâs not all that campy. A typewriter is discovered which makes dreams come true. One of the best episodes for repeated viewings.
Joe Sullivan is the author of numerous horror and fantasy books such as the illustrated collection:Â Corpse Cold: New American Folklore
I had never gotten along with my stepfather Jerry, which isnât to say he was a cruel, indecent man. I accepted him as my father, as he was the only male role model in my life since very early on. Jerry was ever present in the background of my life, he was there when I came home from school, in the living room watching TV when I went to bed, out cutting the grass on or grilling on the weekendsâbut I couldnât say he was ever there for me.
Itâs why I was hesitant to return his calls a few months back. I hadnât heard from him in the eight years since my mother passed away. I figured the only reason he would be calling was to ask for money. Which would be strange, because he had never asked for anything from me in the twenty-plus years that I had known him.
âSon, I know Iâve never been emotional with you,â said Jerry (he called everyone younger than him âsonâ) âBut Iâd like to get to know you as a man. Can I see you?â
âIâm really busy Jerry. I have these corporate accounts who always need something, no matter the time of day.â I blew him off like this for the first couple weeks. Heâd call every few days and try again, and each time our conversation would last a little longer.
âI treated you the same my own father treated me,â said Jerry. âI know now that it was the wrong way to go about things. I shouldnât have hit you in trying to correct you.â
âThing is, Jerry, thereâs nothing wrong with spanking a kid, or cuffing him on the back of the head, if you love him and honestly want to see him grow into a decent person,â I said it without emotionâalways without emotion. I learned that way of communicating from Jerry. I can say it has served me well when making deals between billion-dollar companies.
He hesitated on his end of the phone. âI- I loved your mother with everything I had. When she passed I didnât know what to do with myself.â
âI was still in college, Jerry,â I said. âMy mother died, and I had no home to return to. You up and left and acted like you didnât even know me.â
âI couldnât have stayed in that house,â said Jerry. âI figured you were set financially and wouldnât want to come stay in my 1 bedroom apartment... You were a grown man, on the right path...â
âIt pissed me off, still doesâŠâ I said, really thinking about my state of mind back then. I nearly dropped out of law school. Drank heavily, wrecked a relationship with a really great girl... âHonestly, why are you trying to get in touch with me?â
âIâm sick, son. Later-stage colon cancer.â
âAre you terminal?â I didnât mean for it to come out so cold, but I always gathered the facts before I let myself feel something.
âNo, the docs say Iâm about fifty-fifty,â said Jerry. âI start a heavy radiation treatment this Friday. I was hoping you might accompany me. Get me there and back.â
âIâm way tooâŠâ I hesitated, thinking of my mother. She had always been the gentle hand to pick me up when I fell short along the way. Regardless of what I thought of the guy, I knew she had genuinely loved him. âWhat time?â
â7 a.m. Friday morning.â
I took Jerry to his first appointment, and then twice a week for his treatments. We didnât talk much. The radiation took everything out of him. He would be really out of it for the rest of the day, and I see that he was safely back home in bed before heading to work. We both took comfort in our small remembrances of my mother, I wasnât doing it out of charity. I wanted to reminisce about her, and he was my only living connection to her.
âDoc says Iâm on my way to recovery,â said Jerry, sitting in the passenger seat as I drove him to the hospital. âYou wonât have to cart me back and forth for too much longer.â
âCongratulations.â
An awkward silence fell between us. Our relationship up until that point could probably best be described as a never-ending series of awkward pauses, broken only by brief instructions or insults.
âSon, I never understood why you wouldnât take my name.â
âI like my last name. Gerald J. Smith is a pretty generic name.â
âIt really upset me that you didnât want to have the same name as me and your mother. We mightâve been closer, felt more like an official family...â
âYou wouldâve loved me if my last name was Smith?â
Jerry contorted in his seat. âI thought I was being a father. Youâre the only son Iâve ever had.â
âI think you hit the nail on the head, Jerry,â I said, letting anger color my voice. âThe problem was that you were trying to be âa father,â as opposed to âmy father.ââ
I could tell that I really struck a nerve because he offered no biting comeback, just silence. We didnât speak for the rest of that day. I dropped him back home after his appointment and didnât hear from him. In the following weeks I just assumed that he had made a full recovery and was back to living his solitary life. His crisis over, along with our renewed relationship.
 I didnât think too much into it when the cemetery called about an issue with my momâs plot. There had been a recent blowdown, a nasty storm that tore through the region. I figured there might be some damage to her headstone, when he asked to have a meeting at the cemetery offices.
I hadnât visited her in some time. I think I dreamt about visiting her and meant to but kept putting it off while I was running Jerry back and forth to the clinic. I figured Iâd stop by her grave first, see the damage, visit for a minute, before meeting up with the cemetery folks.
I was taken aback when I pulled up next to her plot, her and Jerryâs companion plots, and there was no visible damage, but a fresh mound. I got out of the car and inspected the gravestone, verifying that Gerald J. Smith 1956-2018 was dead and newly buried next to my mother.
âWhat the hell, Jerry? You go off and die without saying anything? Typical.â
I couldnât help myself. I cried, bawled for a few minutes before getting it together. You think all sorts of stuff when you find out someoneâs dead. Good and bad memories flash through your headâyou almost always feel some sort of regret. I had plenty of regrets. At the time I felt like I let my mother downâthat Jerry died without anyone looking out for him. I knew she wouldâve been disappointed in me.
I spent ten or fifteen minutes out in the graveyard when I received a call from the cemetery offices, asking if I was going to stop by. I told them Iâd be there in a minute, wiped by eyes with a tissue, and headed over. Now I knew it would probably be about settling accounts over Jerryâs burial.
The receptionist took me back to an office. I walked in and a grave man rose from behind a desk to greet me. I was in the middle of saying hello when I noticed another man sitting in the room. He moved agonizingly slow in turning to face me. He was feeble, balding. Having been around so many people receiving radiation treatments, I knew the signs well. I could tell by the emaciated jawline and the unique way the hair thinned, that this guy was in the midst of a battle against some form of cancer. I felt bad for him.
