Pre-order Dark Harvest today!
Current mood: stoked
Category: Writing and Poetry

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Prepare for the Dark Harvest
Current mood: excited
Category: Writing and Poetry

June 14th is right around the corner, and that means that not only do we have Mo*Con III to look forward to, but also the launch party for the release of Indiana Horror Writers debut anthology: DARK HARVEST.

The test copy is back from the printer and it is a wonder to behold. We're now ready to start sending out review copies, so if you know anyone interested in reveiwing a pdf file of Dark Harvest, please direct their inquery to:

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That ’Sword and the Sorcerer’ Sequel is finally a go!
Current mood: awake
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

I am such a geek to actually be excited about this, but I've seen the original film untold hundreds of time.

http://www.cinematical.com/2008/04/11/wo....ally-happening/

Only took them 25 years.

Here's a good rule of thumb people...If you don't know for a fact that you're gonna make a sequel, don't put the title in the end credits.

11:42 PM - 8 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Horror Hound Weekend (March, 2008)
Current mood: rejuvenated
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

"Why do you write horror?"

This is a question I get all the time. People ask it cautiously; certain I will regale them with some terrible tale of early childhood trauma, but the answer is quite simple really. I write horror because I am first and foremost…a horror fan. As I sit here in my office, I am immersed in the genre. Monsters stare down at me from the top of my desk, from my shelves and wall…the demon from Pumpkinhead, the Predator, every stage of the creature from ALIEN—from egg to adult, and in the corner, a life-sized (I assume) standee of Stephen King smiles its approval as I type away at my keyboard.

Yes, I have always had a love of the dark, and from time to time, when I need my creative batteries recharged, it is good to gather with those who share my passions. Nothing sparks the muse to life faster than chatting it up with other writers who have been there and done that, and nothing re-fuels my love of the genre more than meeting the actors, artists, and creators who have given me so much joy over the years. So each year, as spring rains wash away the winter snow, it is not uncommon to find me spending my weekends at various conventions.

First up in 2008, Horror Hound Weekend in my hometown of Indianapolis.



The first person I see as I walk in the door is Special Make-up Effects artist, actor, director, and stuntman Tom Savini (Friday the 13th, Dawn of the Dead, Creepshow). I’ve met Tom at many of these cons, and it is always a pleasure.

"You’re becoming a perennial fixture at Horror Hound," I tell him.

He laughs. "I hope so."

This year, I had my two sons with me for the first time, and my 9-year-old was most interested in Fluffy, the creature from the crate in Creepshow. Tom took the time to explain to him how the effect was created, then signed a photo of himself with the creature.



Across the large convention hall is Tom’s From Dusk ’Til Dawn and Grindhouse co-star Danny Trejo. I walk up to him and he points to my shirt. It’s a Machete T-shirt, showing Trejo in a mock movie poster for the film that never was. "Where did you get that?!"

"Hot Topic," I inform him.

"I’m getting’ one of those."

I laugh. "You mean they didn’t send you one?"

"No! But I’ve got to go get one."



The next person I meet is Doug Bradley (Pinhead from the Hellraiser films). Doug is a true gentleman, just a sweet, sweet man. We talk about the state of horror today, with the frenzy for remakes of true classics.

"For me," I say, "the only reason to do a remake is to take a lesser film and make something good out of it. Take Cronenberg’s The Fly, for example."

"Well…we could debate that one," he says, then comes back with, "I love Carpenter’s The Thing."

I nod and smile, as John Carpenter’s The Thing is one of my favorite films of all time.

Doug went on to say, "What really angers me, as a horror fan, is the talk I hear of a Nightmare on Elm Street remake without Robert Englund as Freddy Krueger. Robert is Freddy."

I couldn’t agree more.



Next to Doug is his Hellraiser co-star Ashley Laurence. When I was a teenager, seeing the film for the first time, I thought she was a beautiful girl, but now, some twenty years later, she is truly gorgeous.

