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“A Dark and Desolate Recurrence”

by Brhel & Sullivan

“At this rate, we’ll never get out of here,” 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, wasn’t 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. 

“Don’t say that, honey,” replied Margo, Teddy’s 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.

“I don’t think you understand, babe. I can’t move. I think we’re stuck here.”

“Are you serious?” 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. “You’re wasting your time. I’ll keep trying, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. We’re packed like sardines.”

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. “We’re nearly out of gas. We’ve got to get out of here soon or we’ll freeze. Or worse, there’s the whole carbon monoxide thing.”

Margo took her cell phone out of her purse for the third time in as many minutes, but she couldn’t get any kind of signal. “Teddy, I’m scared. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” 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.

“Ted, I think this guy’s going to help us out!” Margo beamed. She took her husband’s hand and squeezed it in excitement.

“Thank God!”

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.

“What a nice man,” said Margo. “He didn’t even ask for anything. Didn’t even wait around for a thank-you.”

“People out here look out for each other,” said Teddy. “That’s a good guy, there.”

Teddy went to drive away, but the car wouldn’t move. They were out of the bank, but the vehicle was immobile. “Son of a bitch! What now?”

Margot was agonizingly silent.

“The rear axle might be broke. Shit. Why’d that guy have to leave in such a hurry? I mean, he was a big help and all, but where’d he go?” 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 wasn’t locked.

He called out before they ventured inside. “Hello? Is anybody home?”

No one answered. The icy wind howled through the evergreens behind them.

“I guess not,” 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.

“Ugh, Teddy. That smell. Who the heck lives here? Don’t they clean?”

“I don’t think anyone’s lived here for years. Or it might be a poorly kept hunting cabin—this is deer country, after all,” 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.

“It’s like they just ran out and left everything behind,” 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 cabin’s sofa.

Margo wasn’t asleep twenty minutes when she tapped Teddy on the shoulder. “What’s that noise?”

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 husband’s shoulder. “Oh, my god—somebody’s inside. Maybe the owners came home…”

“Don’t 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?” said Teddy. “It 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?”

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. “No, no, no!”

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.

“What was that?!” whispered Margo, her face tense.

“I don’t know. It sounded like someone being chased around. But I didn’t see a thing.”

“Teddy, is this place haunted?” Margo couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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.

“It looks like a couple lives here. Or should I say ‘lived’ here,’’ 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.

“No! No! Oh, God, no! It doesn’t mean anything! I love you! Oh, please don’t hurt him!”

Margo let out an awful cry as she awoke, the shrill woman’s voice again filling the cabin around them. She looked at her husband’s watch. She and Teddy hadn’t been sleeping twenty minutes.

“What the fuck is that?” asked Teddy, now wide awake beside her. “I’m going to check it out.”

“No,” said Margo, throwing herself over her husband. “Please don’t leave me.”

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 “crack,” as if someone had fired a gun. Then another “crack.” Then silence.

Tears streamed down Margo’s face. “Let’s go. Oh, God, let’s get out of here!” 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.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Ted, this place is haunted. I’m scared!”

He held her tight by the shoulders and nodded. “Okay, okay. I believe you. I think it’s 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 it’s playing out like the cabin has the awful memory imprinted on it.”

“Then let’s go! Why are you standing there if you know what’s coming!”

“Because it’s a goddamn blizzard out there, and we’ll die if we spend an hour out in it. It’s two in the morning and we’re miles from anywhere. Nobody’s going to stop by. That nice guy with the truck is long gone.”

“So, what do we do, Teddy?”

“I don’t think the ghosts can harm us. They’re dead and simply re-enacting a scene; we’re just observers,” said Teddy. “Those poor bastards. Could you imagine being forced to re-live the same horrible event, over and over?”

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 weren’t 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 weren’t 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 room—clothes, pillows, books. They were forced to duck, and dive, as heavier objects arced through the air—a 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 repetitions—the sun just beginning to make its presence known through the dirty windows—when 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 dark—with only a little light coming into the room from the bulb in the kitchen—he 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.

“I think I figured out what happened,” said Teddy, out of breath from his exertion. “The 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 himself—the third shot.”