I nearly fainted when I got a good look at the feeble man. It was Jerry.
âWhatâs going on here?â I asked, my heart racing. I never thought Iâd be so elated to see my stepfather.
âSir, my name is Lester James, chairman of the cemeteryâs board of directors. I was just discussing the mix-up with Mr. Smith...â
âWhoâs buried next to my mother?â
âThat is precisely what I want to clear up.â
âThese idiots buried another Jerry Smith next to your mom, son,â said Jerry. He looked at me, worn down, as morose as Iâd ever seen him.
âWell, just exhume this other guy and get on with it,â I said.
âYes, we certainly plan to,â said James. âWe just had to get in touch with you and Mr. Smith to let you know that we made a mistake and we plan on correcting it.â
âBuncha idiots. Burying some random guy next to my HelenâŠâ mumbled Jerry.
âItâll be done soon?â I asked. I wasnât sure of how I should come across. I wasnât really madâitâs not like they disturbed my mom or buried someone alive.
âYes, within the next day or so we will have removed this other Gerald Smith, and weâll put fresh sod on your plot, sir,â said James, looking to Jerry. âI am sorry for this whole mix-up, and for wasting both of your time.â
Jerry struggled to get up, I helped him stand.
âSon, these clowns are in the business of burying bodies and they buried a guy in the wrong spot.â
I couldnât help but smirk at his remark. We walked out of the office, arm in arm, so I could support his frail frame.
âHowâs your treatment going, Jerry?â
âItâs going. They say I got a decent chance at making it through.â
âThatâs good news.â
When we got out to the small lot in front of the office I saw Jerryâs car. âYou shouldnât be driving, Jerry. Hold up and let me run and get my car.â
âNah, Iâm not leaving my car here. These dummyâs will probably bury it in a plot for a guy named Carr or Ford.â I laughed, but he waited for me.
I returned, and he got in my car. âIâll send someone this afternoon to return your car.â
âThanks, son. Appreciate it.â
âIâm glad youâre not dead yet, Jerry.â He cracked a smile.
âI know youâre busy with your big shot lawyer stuff, but Iâd really like to get some hash and eggs at the diner. My appetite has really come back since my last treatment.â
Centralia, PA would be in a proverbial Hall of Fame for legend tripping. It is an odd place, and itâs even a creepy place under the right weather/daylight/seasonal conditions. I heard from a friend about this (mostly) abandoned coal town in the summer of 2001. He had read a brief passage about it in Bill Brysonâs A Walk in the Woods. Bryson mentions a town with a few dozen inhabitants, with streets, mailboxes, driveways serving homes that had long been razed; streets lost to massive, smoldering sinkholes. My friend told me about Centralia, and that same night we were off to go see it for ourselves.
The second photo is what the closed section of the abandoned highway looked like in 2001-2005, when we made yearly trips. There were a few graffiti marks right at the beginning of the road, and then it was desolate for a mile or so. Centralia is the type of place where you can feel that you are passing from the ordinary to the strange.
Centralia is a living legend. The coal fires still burn, but not as noticeably as twenty years ago. The deep fissures in the abandoned highway (which a grown man could stand in, at one time) have been filled in. A few more houses have been torn down. In 2003 you knew when you were in the âcenterâ of Centralia. There was a manicured park in the center of town, a grouping of homes near the crossroads. I went back in the summer of 2017 with my kids and I drove past the town!
The first picture is the same abandoned highway, just in 2017. I donât know that Iâm upset with what Instagramers have done in terms of popularizing this special place. The graffiti/rainbow road is something different, almost worthy of notoriety in its own right. Centralia is a living thing, its legend is only growing. I donât know that Iâd want to go on the same legend trip twice.
John and I write weird fiction with real places like Centralia in mind. Locations that we sometimes even name(or just mildly obscure) that a reader can visit for themselves. At the Cemetery Gates: Year One and Corpse Cold: New American Folklore are riddled with these locations. These places weâve visited as kids and adults, and have been inspired to re-imagine. Weâre contemplating putting together a collection of stories that focus on real, strange locations in Upstate New York, with photographs and a map, something one could travel in a day or a couple of afternoons.
In February 2018, we (Brhel & Sullivan) will release a book of ten short stories entitled Her Mourning Portrait and Other Paranormal Oddities. With this collection, we aim to present the difficulties of sustaining flesh-and-blood relationships through a novel lens â through the weird and uncanny.
Paranormal themes and plot elements help us explore interpersonal relationships in unique, often amusing, ways; but at their core, these tales are not about ghosts or strange premonitions â theyâre about flawed, everyday individuals navigating the complexities of dating, marriage, and loss. If anything, the strange situations that our characters encounter only parallel the seemingly arbitrary, uncertain nature of real-life love and companionship. And while you may not ever communicate with a dead lover or have a preternatural insight into a different time or place, you can likely relate to the tragedy, the euphoria, the insanity that the act of loving often entails.
The stories can be considered romances in the broadest sense. Each tale is built around a central characterâs quest for a more secure, fully actualized, and loving intimacy. However, most of the stories would not properly fit within the expectations of the already established, paranormal romance subgenre.
With books like Tales from Valleyview Cemetery and Corpse Cold: New American Folklore our goal was to entertain readers with spook stories, featuring uncomfortable plot elements that approach real-life horrors. And in Carol for a Haunted Man we portrayed a helpful, Dickensian apparition, and a mortal protagonist who was struggling to rebuild his personal and professional lives. While this collection is a mix of both thematic styles, we hope to satisfy readers whoâve enjoyed our campfire oddities, as well as those whoâve preferred our more literary moments.
Some of the highlights from the new collection include:
âHer Mourning Portraitâ is the story of an artist who immortalizes his dying wife, and then must face the consequences of aging without her.
âSide by Sideâ is a quirky cemetery tale about a confrontation between a long-deceased man and his widowâs second husband, regarding the final resting place of their beloved-in-common.