Ashley and my 9-year-old hit it off immediately. She answers his many, many questions (if you know my son, you know he has no shortage of them), never talking down to him, and the rest of the day, whenever we walk by her table, she always asks how he is doing and who he is off to see next.

We pose for a picture*, and when my son holds out both his arms, she laughs and says, "Let’s all do that."

*Author’s note: Pictures featuring my children have been cropped when possible. When not possible, I have chosen not to post them. I hope you understand.



We then paid a visit to the vampires of Fright Night: Chris Sarandon (not pictured) and Stephen Geoffreys (Above).

Now, in addition to being creature of the night Jerry Dandridge, Chris Sarandon provided the speaking voice for Jack Skellington. Those of you who know me are well aware of my fondness (What is this "obsession" you speak of?) for Tim Burton’s A Nightmare Before Christmas, so I was very pleased and excited to meet the Bone Daddy in the flesh. He was most gracious with his time, signing a large framed piece of Jack artwork and posing for a family portrait with my two children and me.

And Stephen was very nice as well, discussing the pain of contact lenses and vampire dentures, and the joy of working with Roddy McDowell. He signed a photo of the scene where a cross is burned into his forehead, changing his famous line of "you’re so cool, Brewster" to "you’re so cool, Mike." Needless to say, I was thrilled.



We then met the lovely ladies of Return of the Living Dead, Scream Queen Linnea Quigley and Jewel Shepard.

I think I have seen every film Linnea has ever done (RotLD, Silent Night, Deadly Night, Night of the Demons), even taking joy in bit parts and cameos she’s done in Nightmare on Elm Street 4 and Innocent Blood. She was so pleasant, and we talked for quite some time, more about life matters than film, and once again, my 9-year-old was a charmer. He’d been waiting all day to speak to Linnea, and she was absolutely wonderful with him. Even now, several days after the fact, he can’t stop talking about it. In fact, we talked for so long that a line formed behind us and we finally had to say our thank yous and goodbyes.



The beautiful Jewel Shepard was one of the highlights of the weekend. She had such a good sense of humor, and a very smart, very realistic view of life in the limelight. She’s had to miss conventions in the past due to weather-grounded planes and other catastrophes, but I was so happy she was able to attend Horror Hound.

We took a picture together (Above), and then she asked if I wanted to take one more.

Who am I to refuse?

"This is for your MySpace page," she told me, and then she placed my hands on her chest. It was…very nice.



Another hightlight of the weekend was meeting the Cenobites from Hellraiser and Hellbound: Hellraiser II.

Barbie Wilde (Female II) has written a novel herself, and it was great to talk shop with someone who had such enthusiasm.

Simon Bamford (Butterball) was quite a lot of fun. He is a very thin, very energetic guy. Nothing at all like his pudgy, demonic alter ego.

"I don’t know what I expected you to look like…" I began.

"But not this?" he finished with a laugh.

Doug Bradley and Barbie had each written a line of their dialogue on the photo I had them sign, and this prompted Simon to tell me that he originally had dialogue in the film as well. Unfortunately, fake teeth made his speech unintelligible, so they split his lines between Doug and Barbie.

"Why don’t you just write down one of the lines you would have said," I told him.

He smiled. "I’ve never done that before. This will make it quite rare."

Nicholas Vince (Chatterer) was the last to arrive (prompting me to joke that he was using Jewel Shepard’s travel agent), but despite being stuck in planes and various airports for two days, he was full of good spirits. Instead of a line of dialogue, he drew a sketch of the Chatterer below his name.

As we were waiting for Nick, Ashley Laurence and Doug Bradley decided to pick a fight with Kane Hodder (Jason from Friday the 13th Parts VII-X, see picture below). They would launch rubber bands at him from across the aisle, and he would turn around and launch them back.

"What’s Jason gonna do?" Doug taunted, then he mimed Jason walking up to someone and stabbing them. "Can he make hooks and chains appear out of thin air with a wave of his hand? No. Who can do that, huh?"



I’ve been to a lot of conventions over the years, for both professionals and fans, and I have to say that this Horror Hound was the one of the best that I have ever attended. It was well organized, the guests really seemed to enjoy being there, and I know that I enjoyed being there with them.

