Click below:
And click here for more information.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
The Difficulty In Crossing A Field
One morning in July, 1854, a planter named Williamson, living six miles from Selma, Alabama, was sitting with his wife and a child on the veranda of his dwelling. Immediately in front of the house was a lawn, perhaps fifty yards in extent between the house and public road, or, as it was called, the "pike." Beyond this road lay a close-cropped pasture of some ten acres, level and without a tree, rock, or any natural or artificial object on its surface. At the time there was not even a domestic animal in the field. In another field, beyond the pasture, a dozen slaves were at work under an overseer.
Throwing away the stump of a cigar, the planter rose, saying: "I forgot to tell Andrew about those horses." Andrew was the overseer.
Williamson strolled leisurely down the gravel walk, plucking a flower as he went, passed across the road and into the pasture, pausing a moment as he closed the gate leading into it, to greet a passing neighbor, Armour Wren, who lived on an adjoining plantation. Mr. Wren was in an open carriage with his son James, a lad of thirteen. When he had driven some two hundred yards from the point of meeting, Mr. Wren said to his son: "I forgot to tell Mr. Williamson about those horses."
Mr. Wren had sold to Mr. Williamson some horses, which were to have been sent for that day, but for some reason not now remembered it would be inconvenient to deliver them until the morrow. The coachman was directed to drive back, and as the vehicle turned Williamson was seen by all three, walking leisurely across the pasture. At that moment one of the coach horses stumbled and came near falling. It had no more than fairly recovered itself when James Wren cried: "Why, father, what has become of Mr. Williamson?"
It is not the purpose of this narrative to answer that question.
Mr. Wren's strange account of the matter, given under oath in the course of legal proceedings relating to the Williamson estate, here follows:
"My son's exclamation caused me to look toward the spot where I had seen the deceased [sic] an instant before, but he was not there, nor was he anywhere visible. I cannot say that at the moment I was greatly startled, or realized the gravity of the occurrence, though I thought it singular. My son, however, was greatly astonished and kept repeating his question in different forms until we arrived at the gate. My black boy Sam was similarly affected, even in a greater degree, but I reckon more by my son's manner than by anything he had himself observed. [This sentence in the testimony was stricken out.] As we got out of the carriage at the gate of the field, and while Sam was hanging [sic] the team to the fence, Mrs. Williamson, with her child in her arms and followed by several servants, came running down the walk in great excitement, crying: 'He is gone, he is gone! O God! what an awful thing!' and many other such exclamations, which I do not distinctly recollect. I got from them the impression that they related to something more--than the mere disappearance of her husband, even if that had occurred before her eyes. Her manner was wild, but not more so, I think, than was natural under the circumstances. I have no reason to think she had at that time lost her mind. I have never since seen nor heard of Mr. Williamson."
This testimony, as might have been expected, was corroborated in almost every particular by the only other eye-witness (if that is a proper term)--the lad James. Mrs. Williamson had lost her reason and the servants were, of course, not competent to testify. The boy James Wren had declared at first that he SAW the disappearance, but there is nothing of this in his testimony given in court. None of the field hands working in the field to which Williamson was going had seen him at all, and the most rigorous search of the entire plantation and adjoining country failed to supply a clew. The most monstrous and grotesque fictions, originating with the blacks, were current in that part of the State for many years, and probably are to this day; but what has been here related is all that is certainly known of the matter. The courts decided that Williamson was dead, and his estate was distributed according to law.
Ambrose BierceThrowing away the stump of a cigar, the planter rose, saying: "I forgot to tell Andrew about those horses." Andrew was the overseer.
Williamson strolled leisurely down the gravel walk, plucking a flower as he went, passed across the road and into the pasture, pausing a moment as he closed the gate leading into it, to greet a passing neighbor, Armour Wren, who lived on an adjoining plantation. Mr. Wren was in an open carriage with his son James, a lad of thirteen. When he had driven some two hundred yards from the point of meeting, Mr. Wren said to his son: "I forgot to tell Mr. Williamson about those horses."
Mr. Wren had sold to Mr. Williamson some horses, which were to have been sent for that day, but for some reason not now remembered it would be inconvenient to deliver them until the morrow. The coachman was directed to drive back, and as the vehicle turned Williamson was seen by all three, walking leisurely across the pasture. At that moment one of the coach horses stumbled and came near falling. It had no more than fairly recovered itself when James Wren cried: "Why, father, what has become of Mr. Williamson?"
It is not the purpose of this narrative to answer that question.
Mr. Wren's strange account of the matter, given under oath in the course of legal proceedings relating to the Williamson estate, here follows:
"My son's exclamation caused me to look toward the spot where I had seen the deceased [sic] an instant before, but he was not there, nor was he anywhere visible. I cannot say that at the moment I was greatly startled, or realized the gravity of the occurrence, though I thought it singular. My son, however, was greatly astonished and kept repeating his question in different forms until we arrived at the gate. My black boy Sam was similarly affected, even in a greater degree, but I reckon more by my son's manner than by anything he had himself observed. [This sentence in the testimony was stricken out.] As we got out of the carriage at the gate of the field, and while Sam was hanging [sic] the team to the fence, Mrs. Williamson, with her child in her arms and followed by several servants, came running down the walk in great excitement, crying: 'He is gone, he is gone! O God! what an awful thing!' and many other such exclamations, which I do not distinctly recollect. I got from them the impression that they related to something more--than the mere disappearance of her husband, even if that had occurred before her eyes. Her manner was wild, but not more so, I think, than was natural under the circumstances. I have no reason to think she had at that time lost her mind. I have never since seen nor heard of Mr. Williamson."