âLady of Cayuga Lakeâ recounts the last hurrah of a separating husband and wife, a final vacation which takes a turn toward the paranormal when they both spy a ghost over the lake. Will they have what it takes to work together, confide in each other, and solve the mysterious disappearance of Mary Gold?
âThe Lost Cacheâ tells of the strain an obsessive hobby can have on a marriage. Hillary appears to give Eric every chance to engage her, and work his way back toward an intimate companionship, even going so far as to plan out a special evening of hiking and geocaching in an old cemetery with her husband.
âPlay It Again, Samâ is a science fiction story regarding the discovery of a technology that can influence recorded memories. Sam is an engineer hoping to alter his ex-wifeâs perception of their seminal, shared moments together, enough that she has a more positive view of him in the present.
âHer, He, and a Corpse Makes Threeâ focuses on a love triangle between a living couple who work in a funeral home, and the womanâs recently deceased, yet spiritually returned ex-boyfriend.
Ben Baldwin is once again responsible for the cover art. Ben previously designed the cover for our episodic novel, Marvelryâs Curiosity Shop.
The following is a complete short story from Her Mourning Portrait and Other Paranormal Oddities, entitled âBeyond a Blood Moon.â It is a brief homage to the chillers of Guy de Maupassant and Edgar A. Poe.
I left the bedroom and wandered our home. Her sneakers were gone. She enjoyed jogging late, and I hated that she had no fear of the night. As I dressed and put on my shoes, I considered whether I was the reason for her jogging now; that she wouldnât want to worry me if I were still awake, while she took the path around the block and through the cemetery. So, since there was no way I was going to fall back to sleep without seeing her safely home, I headed out into the night.
There were intermittent clouds, but the moon was full and bright, illuminating the areas where the amber-yellow street lamps fell short. As I turned from the sidewalk and into Valleyview Cemetery, I noticed the beginnings of a lunar eclipse. I hadnât seen one since childhood, and stood in awe as the Earthâs shadow consumed the reddening lunar surface. At the time, I considered how strange and seemingly unimportant such a spectacular astronomical event had been to me. It had been over twenty years since Iâd stood in my parentsâ front yard and last waited for the moon to vanish.
I rarely consumed local media, but there had to have been some mention of it in the newspaper that morning. To think that ancient societies would plan for months, and even years, in advance, to celebrate a full lunar eclipseâand here I was, casually catching one as I searched for my missing companion.
I continued on through Valleyview after the blood moon had passed. The lunar disc retained some of its reddish hue, but the street lamps on either end of the cemetery were enough for me to find my way down the winding paths of the hillside graveyard. I came upon Sara, not far from the central outcropping of mausoleums. I ran to her crumpled form. I knew her instantly by the powder-blue sneakers with their pink bands.
She was lifeless. I screamed her name as I attempted to revive her. I could make out the strangulation marks on her neck, her bruised face, as I gave my best effort at resuscitation. She had been murdered. Iâm still not sure whether she had been robbed. I called 911 and the paramedics, fire department, and police raced into the cemetery.
It was the last time I saw Saraâs body, as her family wouldnât allow me at the wake or funeral, since I was awaiting arraignment for homicide. Â Â
I had no choice but to put my hands on her, and try my best to revive her. I had to touch her, feel with my own hands the bruising on her cheek, her broken right orbital bone, the sinewy strangulation marks on her neck. I began to mourn her, long before the first medic arrived on the scene.
There was no one else to charge, imprison, and punish. It really made sense for the police, community, my friends, and family, that I was the one who had extinguished a loving, generous, womanâone who I had long imagined as the mother of my children, my lifelong partner. For eight years I went mad in a single cell at Shawangunk Correctional Facility. I had no visitors, no one waiting for meâno one to serve my time for. I wrote letters to Saraâs family, my own family, pleading my innocence and the truth of my unabashed love for her. They went unanswered.
During my eight years, I married Sara in my mind, had children with her. We went on family vacations, advanced in our careersâeven had spats, and differences, which we eventually overcame. She and I advanced into old age, and I was ready to die alongside her when I was granted parole.
The first night I was allowed to leave the halfway house, I went right to Valleyview and lay upon her ornate altar-tomb. It was a frigid, overcast February night, and I intended to fall asleep and become a part of her monument. A monument to my love for her, the love we had shared the four years we were together, and the eight I had shared with her in dream.
The chill had already consumed me, and was now leaving my body along with my lifeâs energy. It began to snow. A thin, white blanket covered me and the altar, and I began to drift into that place between conscious and unconscious. But as I resigned myself to my end, and was preparing to embrace my final sleep, the altar moved beneath me. The shock of the tomb cracking mere inches from my face gave me a rush of adrenaline that left me fully cognizant of what then occurred.
From the few inches of darkness revealed by the cracked top piece of the altar, a waxen, partly shriveled hand emerged. I pushed myself onto my side to avoid the ghastly intrusion by my beloved. The aged, embalmed hand proceeded to scratch out the inscription on the tomb. I watched as an eerie incandescent green glow passed from the fingertips to the stone, bright enough that I had to momentarily shield my eyes.
It wasnât half a minute before the task was complete, and the hand returned to the dark of the tomb, the altar gently scraping back to its settled position. I looked to the inscription, to see what damage had been done, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. I assumed I had experienced some sort of delusion brought on by my deteriorating condition.
When I lay back on the tomb, resigned to complete my purpose, I looked up into the overcast sky, and the clouds soon partedârevealing the Earthâs colossal umbra as it consumed the moon. I had no prior knowledge of an impending lunar eclipse, and I had to shield my eyes, as I was shaken to my core by the specter of the blood-red disc.
Thanksgiving dinner excerpt from Brhel & Sullivanâs Carol for a Haunted Man.