Margo merely nodded as they put distance between themselves and the cabin, postholing through the deep snow. She didn’t care who killed who; she just wanted to go home.

“I think the guy with the pickup was the one who killed them,” stated Teddy. “Honey, I think we got pulled out of that ditch by a ghost!”

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.

“Honey, that ghost. He’s back again,” 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 truck—shouting back over his shoulder, “I live just up ahead. I’ll go call an ambulance!”

Margo and Teddy walked over to the Prius after the truck tore down the road. They couldn’t believe their eyes. There they were, sitting in the front seat, their faces ghastly white.

“What is this Teddy?! Who are these people?” Margo’s lip quivered. A nasty wind chapped her face. “They look like…”

“Us! That’s because it is us, honey. We’re dead. That guy was the killer. See him driving away? He’s going to go find his wife in bed with another man and kill them both. Don’t you see? He returned home early because he was going to go and call us an ambulance. He didn’t know we were dead. We’re just like him, repeating our final episode…”

Brhel & Sullivan are co-authors of Corpse Cold: New American Folklore and Resurrection High.

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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 he’s not home.

A raucous fraternity takes a haunted hayride through the woods that they won’t soon forget.

These and 18 other creepy tales can be found within WHAT WAITS IN THE DARK.

Pick up a $10 paperback copy at Amazon!

or the eBook here.

20 interior illustrations by Mikey Turcanu.

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ILLUSTRATED HORROR STORIES FOR KIDS: A ‘SCARY STORIES TO TELL IN THE DARK’ LINEAGE -- Check out some of the sick illustrations in this article! https://tinyurl.com/ydgoj9nj

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In time for Halloween, a follow-up to our 2016 horror collection At the Cemetery Gates: Year One!

Learn more about the book here.

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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.

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Top 30 Episodes from Are You Afraid of the Dark?

This is my definitive guide for the 90s kid’s 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 kid’s 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 they’re excellent backdrops to the action. Playing hide and seek in an overgrown cemetery at night was every weird little kid’s 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 Man’s Float

-It might be derivative of “The Raft” 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 it’s 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 he’s 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 haven’t 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.  Watcher’s Woods

-Girls’ 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. 

 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. 

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 ‘adult’ 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. 

14.  Crimson Clown

-This one probably shouldn’t be rated as highly as it is, as it almost feels derivative of the second half of “Laughing in the Dark.” A clown doll terrorizes a naughty little brat.   

15.  Sorcerer’s 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. There’s an awesome seance scene in a boat on the river.

17.  Hunted

-Expression of primal fear. There isn’t much to this episode but it sticks with you long after viewing, despite the hokey ‘debate’ over hunting itself that takes place.

18.  Apartment 214

-This one shouldn’t 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 you’re 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. 

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. 

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 it’s 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: Corpse Cold: New American Folklore

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What’s in a Name?

by Joe Sullivan

I had never gotten along with my stepfather Jerry, which isn’t 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 weekends—but I couldn’t say he was ever there for me.

It’s why I was hesitant to return his calls a few months back. I hadn’t 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.

“Son, I know I’ve never been emotional with you,” said Jerry (he called everyone younger than him ‘son’) “But I’d like to get to know you as a man. Can I see you?”

“I’m really busy Jerry. I have these corporate accounts who always need something, no matter the time of day.” I blew him off like this for the first couple weeks. He’d call every few days and try again, and each time our conversation would last a little longer.

“I treated you the same my own father treated me,” said Jerry. “I know now that it was the wrong way to go about things. I shouldn’t have hit you in trying to correct you.”

“Thing is, Jerry, there’s 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,” I said it without emotion—always 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. “I- I loved your mother with everything I had. When she passed I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“I was still in college, Jerry,” I said. “My mother died, and I had no home to return to. You up and left and acted like you didn’t even know me.”

“I couldn’t have stayed in that house,” said Jerry. “I figured you were set financially and wouldn’t want to come stay in my 1 bedroom apartment... You were a grown man, on the right path...”

“It pissed me off, still does…” 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... “Honestly, why are you trying to get in touch with me?”

“I’m sick, son. Later-stage colon cancer.”

“Are you terminal?” I didn’t mean for it to come out so cold, but I always gathered the facts before I let myself feel something.