This testimony, as might have been expected, was corroborated in almost every particular by the only other eye-witness (if that is a proper term)--the lad James. Mrs. Williamson had lost her reason and the servants were, of course, not competent to testify. The boy James Wren had declared at first that he SAW the disappearance, but there is nothing of this in his testimony given in court. None of the field hands working in the field to which Williamson was going had seen him at all, and the most rigorous search of the entire plantation and adjoining country failed to supply a clew. The most monstrous and grotesque fictions, originating with the blacks, were current in that part of the State for many years, and probably are to this day; but what has been here related is all that is certainly known of the matter. The courts decided that Williamson was dead, and his estate was distributed according to law.
Image by sparth.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Notes
In the early 1990s we started to keep notes about the ghost happenings. [He begins reading the notes.] This happened to me on the 7th of September, 2006, 1:26 a.m. I'm a very light sleeper, and it was a musical chime like you'd have on a jewelry box. It played for ten seconds straight. Saturday, November 10, 2001: It sounded like somebody took a chair and dragged it across the kitchen floor. We all heard it, but when we got into the kitchen the chairs were all where they belonged. This is one of our daughter Angie's notes from August of 1993. She used to work as a dentist technician and her lab coat had been ironed while she slept. This is the second time she said it had happened. On June 12, 1991, there was a very strong scent of perfume. I don't have a sense of smell so I wouldn't know. Louise said to me, "It's unbelievable how strong it is."
Text and image by Corrine May Botz, from her book "Haunted Houses."
2011 Bountiful Acres Halloween
Hit up my favorite store by way of seasonal Halloween decorations and was surprised to see that they had already displayed a ton of stuff. With more on the way...
Going to definitely stop back again with cash and camera.
What we brought home...
bountifulacres.com
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Ghost House
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
Robert Frost
Everyone Is Entitled To One Good Scare
A Halloween triple feature at the Egyptian Theatre.
Click below for details:
Thanks, Randy!
(And click here for another great movie night.)
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Dark Night Of The Scarecrow Reunion
A GREAT blog entry over at Arcane's The Scarecrow's Post blog.
He attended the Fright Night Film Fest and hung out with Bubba and Marylee.
As a huge fan of Dark Night of the Scarecrow, these are some pretty awesome bragging rights.
Click below:
Never Sleep Again
He's dead, honey, because Mommy killed him.
I even took his knives. 
Image by biktopincanada.
The Return Of The Fortune Teller
The Fortune Teller features a grotesque array of 15 artfully handcrafted figures in a dark comic tale unfolding in a fantastic Victorian world. Seven characters representing the seven deadly sins convene at a dead millionaire’s estate to claim their inheritance as determined by a fortune teller. One by one, each is delivered what they have coming to them, but perhaps not what they are expecting—a brutal, but suitable, demise. Featuring the gravelly, recorded narration of Irish vocalist Gavin Friday and an eerie score by Sanko and Grammy-winning film composer Danny Elfman, this sinister puppet theater spectacle is a perverse, but gleeful morality tale for grown-ups.
Click below to watch:
Click here for more information.
Thanks, Andrew, this is fantastic.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Softly
A blog I check out daily - shewalkssoftly.com
Never a shortage of incredible artists or dark and absurd artwork.
I always catch myself wishing I had found the content she features.
Check it out below:
ps: I've exceeded my 5,000 limit of blog tags, so in case anyone was wondering why their haunt's name or blog title isn't in the tag section...that's the lame reason why.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Emerging
The ghosts of all things past parade,
Emerging from the mist and shade
That hid them from our gaze,
And, full of song and ringing mirth,
In one glad moment of rebirth,
And again they walk the ways of earth
As in the ancient days.
The beacon light shines on the hill,
The will-o'-wisps the forests fill
With flashes filched from noon;
And witches on their broomsticks spry
Speed here and yonder in the sky,
And lift their strident voices high
Unto the Hunter's Moon.
The air resounds with tuneful notes
From myriads of straining throats,
All hailing Folly Queen;
So join the swelling choral throng,
Forget your sorrow and your wrong,
In one glad hour of joyous song
To honor Hallowe'en!
John Kendrick Bangs
Image by Autumnforest.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Cabinet Of Curiosities
Author Lesley Bannatyne caught me on a non-antisocial non-misanthropic day and the result was an interview for her website.
Click below for the Cabinet of Curiosities at
iskullhalloween.com:
And click here to order her book Halloween Nation from Amazon.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Vintage Seance Ghost Stories
...footsteps upstairs when no one else was home, hearing footsteps walking down the stairs, and -one of the spookiest things of all- hearing 'it' sit in an old wicker chair in the living room.
Image by CynfulCreations.
Click here for the rest of the story.
Red Letter Media
Figured I'd post my latest obsession. Think of it as a funny, crude, profane film critque/film class on what's really wrong with a lot of movies these days.
As someone who grew up with the original Star Wars films, these reviews by Red Letter Media were kinda cathartic.
Click below to watch my personal favorite (not work safe or kid-friendly [due to language]):
Horrible I look.
Unreturning
'T was such a little, little boat
That toddled down the bay!
'T was such a gallant, gallant sea
That beckoned it away!
'T was such a greedy, greedy wave
That licked it from the coast;
Nor ever guessed the stately sails
My little craft was lost!
Emily Dickinson
koppa.carbonmade.com
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
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