Jacob stood outside his cousin Tedâs large colonial home nestled in the hills of Lestershire, self-conscious of his dated, shabby sweater, aware that it more acutely reflected his miserable mental state than the state of his style or finances. Ted was a successful real estate lawyer with a stunning wife named Helen and three precious children. Jacob felt like a shell of a man showing up at his cousinâs impressive home holding a store-bought pumpkin pie, absent his children. But rather than face the most familial of holidays in isolation, he had accepted Tedâs hospitality and would try to suffer it -- if only for his mother, Rhonda, and his favorite aunt, Shirley.
The door opened and Ted accosted Jacob with a lively, if not ingratiating, âHappy Thanksgiving, Pilgrim!â Barrel-chested and dapper in his fine cashmere sweater, Ted loomed over Jacob. Ted had endured many rugby games in college, and even though he had gained a few pounds brought on by long office hours and fatherhood, his lightly scarred hands and chin still struck an imposing, masculine image.
Jacob paused, managing a weak smile at Tedâs shoddy, and quite dated, John Wayne impression, but ultimately wished his cousin the same.
âSo, how are the kids?â asked Ted, as he led Jacob through the foyer, which was festively decorated with garland, gold bulbs, and a large decorative cornucopia set on the entranceway table. Smells of roast turkey and pumpkin spice-scented candles filled the room -- a stark contrast to Jacobâs new home, with its leftover Halloween-themed doormat the only recognition of the season.
âTheyâre good,â said Jacob, uncertain. In just months, his bond with his children had diminished immeasurably, and he felt unfit to elaborate on their status.
Ted led Jacob into his equally impressive living room, where the family sat watching the Macyâs Day Parade. Jacob was greeted with pitying smiles from Shirley and Rhonda, who knew all too well the sad state of his nuclear family.
The next few hours were a study in envy and resentment for Jacob. He watched as Ted and his brood partook in one holiday tradition after another -- backyard football, pie decorating, charades, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving -- the sort of traditions that he had begun with his own children in preceding years, which had now been broken.
Unable to bear another moment of the merrymaking, Jacob left the living room and wandered down the hall to Tedâs study. His cousin kept a small liquor cabinet, and Jacob made short shrift of a bottle of whiskey, taking one swig after another as he admired Tedâs leather furniture and collection of rare history books.
Jacob stumbled out of the study, just as Ted was making his way down the hallway in search of his absent cousin.
âWhat are you doing?â Ted asked. âYouâve been gone a while. I thought you were sick in the bathroom or something.â
âJust having a drink, Ted,â said Jacob, nonchalantly.
Ted took notice of Jacobâs glassy eyes. âHow much did you have?â
Jacob paused. âListen. Iâll buy you a new bottle, okay?â
âItâs Thanksgiving, man. I know youâre going through some stuff, but I donât want you drunk around my kids.â
Jacob, stewing in his self-hatred like a turkey soaking in brine, allowed himself to sink further into wretchedness. His envy for Ted -- composed, well-dressed, gorgeous family -- seemed only to embolden him. âOh, fuck off, man.â
âReally, Jake?â Ted replied, searching his cousinâs face for some sign of penance.
Jacob ignored him and returned to the living room, where everyone was watching football on the television. Ted followed, willing to cut his cousin some additional slack, but he was noticeably less cheery than when he had left to find Jacob.
âWhat did I miss?â asked Jacob. His mother quickly discerned his lush demeanor and shook her head. The children, to Tedâs relief, took no notice of their cousinâs condition.
âWe were just about to eat dinner,â said Ted, sternly. âChildren, get to the table, please.â
âAbout time,â said Jacob, drawing a prolonged glare from Ted.
The family gathered in the dining room, where Helen and Shirley had set out a bounty of food. A glazed, oven-roasted turkey was set on the crisp white tablecloth, and steam rose to the high ceilings, a heavy aroma of sage and rosemary with it. Food was passed, Ted led the family in grace, and the dinner commenced.
And whether from the alcohol he had ingested, or an obscene lack of sleep, or merely his need in that moment for the comfort of an illusion, Jacob imagined an alternate path his life might have taken, where Beatrice and his children were sitting at the table with him at cousin Tedâs. He thought specifically of his precious Jillian, smiling across the table, making mountains of her mashed potatoes. He was contented only briefly, before snapping out of the fantasy, and returning to the prison of his own making.
As everyone ate, Ted discussed some recent changes at his firm, his daughter Wendyâs progression as a pianist, and plans for an addition to the house.
âTimmy, do you want the drumstick?â said Jacob to Tedâs youngest, interrupting Tedâs rich description of his future rec room. Jacob held the turkey leg aloft and motioned as if to award the boy a grand trophy. As he reached across the table, succulent flesh fell from the bone and plopped down into the gravy bowl, splashing Helen and his aunt with the greasy, brown juice.
âNoooo! This is chiffon,â exclaimed Helen as she jumped up from the table and began vigorously scrubbing at the blotch on her dress with her napkin.
Jacob put the bone down and looked around the table. All his extended family (except for young Timmy), even his own mother, glowered at him and the mess he had made of their meal.
âRelax, itâll come out,â said Jacob, snickering to himself over Helenâs overreaction.
âIs something funny, Jake?!â said Ted, raising his voice.
âIâll buy you a new goddamn dress...and tablecloth. Christ.â
Ted sprung from his chair and stared down his cousin. âWatch your mouth! My kids donât need to hear your filth.â
âJacob, seriously?â chimed in Rhonda.
Jacob rolled his eyes. âCalm down, Ted. Theyâll live,â he said, before belching.
âHey! You may not give a damn about how your kids are raised, but when youâre in my house, youâll act like an adult and set a good example.â
Jacob fumed, gripping his fork tightly. âYou donât know the first thing about my kids.â
âI know enough,â said Ted, smirking at his sad, cuckolded cousin.
âJacob, cut the crap,â said Rhonda.
âUgh, this is never going to come out!â whined Helen, continuing her vain attempt to remove the stain, unaware of the escalating situation.