“No, the docs say I’m about fifty-fifty,” said Jerry. “I start a heavy radiation treatment this Friday. I was hoping you might accompany me. Get me there and back.”

“I’m way too…” 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. “What time?”

“7 a.m. Friday morning.”

I took Jerry to his first appointment, and then twice a week for his treatments. We didn’t 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 wasn’t doing it out of charity. I wanted to reminisce about her, and he was my only living connection to her.

“Doc says I’m on my way to recovery,” said Jerry, sitting in the passenger seat as I drove him to the hospital. “You won’t have to cart me back and forth for too much longer.”

“Congratulations.”

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.

“Son, I never understood why you wouldn’t take my name.”

“I like my last name. Gerald J. Smith is a pretty generic name.”

“It really upset me that you didn’t want to have the same name as me and your mother. We might’ve been closer, felt more like an official family...”

“You would’ve loved me if my last name was Smith?”

Jerry contorted in his seat. “I thought I was being a father. You’re the only son I’ve ever had.”

“I think you hit the nail on the head, Jerry,” I said, letting anger color my voice. “The problem was that you were trying to be ‘a father,’ as opposed to ‘my father.’”

I could tell that I really struck a nerve because he offered no biting comeback, just silence. We didn’t speak for the rest of that day. I dropped him back home after his appointment and didn’t 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 didn’t think too much into it when the cemetery called about an issue with my mom’s 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 hadn’t 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 I’d 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 Jerry’s 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.

“What the hell, Jerry? You go off and die without saying anything? Typical.”

I couldn’t help myself. I cried, bawled for a few minutes before getting it together. You think all sorts of stuff when you find out someone’s dead. Good and bad memories flash through your head—you almost always feel some sort of regret. I had plenty of regrets. At the time I felt like I let my mother down—that Jerry died without anyone looking out for him. I knew she would’ve 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 I’d 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 Jerry’s 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.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, my heart racing. I never thought I’d be so elated to see my stepfather.

“Sir, my name is Lester James, chairman of the cemetery’s board of directors. I was just discussing the mix-up with Mr. Smith...”

“Who’s buried next to my mother?”

“That is precisely what I want to clear up.”

“These idiots buried another Jerry Smith next to your mom, son,” said Jerry. He looked at me, worn down, as morose as I’d ever seen him.

“Well, just exhume this other guy and get on with it,” I said.

“Yes, we certainly plan to,” said James. “We 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.”

“Buncha idiots. Burying some random guy next to my Helen…” mumbled Jerry.

“It’ll be done soon?” I asked. I wasn’t sure of how I should come across. I wasn’t really mad—it’s not like they disturbed my mom or buried someone alive.

“Yes, within the next day or so we will have removed this other Gerald Smith, and we’ll put fresh sod on your plot, sir,” said James, looking to Jerry. “I am sorry for this whole mix-up, and for wasting both of your time.”

Jerry struggled to get up, I helped him stand.

“Son, these clowns are in the business of burying bodies and they buried a guy in the wrong spot.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at his remark. We walked out of the office, arm in arm, so I could support his frail frame.

“How’s your treatment going, Jerry?”

“It’s going. They say I got a decent chance at making it through.”

“That’s good news.”

When we got out to the small lot in front of the office I saw Jerry’s car. “You shouldn’t be driving, Jerry. Hold up and let me run and get my car.”

“Nah, I’m not leaving my car here. These dummy’s will probably bury it in a plot for a guy named Carr or Ford.” I laughed, but he waited for me.

I returned, and he got in my car. “I’ll send someone this afternoon to return your car.”

“Thanks, son. Appreciate it.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead yet, Jerry.” He cracked a smile.

“I know you’re busy with your big shot lawyer stuff, but I’d really like to get some hash and eggs at the diner. My appetite has really come back since my last treatment.”

“I’ve got time, Jerry.”

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LEGEND TRIPPING CENTRALIA, PAST AND PRESENT

Centralia, PA would be in a proverbial Hall of Fame for legend tripping. It is an odd place, and it’s 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 Bryson’s 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 ‘center’ 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 don’t know that I’m 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 don’t know that I’d 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 we’ve visited as kids and adults, and have been inspired to re-imagine. We’re 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.

