The Fuzz

A few years ago, I set out to do a low-key photoshoot on a cloudy damp morning.  I had packed an iron cauldron, my Witch prop, and a bunch of smoke bombs.  I thought that a smoking cauldron in the foreground of the photo with a blurry Witch in the distance would be a fun image.  The setup took longer than expected.  

Doing this stuff for as long as I have, you'd think I would be less anxious and twitchy about trespassing to get a photo of a weird prop.  Nope.  In fact, I think I've gotten more uptight about it over the years.  A grown man setting up a Witch, or a scarecrow, or a reaper looks odd and unusual and WIERD.  And suspicious.  

So, I set up the Witch and her cauldron behind a construction company and began lighting smoke bombs.  These things only burn about six quick seconds, so I would get about three shots with each bomb.  Turns out the smoke was visible from a nearby road.  As I snapped away in the sulfurous, brightly-colored smoke, I heard a voice come from behind, "What exactly are you doing?"  It was a police officer.

I was impressed I hadn't heard his car pull into the parking lot behind mine.  And definitely shocked I didn't hear him approach on foot (disappointed in my previously-mentioned twitchiness).  I stood up as the smoke bomb hissed out the last of the blueish smoke.  I explained I had an odd hobby, and I was taking some shots of a prop I made.  I would imagine I sounded like Don Knotts at this point, trying to explain what exactly I was doing.  

I scrolled through photos on my phone showing him the photos I just took, and earlier ones of other photoshoots.  The officer seemed really interested and told me that he had a hobby taking photos of architecture.  Said he does it on the weekends to keep sane.  I told him I would leave and he said for me to take my time.  As he was pulling away, I snapped a photo.

Witchery

Walpurgisnacht

Walpurgis Night was when, according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad–when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked. When all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. This very place the driver had specially shunned. This was the depopulated village of centuries ago. This was where the suicide lay; and this was the place where I was alone–unmanned, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a wild storm gathering again upon me! It took all my philosophy, all the religion I had been taught, all my courage, not to collapse in a paroxysm of fright.

- Bram Stoker, Dracula's Guest

Trailer: Mother Of Flies

Haven't seen this one yet, but it looks really neat.

Click below...

Winterscape

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost

The Monsters Of Leonard Baskin

Images from the Monster Brains blog.

Mass Grave

A Halloween Morning Visitor

Click here for a short video.

Metal Witch

Image source.

In-Between

By Ray Bradbury

Attics are awful and lovely.

You know what I mean?

Basements are low, dank, and darksome,

Halloween’s buried there;

The air of the earth

Simmers slowly, gives rise

To nightmares at midnight,

The size of its shadows is awesome.

And in-between?

The house that we live in,

Sane, boring and plain,

Pictures hung straight on walls,

Here nothing appalls,

The rugs if they misbehave,

Are twice taken out and beaten.

Meals are eaten three times a day

In a room where our dining,

And occasional wining with poker 

With loud uncles who laugh

When the joker is played,

Is all staid; sound and clean.

In-between, where we live, in-between,

A boy could go mad.

So on sad days in autumn,

He takes his dry soul

Down the hole in the dark

Or, pure lark on the fly,

Climbs to attic and sky,

Where the wind leans all year,

And pure fear is the stuff

That roams gardens of dust

And web, where the spider,

Soft glider of nerves,

Serves a fly for dessert

Then back down to the scene

Where the green salad waits

On dumb dining room plates

And nice parents whose talk

Is a chalk-screech on board.

Where the lands of the Lord

Are a Sunday morn chat

That can flatten the mind

And sift dust in the ear

Year on year.  No wildness.  No joy.

No place for a boy.

Attic, yes!  Basement, sure!

There the terror is pure.

There an All Hallows grave

Can save souls that might smother

From calm dad or sweet mother.

Up! Down! That’s the scene!

But---In-between?

Oh my gosh.  In-between?

Know what I mean?

Now Playing: Les Vieux Habitants

By REPULSIVE.

Click below...

Or click here for youtube.

Basement Dwellers

 

Haxan B&W

Haxan

 

Witchcraft

Witchy

Yes kids, you too can own one of the big Halloween three. 
That's right, THREE horrific masks to chose from. 
They're fun.
They're frightening,
and they GLOW in the dark.

Image by Nikita Mikhailov.

Now Playing: Dreaming Amos

By Randal Collier-Ford.

Click below...

Or here for youtube.

Witch

Blobs And Photo Bombs

During our recent photo shoot of the Witch and scarecrow, we were trespassing on a property out in Downingtown (close to where the diner scenes were filmed in the 1958 film THE BLOB).  As we were getting to the end of the shoot, there was some movement on the hill behind the scarecrow and we saw three dogs coming our way with their owner.  I figured we were about to be tossed off the property by a [rightfully] confused individual.  Turns out she was also trespassing.  And she was pretty excited seeing what we were up to.    

She was an older woman from a nearby neighborhood who told us she typically walks her dogs there.  She said she was mystified when she looked from her backyard and saw a scarecrow in the far distance.  The dogs had come running at us with one of them barking heavily at the Witch.  The others seemed to be enjoying the open space, as their owner laughed and excitedly told us over and over again that she absolutely loved these weird creatures.  She asked a ton of questions about the props and took a load of photos.  She and the three dogs posed a few times for some photos with the Witch and the scarecrow...  I snapped away using her phone as we all blabbed and spoke about the property and its history, and our strange hobby of photographing monsters.  The dogs turned out to be the sweetest animals.  And the big one eventually stopped barking at the Witch.  

We said farewell and packed up the creatures and headed to the Downingtown diner for a terrific blob-themed breakfast.  They're VERY proud of their blob there, and I'd highly recommend it if you're ever in the area.  

Witch Hollow

The Hag is astride,

    This night for to ride;

The Devill and shee together:

    Through thick, and through thin,

    Now out, and then in,

Though ne'r so foule be the weather.

    A Thorn or a Burr

    She takes for a Spurre:

With a lash of a Bramble she rides now,

    Through Brakes and through Bryars,

    O're Ditches, and Mires,

She followes the Spirit that guides now.

    No Beast, for his food,

    Dares now range the wood;

But husht in his laire he lies lurking:

    While mischiefs, by these,

    On Land and on Seas,

At noone of Night are working,

    The storme will arise,

    And trouble the skies;

This night, and more for the wonder,

    The ghost from the Tomb

    Affrighted shall come,

Cal'd out by the clap of the Thunder.

- Robert Herrick