Jacob stood, and in one swift motion, he grabbed the tablecloth and yanked it toward him, causing the entirety of the tableâs contents to tumble over into a mess of mashed potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce. The adults jumped back, and the children screamed as plates fell onto the plush, white carpet, and champagne glasses shattered against the table.
No one spoke -- even Ted was too shocked to respond -- while Jacob excused himself, grabbed his coat from the foyer, and began the long walk home.
The Carol for a Haunted Man eBook is currently .99 cents on Amazon, or you can pick up the paperback for only $8.
Stranger Things 2: An Entertaining, Soft-Remake of the Original?
The first portion of this review contains no major spoilers, while my comments on the individual episodes in the second half, will.Â
The first two episodes, or âchapters,â of Stranger Things 2 unequivocally reminds us that we identify ourselves by the media we choose to consume. When the characters are reintroduced weâre practically nostalgic for the first run of the series, which only aired a little over a year ago. The first series created an environment reminiscent of many of our childhood brushes with pop-culture, adventure, the awkwardness of navigating puberty etc. The second run practically doubles-down on recreating that environment from the get-go, and then as the series progresses the Duffer Brothers deftly ease off that particular pedal, and let us settle back into the day-to-day troubles of Hawkins without the distraction of a constant barrage of ancient product labels, toys, fashion, and music to take note of.
Stranger Things 2 is a grander remake of the first series. Our heroes reemerge to once again take on the government lab baddies and its out-of-control science experiment, although this time the threat looms even larger over Hawkins. One would assume that replaying the same plot points might mark this series as stale, from the third or so chapter on, but the characters do grow, and there are enough mini-arcs involving our favorite returning heroes to maintain interest. For me, the first run of Stranger Things often dragged, while the characters did keep me watching, Stranger Things 2 certainly kept up the pace of the story, and only hit a road bump with Elevenâs side-story in the big city.Â
Speaking of which, I do have to address the opening chase scene, with the cast of characters weâll only come to again in Chapter 7. There seems to be no purpose for introducing these folks here. The van chase should probably begin the fifth chapter, where the lead, Kali, is hinted at in a flashback. For me, Kali and her gang is the one glaring misstep of Stranger Things 2. Her Eleven-like powers are introduced in the first few minutes of the series, and the viewer is left waiting for some sort of explanation, or purpose for her in the story arc, yet the distraction has little to no payoff.
Before I get to comments on individual chapters, I must say that Stranger Things 2 is well done, a superior product to the original, if you donât detest, or fixate on, the fact that this second series is nearly a soft remake. Iâd recommend Stranger Things 2 to anyone who broadly enjoys sci-fi or horror.
The following portion has spoilers and should serve as a brief episode guide, so hereâs your warning if you havenât seen the complete series.
Chapter 1: Madmax (Rating: 4/5)
Max is a redheaded girl who is always at the arcade, the boys are instantly enamored of her and stalk her. Her older brother, Billy, quickly becomes the new, even more narcissistic and nasty version of series 1 Steve, now that Steve is a sweetheart, older brother archetype to the boys.
Barbâs family has hired a private investigator and are selling their house to pay for it, although Nancy and Steve know sheâs dead, but wonât say. Itâs a real moral dilemma for Nancy, as it should be. We figure out quickly that most of the characters have kept quiet about what occurred at Hawkins National Lab.Â
Paul Reiser is Willâs psychiatrist, Dr. Owens. Dr. Owens is the a more sympathetic version of Dr. Brenner, although he still represents faceless, uncaring bureaucracy that manufactures horrible weapons and wants to treat special kids like guinea pigs.
Eleven is living with Hopper in a cabin deep in the woods.
Chapter 2: Trick or Treat, Freak (4/5)
Eleven is still having visions, mainly to let the viewer in on the fallout from the previous season.
Hopper begins investigating poison pumpkins and vegetation. First major, âCome on, dudeâ moment. Hopper is only a year away from dealing with plant issues. The first thing he should think when he sees a field full of rotted vegetation is Inter-dimensional Plant Monster.
The boys go trick or treating with Max and have a great time until Will has a vision of a menacing behemoth in the sky. This is such a rich, nostalgic episode, although it doesnât quite have enough trick or treating scenes as one might hope.
Chapter 3: The Pollywog (3/5)
Dusty finds creature in trash can outside his house. The creature transforms and Dusty is a dummy who will smack himself (again) when he sees Life (2017).
El wants to leave cabin and see Mike, but Hopper wants to keep her his secret. This was probably a missed opportunity to have an ultimate Halloween episode with Mike and Elâs reunion. She already had the ghost sheet made, thereâs no real reason why she canât just interact with Mike and have him keep her secret.
Steveâs hair is out of control. Itâs distracting by this point.
Hopper figures out the lab is the cause of the plant decaying poisonâŠduh.
Joyce finally gets back to her paranormal investigating and uses camcorder footage from Halloween Night to see Willâs behemoth in the sky.
El goes to the middle school just to knock Max off her skateboard out of jealousy. Itâs not a good look, nor a good scene.
Will stands his ground against the behemoth, taking Bobâs advice to heart, after heâs thrust back into the Upside Down, and gets consumed by the monster.
Chapter 4: Will the Wise (4/5)
They find will nearly catatonic in the parking lot of school. Will is now possessed by the entity from his visions and begins coloring a ton of pictures.
El returns home and has teen tantrum, destroys the cabin and Hopper leaves. She then finds a box with Hopperâs notes on Hawkinâs Lab under cabin and gets ideas.
Joyce and Hopper put Willâs picture together and decide they represent destroying vines.
Nancy records Dr. Owens admitting to Barbâs death. She and Steve want to burn the lab to ground, which is silly at the point, because they already knew Hawkins National Lab was most responsible for Barbâs death.
Dustyâs creature has escaped, and is found eating his cat. The creature now looks like the monster from the first season.
Hopper discovers the vast root system and tunnels under the poisoned fields.
Chapter 5: Dig Dug (4/5)
Hopper is investigating underground and gets blasted in face by sporing vine, and is trapped. Will has visions of Hopper in trouble.