-Joe Sullivan

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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 — 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 — they’re 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 character’s 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 who’ve enjoyed our campfire oddities, as well as those who’ve preferred our more literary moments.

Some of the highlights from the new collection include:

“Her Mourning Portrait” is the story of an artist who immortalizes his dying wife, and then must face the consequences of aging without her.

“Side by Side” is a quirky cemetery tale about a confrontation between a long-deceased man and his widow’s second husband, regarding the final resting place of their beloved-in-common.

“Lady of Cayuga Lake” 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?

“The Lost Cache” 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.

“Play It Again, Sam” 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-wife’s perception of their seminal, shared moments together, enough that she has a more positive view of him in the present.

“Her, He, and a Corpse Makes Three” focuses on a love triangle between a living couple who work in a funeral home, and the woman’s 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, Marvelry’s Curiosity Shop.

The following is a complete short story from Her Mourning Portrait and Other Paranormal Oddities, entitled “Beyond a Blood Moon.” It is a brief homage to the chillers of Guy de Maupassant and Edgar A. Poe.

“Beyond a Blood Moon”

I was awakened one night in bed, likely due to the absence of my fiancée; I can only assume that it was this silence past midnight, which a light sleeper can’t help but notice once they’ve become attuned to the constancy of their nightly bedroom environment. And this absence was likely what my unconscious found unsettling enough to stir me. Sara’s breathing was often measured, hypnotic, a comforting rhythm to my night. Her respiration was often the last thing I took hold of in my twilight mind before plunging into the great unknown, and then my first lifeline back to cognizance each morning. But when I stirred that night, due to the silence, and reached for her—I couldn’t help but convulse, considering a multitude of fears and possibilities.

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 wouldn’t 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 hadn’t seen one since childhood, and stood in awe as the Earth’s 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 I’d stood in my parents’ 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 eclipse—and 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. I’m 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 Sara’s body, as her family wouldn’t allow me at the wake or funeral, since I was awaiting arraignment for homicide.    

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, woman—one 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 me—no one to serve my time for. I wrote letters to Sara’s 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 careers—even 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.

With my finger I traced her name in the granite, then the inscription beneath, which read: “Devoted daughter and fiancée, a beautiful soul taken too soon.” I shivered at the mention of ‘fiancée,’ that her parents left her connection to me at her burial site. It surprised me, and gave me some small consolatory pleasure in my waning hours.

The chill had already consumed me, and was now leaving my body along with my life’s 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 wasn’t 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 parted—revealing the Earth’s 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.

I turned away from the dreadful astronomical event, and when I did, I caught sight of the inscription on the tomb, which was now illuminated in a reddish hue from the heavenly body. Where the inscription had once read “Devoted daughter and fiancée; a beautiful soul taken too soon,” it now read, in an ordered (and what I can only describe as ‘angelic’) script: “Devoted mother and wife; to be together again, if only in dream.”

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Thanksgiving dinner excerpt from Brhel & Sullivan’s Carol for a Haunted Man.

Jacob stood outside his cousin Ted’s 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 cousin’s 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 Ted’s 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, “Happy Thanksgiving, Pilgrim!” 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 Ted’s shoddy, and quite dated, John Wayne impression, but ultimately wished his cousin the same.

“So, how are the kids?” 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 Jacob’s new home, with its leftover Halloween-themed doormat the only recognition of the season.

“They’re good,” 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 Macy’s 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 Ted’s 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 Ted’s 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.

“What are you doing?” Ted asked. “You’ve been gone a while. I thought you were sick in the bathroom or something.”

“Just having a drink, Ted,” said Jacob, nonchalantly.

Ted took notice of Jacob’s glassy eyes. “How much did you have?”

Jacob paused. “Listen. I’ll buy you a new bottle, okay?”

“It’s Thanksgiving, man. I know you’re going through some stuff, but I don’t want you drunk around my kids.”

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. “Oh, fuck off, man.”

“Really, Jake?” Ted replied, searching his cousin’s 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.

“What did I miss?” asked Jacob. His mother quickly discerned his lush demeanor and shook her head. The children, to Ted’s relief, took no notice of their cousin’s condition.