Horror Hound will pay Indy another visit in August.

I will be first in line.

4:23 PM - 8 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Return of the Living Dead Racer
Current mood: pleased
Category: Life

My son is in Cub Scouts, and every year there is a race called the Pinewood Derby. The kids are given blocks of wood and they (along with generous help from their fathers, grandfathers, what-have-you) fashion them into race cars and hot rods that compete for speed and Best of Show. We gave up trying to win for speed a loooong time ago, so when my sons and I work on the cars, we do so with an eye toward the Best of Show prize. Past cars have been King Kong on the Empire State Building (complete with Bi-planes), ALIEN, Predator, and Happy Feet. This year, when I asked my 9-year-old what he wanted his car to look like, he said, "I want a zombie car."

So...we cut the wood into the shape of a coffin, added wheels, paint, a plastic skeleton, latex "rot," cotton hair, a vanity license plate and care air freshener (he is rotting after all), and...tada! Best of Show 2008.

He competes with all the other Best of Shows at the District Pinewood Derby in 2 weeks. Keep your fingers crossed.

Here are the pics:









 

Currently watching : The Howling (Special Edition) Release date: 26 August, 2003

5:03 PM - 9 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

"To Know How to See" can now be seen in APEX 12!
Current mood: ecstatic
Category: Writing and Poetry

APEX: Science Fiction and Horror Digest issue 12, featuring my story "To Know How to See," is now available! The issue will ship in mid-late March, but you can reserve your copy now by clicking on the link below:

http://www.apexbookcompany.com/cart.php?m=product_detail&p=25

This is a double issue! 2 X the horror! 2 X the excitement! And it's only $7.00!!! Get yours today!

Currently listening : Alien By Jerry Goldsmith Release date: 20 November, 2007

5:43 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

IHW Winter Retreat 2008 (The Final Chapter): Good Friends and Good Spirits…I Hope
Current mood: grateful
Category: Writing and Poetry

A cold wind blows hard down Jefferson Street, buffeting the outer walls of the Eastern Woodcarver Club. Inside, however, a small space heater creates an island of warmth. Once, this was a doctor's waiting room, now it is a place for the Indiana Horror Writers to rest their weary heads for the night.

Tracy Jones and Tiffany Proctor lay on the couch across the room, buried beneath throw rugs and blankets, Bob Freeman has staked out the chair by the door, while I have elected to spend the night in the "choking chair"—the comfy blue recliner where one of Quest Paranormal's many investigators was strangled a few months before. Using the DVD drive in Tiffany's laptop, we begin to watch Vincent Price in Last Man on Earth, but I barely make it through the opening credits. Despite my excitement, it is three o'clock in the morning and I have been up for nearly twenty-four hours now.

My eyes snap open just after 4:00am and I hear the muffled noise of a loud conversation. I lift my head and look around. Everyone is asleep. I glance over at Tiffany's laptop. The screen is black. Either the movie has ended, or someone has shut it off. Either way, that is not Vincent Price that I'm hearing.

After a moment, my groggy mind suggests that a television must be on in another room. I am tired enough to believe it, and so I close my eyes once more and fall back into a deep slumber.



I return to consciousness slowly, and finally, around ten o'clock, I manage to get up. After a nice hot shower, I dress and venture downstairs. Maurice Broaddus has made the trip up from Indianapolis for the day, and Bob is giving him the now familiar tour.

We shake hands, exchange pleasantries, and then Bob looks at me and says, "Did you hear that argument this morning?"

"When?"

"Just after four. There were footsteps up and down the hall and people having a very loud, heated chat."

My eyes widen. "I did hear something, but I thought it was just a television somewhere."

Bob shakes his head. "No, it was right out in the hall. I got out of my chair to go look, but there was nobody there."

Maurice has an odd look on his face. Does he believe us? He was not here for the investigation last night, did not experience the things we experienced. I might find it difficult to accept myself, had I not actually been touched by something otherworldly.