Nancy and Jonathan meet up with conspiracy nut/the private investigator who was investigating Barbâs death and let him listen to Dr. Owensâ confession.
Bob walks in and solves Willâs drawings, deciphering them as a map of Hawkins, almost instantly.
El communicates with her Mom, finds out her Mom went into Hawkins Lab to try and rescue El aka Jane, and another girl, whom we can assume is the chick from first episode. El/Janeâs mom is caught, and Dr. Brenner fries her brain with some intense ECT.
Joyce and Bob manage to find, and free, Hopper. Hawkins Lab people also discover the underground tunnel system and they torch the labyrinths, which makes Will freaks out.
Chapter 6: The Spy (4/5)
Dusty and Steve discover that the creature has escaped from Dustyâs bomb shelter.
Will gets amnesia, and the episode begins feeling like It (2017) with the way everything leads back to one, evil wellspring which must be approached underground and conquered.
At this point the show begins feeling more like a horror movie than a sci-fi adventure. The kids battle monsters in a blockaded bus, while Hawkins Lab is overrun by the demadogs and the adults must fight their way out of the building.
Chapter 7: The Lost Sister (2/5)
Eleven finds Kali, her lost âsisterâ from Hawkins lab, in Chicago. They share information and decide theyâre going to track bad guys. Their first target states that Dr. Brenner is still alive, Kali seems to believe him. This bit of incredibly important information is quickly forgotten.
Cops bust Kaliâs gang, while El has a vision of Mike in trouble, and parts ways with Kali and her gang. There was no reason that Eleven had to meet Kali or take part in any of Kaliâs vendettas. It cheapened the overall story and was a distracting element from the first episode onward.
Chapter 8: The Mind Flayer (4/5)
The adults are still trying to escape Hawkins Lab, which is overrun by monsters. Bobâs going to reprogram some computers on the fly and save everyone.
The group plan to kill the underground behemoth, in order to destroy the hivemind, it generates.
They need to get information out of Will, but heâs possessed by the behemoth. Willâs friends and family tell him loving stories and anecdotes, and he ultimately gives them no new information.
El returns in time to save everyone from demadogs at Joyceâs house. She took a bus home using the money which she and Kaliâs gang stole, apparently.
Chapter 9: The Gate (5/5)
Comedy finally returns to the series in the beginning of this episode! Yes, levity gives perspective, and character, to heavy drama.
The group separates to burn the entity that has possessed Will, and to take on the behemoth underground.
âI shouldnât have left.â - Eleven. Exactly, she shouldnât have had a side story about meeting her mom and sister, as they ultimately told her nothing about herself or gave her meaningful direction to overcome her demons.
El and Hopper go into lab and run into Dr. Owens, whoâs given a tourniquet and pistol by Hopper. No real reason for this run-in to occur here.
Entity/behemoth ultimately leaves Will when Steve and his gang of kids start fire in the underground hub. While El defeats the behemoth and pushes it back through the gate.
Epilogue: Thereâs justice for Barb and Hawkins Lab gets shut down for good. Which is really a no-brainer as the entire structure and everyone in it got destroyed.
Hopper gets Eleven/Janeâs birth certificate from Dr. Owens, and she is now his daughter. The kids have a winter dance and hook up with each other. Final moments show Hawkins Middle School in the Upside Down.
Nearly fifteen years ago they cleared the forest behind the bus garage at my old high school to make room for new sports fields. My dad said they found the mausoleum on the hill when they were building the road and didnât really know what to do about it. You drive right past the vault when you go to the football field, and most people Iâve asked about it, from my town, seem to either not know itâs there, or arenât curious about it.
I havenât lived in town since the year 2000. I finally climbed the hill one afternoon last year and took some photos. I was surprised that the door was unlocked and also cracked open, maybe three inches. I didnât go in, just stuck my iphone through the opening and took a few pictures.
Itâs one of the strangest things, and no one seems to find it creepy. Itâs on a steep, mostly forested hill that meets the road, and I think they put a partial gate around the front, back when they uncovered it, but it doesnât look like the structure or immediate grounds get any type of routine maintenance. Thereâs a family name attached to the vault itself, and Iâve looked up the name in the county records. I believe they were wealthy landowners from the 19th Century who ran a profitable tin mill.
My little brother was in high school when they found the mausoleum, and he said the kids had stories about it, and that he knew a few guys that would go inside the mausoleum at night and drink, trying to scare each other with spook stories. I guess they got found out, eventually, and the school put an end to it. Yet, it still sits on that lonely hillside, its door cracked open, and inside things are a real mess. I imagine opossums and skunks are in there all the time chewing on anything they can find. To me itâs doubly sad, to think that there are likely peopleâs remains still inside, and also that tons of folks drive past it every weekend, and to them itâs just part of the landscape.
-Solving the Mystery of Washington Irvingâs âLegend of Sleepy Hollowâ
For most readers and critics of Washington Irvingâs âLegend of Sleepy Hollowâ there are only two possibilities regarding Ichabod Craneâs fate: either he was murdered by a ghastly, galloping Hessian soldier, or he was disposed of by Brom Bones. While the narrator, Mr. Diedrich Knickerbocker, goes to great pains to create an either/or binary between the two possible suspects, there has long been evidence that there is a third suspect, whom is given motive, but never explained away.Â
The narrator describes Ichabod as a teller, and consumer, of fantastic tales, that âHis appetite for the marvelous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spell-bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow.â and more importantly, regarding the galloping Hessian and Ichabodâs penchant for seeking out frightful moments in the everyday,
âWhat fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted specter, beset his very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! And how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!â
Here Mr. Knickerbocker begins to undermine the argument, regarding the Headless Horseman as prime suspect in the disappearance of Ichabod Crane. Sure, the Horseman has motive for killing Ichabod as he made his lonely trek that evening, the phantom Hessian takes heads, and that is what he does. But the Horseman is always a red herring, and Mr. Knickerbocker soon introduces a mortal suspect.