“We were just about to eat dinner,” said Ted, sternly. “Children, get to the table, please.”

“About time,” 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 Ted’s. 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 Wendy’s progression as a pianist, and plans for an addition to the house.

“Timmy, do you want the drumstick?” said Jacob to Ted’s youngest, interrupting Ted’s 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.

“Noooo! This is chiffon,” 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.

“Relax, it’ll come out,” said Jacob, snickering to himself over Helen’s overreaction.

“Is something funny, Jake?!” said Ted, raising his voice.

“I’ll buy you a new goddamn dress...and tablecloth. Christ.”

Ted sprung from his chair and stared down his cousin. “Watch your mouth! My kids don’t need to hear your filth.”

“Jacob, seriously?” chimed in Rhonda.

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Ted. They’ll live,” he said, before belching.

“Hey! You may not give a damn about how your kids are raised, but when you’re in my house, you’ll act like an adult and set a good example.”

Jacob fumed, gripping his fork tightly. “You don’t know the first thing about my kids.”

“I know enough,” said Ted, smirking at his sad, cuckolded cousin.

“Jacob, cut the crap,” said Rhonda.

“Ugh, this is never going to come out!” 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 table’s 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.

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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. 

The first two episodes, or ‘chapters,’ of Stranger Things 2 unequivocally reminds us that we identify ourselves by the media we choose to consume. When the characters are reintroduced we’re 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 Eleven’s side-story in the big city. 

Speaking of which, I do have to address the opening chase scene, with the cast of characters we’ll 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 don’t detest, or fixate on, the fact that this second series is nearly a soft remake. I’d 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 here’s your warning if you haven’t 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.

Barb’s family has hired a private investigator and are selling their house to pay for it, although Nancy and Steve know she’s dead, but won’t say. It’s 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. 

Paul Reiser is Will’s 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, “Come on, dude” 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 doesn’t 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 El’s reunion. She already had the ghost sheet made, there’s no real reason why she can’t just interact with Mike and have him keep her secret.

Steve’s hair is out of control. It’s distracting by this point.

Hopper figures out the lab is the cause of the plant decaying poison…duh.

Joyce finally gets back to her paranormal investigating and uses camcorder footage from Halloween Night to see Will’s behemoth in the sky.

El goes to the middle school just to knock Max off her skateboard out of jealousy. It’s not a good look, nor a good scene.

Will stands his ground against the behemoth, taking Bob’s advice to heart, after he’s 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 Hopper’s notes on Hawkin’s Lab under cabin and gets ideas.

Joyce and Hopper put Will’s picture together and decide they represent destroying vines.

Nancy records Dr. Owens admitting to Barb’s 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 Barb’s death.

Dusty’s 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 Barb’s death and let him listen to Dr. Owens’ confession.

Bob walks in and solves Will’s 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/Jane’s 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 Dusty’s 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 ‘sister’ from Hawkins lab, in Chicago. They share information and decide they’re 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 Kali’s 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 Kali’s 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. Bob’s going to reprogram some computers on the fly and save everyone.

This is the episode where we go full horror movie, fun clichés spawning left and right. Bob dies, brutally to save Joyce and the others.

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 he’s possessed by the behemoth. Will’s 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 Joyce’s house. She took a bus home using the money which she and Kali’s 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.

“I shouldn’t have left.” - Eleven. Exactly, she shouldn’t 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, who’s 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: There’s 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/Jane’s 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.

-Joe Sullivan

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A Forgotten Mausoleum on School Grounds

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 didn’t really know what to do about it. You drive right past the vault when you go to the football field, and most people I’ve asked about it, from my town, seem to either not know it’s there, or aren’t curious about it.

I haven’t 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 didn’t go in, just stuck my iphone through the opening and took a few pictures.

It’s one of the strangest things, and no one seems to find it creepy. It’s 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 doesn’t look like the structure or immediate grounds get any type of routine maintenance. There’s a family name attached to the vault itself, and I’ve 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 it’s doubly sad, to think that there are likely people’s remains still inside, and also that tons of folks drive past it every weekend, and to them it’s just part of the landscape.