With the addition of Maurice, our group is too large for the doctor's waiting room. We move across the hall, a part of the building reserved for a ladies' sewing circle, and make ourselves comfortable on the couches and chairs within. Today's discussion centers on the creation of believable characters, but per our norm, it morphs into wider topics of genre, publishing in general, and industry gossip.

As we talk, I feel something brush against my neck and across my hair. On the counter behind me sits a row of miniature Christmas trees. Before I sat down, I noticed that some of them had lengths of ribbon trailing from their branches. I turn around to push the tree off to one side, or at least push it back so that it is not bothering me all afternoon, but there is no tree behind me. I'm sitting right between them…and there is nothing that could have been touching my neck.

A loud knock echoes up the stairs.

Bob Freeman hurries down to the lower level, and when he returns, writer/editor Doug Warrick is with him. We are all pleased to see Doug. The man is an amazing talent, and I for one cannot wait to hear what he has to add to our discussions. But first, the tour.




After showing Doug around, and relaying all of the bizarre happenings from the night before, we return to the second floor.

Bob and Maurice are nowhere to be found.

"Where'd they go?" I ask.

"Bob took Maurice over to see the Angel of Death," Sara informs me. "He's locked us up here."

"You mean, 'he's locked the outside door.'"

"No, I mean he locked the door to the kitchen too."

"Sara…That door doesn't lock. It's got a latch on it, but you latch it from this side."

"Go see for yourself."

I head down the stairs, holding tightly to the railing. People have been pushed down these steps in the past, and I do not want to fall. It is a long way to the landing below.

When I get to the side door, I grab the handle and give it a push. It doesn't open. I look to the doorframe for the hook-and-eye latch. The hook is dangling. There is no earthly reason why I shouldn't be able to open the door. I put my weight against the glass, but it will not budge. It is as if the door has been superglued to the frame. I try once more, feeling the center of the door bow in, then I back away quickly, afraid that I will break through it and fall onto the kitchen floor.



Safely back upstairs, I proceed to tell the others what has happened, and after a few minutes, Bob and Maurice return from their trip across town.

"Bob, did you lock the door to the kitchen?" I ask.

"No."

"Well, I can't get it to open."

Bob points over his shoulder. "We just came in that way." He then holds up his pager. "Which one of you sent me a text that says '8:41'?"

None of us had, but we all knew the significance of that time. Yesterday, Tracy's phone had a mysterious alarm set to go off at 8:41 pm, and one of the Quest investigators saw that same time on a digital readout, despite the fact it was actually 8:52.

We stand there a moment, none of us knowing what to believe, and then Maurice informs us that the time has come for him to return to Indianapolis. If I hadn't known about his previous commitment in advance, I might have been tempted to think that we'd scared him off, but I know better. If he could have stayed the night, he would have.

After saying our goodbyes, we break for Michelle Pendergrass' wonderful spaghetti dinner, then return to the sewing room for readings and something to drink. We have six bottles of red wine from Indiana's own Oliver Winery. This is my favorite wine in the world! It's sweet, but not too sweet, and it helps to calm my nerves.

You see, the sun is going down fast, and tonight…well, tonight there will be no Quest Paranormal here with us. Tonight, we are on our own.

I'm starting to think Maurice had the right idea, and then Sara brings out candles of various sizes. She puts them on a tray and strikes a match, creating a kind of campfire in the center of our reading circle. We then turn off the lights, each prepared to tell a spine-tingling tale.



I have a seat next to Tracy Jones and read aloud from "Goodnight," a story which will soon grace the pages of the upcoming Dark Harvest anthology. Michelle and Sara read their tales from the collection as well. Tiffany and Tracy read excerpts from their novels, while Bob opts to read "T'was the Night Before Christmas," his story that features the gothic house from across town, the one with the Angel of Death looming in its back yard.

And then it comes time to hear Doug's reading. He opens his laptop and shares with us the first chapter of a novel he's been working on. I must tell you, my experience with the entity in the upstairs closet was utterly amazing, but this…hearing Doug Warrick read with such power…hearing his wondrous prose…this is the highlight of the weekend.