Brom Bones and Ichabod are both seeking out the hand of Katrina Van Tassel. Weâre told Ichabod is primarily interested in the wealth he should come to acquire from the estate of her father, Baltus, if he wins her heart. Bromâs interest in Katrina seems to be more romantic in nature than Ichabodâs, but itâs ultimately unclear, as Brom is in the business of winning, and every Dutchman of the valley knew that Katrina was the ultimate prize. Ichabod plays it cool, under the radar, while Brom goes right for Katrina. So, itâs no surprise, when Ichabod ultimately gets friendzoned by Ms. Van Tassel and sent on his way.
While Brom recognizes Ichabod as a rival, by the end of the harvest party Katrina has revealed her preference for Brom. Although, Brom is especially angry that he was shown up by the pedagogue during the storytelling/yarn-spinning portion of the eveningâs festivities. Itâs unclear if Brom knows Katrina has rejected Ichabod, and entirely possible that Katrina continues to let Brom think that Ichabod has her interest for the rest of the evening. So, Brom has his motive for becoming the legend and murdering Ichabod -- although, it is strange that Mr. Knickerbocker leaves out any additional clue to whether Brom stayed until the partyâs end, or left early.
Once pursued, Brom actually gives Ichabod his only hope for keeping his head from the Hessian Rider. But we soon discover that Brom was wrong about the protective qualities of the bridge, as Ichabod makes it across, to presumed safety, and is still beheaded by the Horseman, who âpass[es] by like a whirlwind.â
Brom is the most reasonable, and satisfactory, of choices as dispatcher of Crane, had Katrina not cleanly rejected Ichabodâs proposal the evening in which he disappeared. But there is another whom must be considered, as Mr. Knickerbocker presents us a third suspect, and even gives him motive!
Ichabod Crane is staying with Hans Van Ripper, a âcholeric old Dutchmanâ and he borrows the manâs favorite horse on the night of his demise. The horse, Gunpowder, who âhad, in fact, been a favorite steed of his masterâs, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country.â
Weâre told Van Ripper was a furious rider, at one with his horse -- both spirits imbued with a âlurking devil.â And Ichabod is certainly not on good terms with his landlord, as Ichabod âthought, how soon heâd turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper.â But what is their conflict?
Before we attest to a motive, we must make note that Van Ripper is the first to send out a search for Ichabod, and also first to the crime scene. âHans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horsesâ hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin...Hans Van Ripper as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which contained all his worldly effects.â which were quickly âconsigned to the flames by Hans Van Ripper; who, from that time forward, determined to send his children no more to school, observing that he never knew any good come of this same reading and writing.â
Van Ripper is first to the scene, and quickly burns most of the evidence. There is the possibility of some interplay between Van Ripper and Brom Bones here, as Van Ripper sees the love poem Ichabod had written to Katrina, and the fact that Van Ripper quickly disposes of it, might be covering up the fact that Brom Bones had a rival suitor. Remember, Ichabod kept his romantic interest in Katrina secretive, and only fully revealed himself to her the night of the harvest party.
âIt is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New York on a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighborhood partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper.â
This last passage seems the most damning. Weâre given a clear motive for Brom Bones wanting to see the demise of Ichabod Crane, but at the end of the story Van Ripper is equated with the phantom fear that haunts Ichabod. Why? It doesnât seem to fit that the narrator is presenting Brom as the goblin, and then, also Van Ripper.
Van Ripper had the most access to Crane, the most knowledge of his comings and goings, as they lived together. Van Ripper would have seen how much time and influence Crane had on the local children, including his own. Early in the story itâs described how Ichabod spent much of his time outside of school with the older boys he taught. Weâre told Van Ripper removed his kids from school, while also having a sour relationship with their schoolmaster. Van Ripper loathes Crane. Heâs forced to take the pedagogue into his home, because itâs his turn to house the man as payment for his services. After living with Ichabod, experiencing him, likely arguing with him, Van Ripper decided he didnât want his children to be anything like their teacher. Crane rode Van Ripperâs favorite horse to his death, then Van Ripper destroyed any evidence at the scene of the crime. Hans Van Ripper killed Ichabod Crane because he was a bad influence on his children, and the children of Sleepy Hollow.
- Joe Sullivan
Author of spook books, available on Amazon, and a fully illustrated book of horror tales inspired by Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, currently live on Kickstarter
All quotations taken from the text as available on Project Gutenberg.
There has never been an era of the PG-13 slasher, for good reason. Violence, the shock and awe of any classic R-rated slasher, sells itself best to the most impressionable of minds. Halloween and Friday the 13th were carried into the iconography of our culture by 12-year-olds who bore witness to the sort of movie the MPAA deemed unsuitable for their eyes. There is no proper âbest ofâ list for PG-13 slasher films. Happy Death Day is no exception. PG-13 slasher movies canât properly function as slasher movies. Yet, Happy Death Day is certainly a fun, flavorful movie in other regards.
Tree(Theresa) keeps waking up in Carterâs dorm room, and she relives the same Monday, over and over, which always culminates in her death at the hands of a baby-masked killer. The filmmakers have fun with the premise, and I did enjoy the Clue-style of whodunit mystery. Tree eliminates a suspect with each subsequent revival, and I found myself anticipating a satisfactory resolution -- that one of the cast of characters weâve encountered, again and again, would finally be unmasked as the killer. So, I was let down when a new, Mrs. Voorhees-level-of-unknown was thrown into the cast of suspects late in the movie.
Happy Death Day revels in pop-culture snark, creates characters film goers wouldnât mind see dying, and nearly gives Tree a proper character arc during her Sisyphean day. Carter, Treeâs sometimes assistant/sometimes love-interest, is easily the most likable character in the movie. When Carter is put into a risky situation, you genuinely want him to survive. However, the film will fail to convince many viewers regarding whether Tree should ultimately survive. She is too rotten of a person, and even on days she makes progress, she seems to undermine said personal improvements, with subsequent revivals.