-Daniel Robert

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Who Murdered Ichabod Crane?

-Solving the Mystery of Washington Irving’s “Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

For most readers and critics of Washington Irving’s “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” there are only two possibilities regarding Ichabod Crane’s 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. 

The narrator describes Ichabod as a teller, and consumer, of fantastic tales, that “His 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.” and more importantly, regarding the galloping Hessian and Ichabod’s penchant for seeking out frightful moments in the everyday,

“What 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!”

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. We’re 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. Brom’s interest in Katrina seems to be more romantic in nature than Ichabod’s, but it’s 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, it’s 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 evening’s festivities. It’s 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 party’s 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 “pass[es] by like a whirlwind.”

Brom is the most reasonable, and satisfactory, of choices as dispatcher of Crane, had Katrina not cleanly rejected Ichabod’s 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 “choleric old Dutchman” and he borrows the man’s favorite horse on the night of his demise. The horse, Gunpowder, who “had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master’s, 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.”

We’re told Van Ripper was a furious rider, at one with his horse -- both spirits imbued with a ‘lurking devil.’ And Ichabod is certainly not on good terms with his landlord, as Ichabod “thought, how soon he’d turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper.” 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. “Hans 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 horses’ 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.” which were quickly “consigned 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.”

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.

“It 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.”

This last passage seems the most damning. We’re 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 doesn’t 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 it’s described how Ichabod spent much of his time outside of school with the older boys he taught. We’re told Van Ripper removed his kids from school, while also having a sour relationship with their schoolmaster. Van Ripper loathes Crane. He’s forced to take the pedagogue into his home, because it’s 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 didn’t want his children to be anything like their teacher. Crane rode Van Ripper’s 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.

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Happy Death Day Review (Spoiler Free)

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 ‘best of’ list for PG-13 slasher films. Happy Death Day is no exception. PG-13 slasher movies can’t properly function as slasher movies. Yet, Happy Death Day is certainly a fun, flavorful movie in other regards.

Tree(Theresa) keeps waking up in Carter’s 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 we’ve 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 wouldn’t mind see dying, and nearly gives Tree a proper character arc during her Sisyphean day. Carter, Tree’s 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 ‘creepy’ 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 we’ve 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. It’s 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

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Tales from the New Midnight Society: 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 “Old Man Corcoran,” “Watcher’s Woods,” “Laughing in the Dark,” and “Crimson Clown.” There are at least half-a-dozen stories from the original run of the series (1992-1996) that I would argue as ‘the best’ 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 brother’s 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 Ann’s 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. It’s 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 – the kinds of tales which would’ve 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 don’t 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.    

Season 6

“The Tale of the Forever Game” is a good restart to the series. Tucker tells the story about two friends, Mark and Peter, and Peter’s little sister, Monica, who get lost in the woods while biking. It has the feeling and tone of a story like “Whispering Walls,” 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.

“The Tale of the Hunted” deals with the moral debate over hunting. It’s well-done for a kid’s show, and doesn’t really pick sides at the end. The female protagonist hunts with her father, and one morning she wakes up and discovers what it’s like to be the one who is hunted.

“The Tale of Vampire Town” 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.

“The Tale of Bigfoot Ridge” is the tale I teased as a ‘Top Ten’ 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, doesn’t try to tell a story about snowboarding.

Season 7

“The Tale of Highway 13” 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.

“The Tale of the Reanimator” is perhaps only the second time that zombies were done well by AYAOTD?, the first being “Water Demons.” 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 you’re a fan of the original AYAOTD? series and have never seen an episode of the two revival seasons, I believe you’ll enjoy queuing up these six episodes and watching them back to back. Perhaps you’ll even delve deeper into seasons 6 and 7, and catch me up on a gem I overlooked.

Addendum:

I can’t imagine I’ll ever write an episode guide for the first five seasons of AYAOTD? since so much has been written and said about it already. So, I’ll just give my picks for best episodes – in no particular order: “Midnight Madness,” “Old Man Corcoran,” “Dead Man’s Float,” “Laughing in the Dark,” “Water Demons,” “Silent Servant,” “Crimson Clown,” “Dark Music,” “Super Specs,” and “Lonely Ghost.”

- 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