Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
So when something like this...
Is the inspiration for this...
Source: Grim Hollow Haunt
And leads to something like this being stolen from Grim and mass-produced and sold by Grandin Road...
It just feels really really amazingly wrong.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Something like an albatross around the neck. No. More like a millstone. A plumbing stone. By God. Damn them all.
Blake, The Fog
Image by pageofbats.
Screw you, Irene.
Pardon the French, but there it is.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
I was looking for my husband and I thought he was in the kitchen because I could see this big man with a white shirt moving around. I'm saying "Dom, Dom" and I'm following something and then it's gone. He's in the other room saying, "What? What?" His mom was behind me with her jaw open. Another time, I was in the kitchen and I heard something fall over and I saw this white thing. I looked and thought "What is it?" and then poof! It was gone.
From Corinne May Botz's, Haunted Houses
Image by melody hansen.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Sarsparilla and sweetgrass, worn saddle leather, tobacco smoke and the remains of a spicy lime cologne.
A slightly psychotic blend of sweet cinnamon, rich cardamom, spicy ginger, and a faint touch of innocent vanilla.
Teasing touches of revitalizing mints - spearmint, cornmint, peppermint - grounded with a rich base note of black tea, and barely sweetened with soft vanilla.
Well-worn sweaty leather, the acrid smoke of cigarettes, and a soft side of honey and vanilla.
Swamp moss and fresh-turned earth with a ruthless heart of vetiver, and a distinguished splash of bay rum.
I had a sense of comfort, but not of security. I detected myself staring more frequently at the open doorway and blank window than I could find warrant for doing. Outside these apertures all was black, and I was unable to repress a certain feeling of apprehension as my fancy pictured the outer world and filled it with unfriendly entities, natural and supernatural -- chief among which, in their respective classes were the grizzly bear, which I knew was occasionally still seen in that region, and the ghost, which I had reason to think was not. Unfortunately, our feelings do not always respect the law of probabilities, and to me that evening, the possible and the impossible were equally disquieting.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Magic Stone Productions and Brainstorm Media are producing an Untitled Homemade Haunted House Feature Documentary for a NBCUniversal cable network and are looking for participants.
October 31 has always been the target for mischief, monsters and – above all – FUN. But this dedication to Halloween mayhem isn’t just carried out by costumed children and prank-crazed teens. From the suburbs to the cities, there’s a tremendous world of devoted adults who spend the better part of each year transforming their homes into spine-tingling, heart-stopping Houses of Horror… or at least they give it their best shot. Beyond all the fog machines, plastic fangs, fake blood, coffins and cobwebs, there's a story about passionate die-hards who live to scare.
Click below for details:
It's the first-ever pumpkin pie cream liqueur and is immediately reminiscent of homemade pumpkin pie complete with the flavors of rich vanilla, brown sugar and spices.
The hunt is on.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Spoke with a representative today and they informed us that there have been shipment delays and that they expect to receive the finished product next week.
Hopefully that happens early next week and they start shipping to customers immediately.
She said there have been a lot of orders and a lot of calls from people wondering where their pumpkins were...so thanks a TON to everyone who has ordered (and called). Really can't express how grateful we are.
Here's to next week being the week.
Ed told us to wait at the abandoned hospital, at the old steps of the main entrance. It was October 30th and it had been raining for the last four days. The river and all the creeks were swollen and overflowing. The water was loud and peach-colored from all the mud it was carrying. Giant tree stumps and massive logs would shoot by, surfacing and rolling over to briefly show their shiny black bark before disappearing downstream. Lord knows where they ended up. And it was still raining. Hard. And we were sick of it. We knew Halloween was going to be a wet and ruined one. So when Ed had said that Halloween would be a day early this year, we would have waited anywhere he told us to wait.
And there we were - at the old hospital. Listening to the rain streaming down onto the marble steps, onto the leaves of overgrown weeds and trees, and gurgling down broken roof tiles and spraying out over missing gutters. We weren't waiting long when we spotted Ed approaching, walking down our old bike path through the property. He was carrying something in his arms. It looked like an oversized shoe box, rounded at the ends. As he got closer, we could tell it was a wooden box, very old and worn. He placed it on one of the steps and answered our unasked questions. "It's a baby coffin!"
Ed said that the river had swallowed up the oldest part of the town cemetery and had washed away the small hills and tombstones. Caskets were being torn from the ground and he said he found his when he was riding his bike the day before. The small box had been sitting half in the water and half on the yellow centerlines of a road which was currently under the swollen banks of the river. So he scooped it up and took it home. We never knew him to lie, so we circled around the object and listened to his story. He told us the police were aware of the damage and that local farmers had reported a few large caskets which had been floating above their drowned crops. He told us he was going to show his parents the coffin, but something had stopped him. A sound.
Ed told us he heard a scratching sound from inside the casket. And that at first he thought it was probably a rat which had climbed through a small hole in the old wood to get away from the rising water. But the surface was unbroken, and the two clasp locks were still tight, corroded and now one piece with the wood of the box. When we excitedly protested, he simply told us to listen for ourselves.
At that precise moment, the rain stopped.