The deaths in the movie were uninteresting, and this alone should alienate a large part of the genre fan base. Happy Death Day is by no means a slasher film, and certainly has no relationship to the day or month it came out. The movie has no âcreepyâ factor, which seems to be what drives most genre movies released in October, or on Friday the 13ths.
Happy Death Day does have some suspenseful moments, and is a curiosity in its choice of story form. Ultimately, it feels like its audience might be the parents of thirteen-year-olds. Folks who grew up with Scream and such movies from the late-90s, and want to share something with an impressionable young mind in their household -- without venturing into the world of the extremes weâve come to expect from a genre slasher film like the upcoming Jigsaw.
Who would I recommend this movie to? Fans of late-90s R-rated slashers. Itâs funner than the When a Stranger Calls remake -- more like watching a Jawbreaker/Urban Legend crossover.
- Joe Sullivan
Author of spook books, available on Amazon, and a fully illustrated book of horror tales inspired by Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, currently live on Kickstarter
Tales from the New Midnight Society:Â Are You Afraid of the Dark? 1999-2000
Most fans who remember the Are You Afraid of the Dark? Nickelodeon TV series think fondly of the early Nineties Midnight Society. Gary, Frank, Kiki, Betty Ann, and an ever-changing crew of friends sitting around a campfire telling memorable tales like âOld Man Corcoran,â âWatcherâs Woods,â âLaughing in the Dark,â and âCrimson Clown.â There are at least half-a-dozen stories from the original run of the series (1992-1996) that I would argue as âthe bestâ episode, while there is perhaps one story from the 1999-2000 run which I might consider in my personal top ten.
The series was revived with an original member of the Midnight Society, Tucker, taking his brotherâs place as leader of a new group of kids. Andy, Megan, Vange, Quinn are, most often, pale imitations of the original Midnight Society(Frank, Kristen, Kiki, Betty Ann?), with Quinn perhaps being the only new archetype, although he seems to fill Betty Annâs role of quiet peacekeeper nicely. Frank really felt like an over-the-top asshole, but it still made sense that he was friends with these people and really enjoyed telling stories; Sam was a tomboyish heartthrob for both Gary and young, male viewer alike. The New Midnight Society had little to offer regarding the stories of the storytellers themselves.
There are a number of good episodes from seasons 6 and 7, episodes that meet the standard set by the original run. There are even a few exceptional episodes that any serious fan of the original series should not miss out on. Unfortunately, many episodes attempted to draw interest by focusing on trends like Giga Pets, lazer tag, computer games, sports, and one even made an Olympic champion figure skater into a pregnant alien. Itâs really about what the later seasons seem to be missing. Seasons 1-5 built their success on retelling timeless stories and re-purposing urban legends â the kinds of tales which wouldâve appealed to both our parents and grandparents when they were kids.
The following are my recommendations for revival episodes of AYAOTD? that one should watch, if they enjoyed the original series and donât want to sort through the chaff that is the majority of the 1999-2000 series. There are certainly episodes worth watching in addition to these six, but these are the stories I believe will feel most similar to the original run of the series.   Â
Season 6
âThe Tale of the Forever Gameâ is a good restart to the series. Tucker tells the story about two friends, Mark and Peter, and Peterâs little sister, Monica, who get lost in the woods while biking. It has the feeling and tone of a story like âWhispering Walls,â while full of moral dilemma for Peter. The trio is hopelessly stuck, and the kids are being hunted down by a beast, while Peter plays a game reminiscent of Jumanji with a boy, Nathaniel, who occupies a tree.
âThe Tale of the Huntedâ deals with the moral debate over hunting. Itâs well-done for a kidâs show, and doesnât really pick sides at the end. The female protagonist hunts with her father, and one morning she wakes up and discovers what itâs like to be the one who is hunted.
âThe Tale of Vampire Townâ is wacky, a callback to the richness of character from a Season 1 tale. A boy, Adder, believes himself to be a great vampire hunter and convinces his parents to take him on vacation to a town with history and lore tied to vampires, specifically a series of catacombs which lie underneath the inn where the family is staying.
âThe Tale of Bigfoot Ridgeâ is the tale I teased as a âTop Tenâ AYAOTD? episode. It would fit nicely in seasons 1-4. A boy and his sister are trying to get over the disappearance of their friend, who went off the backside of a mountain while snowboarding. The brother and sister end up searching for her, and get lost themselves during a snowstorm. They find an abandoned cabin and attempt to survive the night, while the storm is the least of their worries. Many of the other episodes focus too heavily on the trendy sport, activity, or product of the time. This episode has snowboarding in it, but, thankfully, doesnât try to tell a story about snowboarding.
Season 7
âThe Tale of Highway 13â is the story of a repetitive haunting, where a truck races a haunted car, driven by two friends who rebuilt the car, to a one-lane bridge. The boys must continually race the truck until the either die trying to win, or solve the mystery and take a different action. This is a timeless tale, really well done.
âThe Tale of the Reanimatorâ is perhaps only the second time that zombies were done well by AYAOTD?, the first being âWater Demons.â It has some of the flavor of the Reanimator movies, but it feels more like the mad-scientist experiments of Goosebumps: Stay Out of the Basement.
So, if youâre a fan of the original AYAOTD? series and have never seen an episode of the two revival seasons, I believe youâll enjoy queuing up these six episodes and watching them back to back. Perhaps youâll even delve deeper into seasons 6 and 7, and catch me up on a gem I overlooked.
Addendum:
I canât imagine Iâll ever write an episode guide for the first five seasons of AYAOTD? since so much has been written and said about it already. So, Iâll just give my picks for best episodes â in no particular order: âMidnight Madness,â âOld Man Corcoran,â âDead Manâs Float,â âLaughing in the Dark,â âWater Demons,â âSilent Servant,â âCrimson Clown,â âDark Music,â âSuper Specs,â and âLonely Ghost.â
- Joe Sullivan
Author of spook books, available on Amazon, and a fully illustrated book of horror tales inspired by Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, currently live on Kickstarter