Doug brings his reading to a conclusion with the words, "…right…now!"

At first, we just sit there, letting the power of the story sink in, and then Tiffany speaks up, "Not to freak anybody out, but you finished that at exactly 8:41 pm."

Doug's mouth falls open, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

Tiffany nods and I glance down at my own watch for confirmation.

8:41 pm

I wonder what it can mean, and the only thing that comes to mind is "time of death." Perhaps someone in the doctor's office passed on at 8:41 pm. Or it might have been the poor men who were tortured in the KKK office down the hall, or the man who carved hundreds of hammers…we may never know.



As the evening comes to an end, we clean up as much as possible. We need to be out of the building by 10:00 am tomorrow, and we have to leave everything just the way we found it. Chairs are moved back into place, trash bags are tied and taken out, and all of our belongings are gathered together so that we can easily run them out to our vehicles when the sun comes up.

It is a quiet night. No voices…no footsteps…no locked doors…no intense feelings of cold or ill will. We sit and finish off the wine bottles, but those are the only spirits we encounter.



The next morning, we say our goodbyes and go our separate ways. In a few weeks, we will all meet again in the safety of an Indianapolis Starbucks. The conversations will be just as stimulating, but the atmosphere could never hope to equal this place. There was a lot of laughter here, a lot of excitement and creativity. God, I never felt so alive.

As I walk to my car, I look over my shoulder at the Eastern Woodcarver's Club, my eyes drifting up to the windows on the third floor. I cannot help but feel that there are eyes up there, watching me leave. Are they happy to be left alone…or do they miss the company of the living? I turn back to the Converse watertower, silhouetted against the bright morning sky. Soon it will be reduced to scrap. Will the Woodcarver's building meet the same fate one day? And if so, what will become of the spirits within? After all, buildings crumble, memories and photographs fade with time, but the dead…the dead will forever remain.

Currently listening : Poltergeist: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack By Jerry Goldsmith Release date: 04 March, 1997

5:41 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

IHW Winter Retreat 2008 (Part 3): The Chill of the Demon Closet
Current mood: shocked
Category: Writing and Poetry

A full moon peeks through parting clouds, gazing down upon the rural hamlet of Converse, Indiana. It finds no cars on Jefferson Street, no pedestrians, no light in any of the shops that line this main thoroughfare. No. It finds no sign of life at all. A fresh snowfall dusts the landscape in all directions, as if the entire town has been frozen solid and left to the winter chill.

Within the walls of the Eastern Woodcarver Club, however, there is much activity. No one sleeps here, not even the dead.



The first floor is dark. An hour ago, banks of fluorescents lit every nook and cranny of this room, but the fixtures generated too much electromagnetic interference and had to be extinguished. Now, a tripod-mounted flashlight and the glow of television monitors provide only faint illumination.

Around a long table, the Indiana Horror Writers have gathered, conversing in whispers, listening to the chatter that spills from distant walkie-talkies as much as to our own discussions.

"Bob?"

It is Tobin Wilkerson, lead investigator for Quest Paranormal.

IHW President Bob Freeman rises from his chair and walks over to the command center. "Yeah?"

"Do you have a key to the second floor storeroom? We can't open the door."

Bob blinks. "No. Those doors don't lock. There are latches, but you have to be inside the room. You can't do it from the outside."

The investigator looks at us a moment, then speaks into his walkie. "Um…yeah, they don't lock."

A voice from the speaker, "Well it won't budge." And then, after a pause, "It just opened up. Holy shit!"

Nervous laughter from the walkie-talkie. Nervous laughter from everyone in the room. The Woodcarver's building is coming alive.



After a brief orientation, I pick up one of the thermal scanners and climb the stairs. Moonlight streams in though the windows at either end of the hall. The doors are all closed now and the old floorboards creak with my every step.

A cool draft flows down the corridor.

I zip up my hooded sweatshirt. A scene from The Crow is stenciled across my chest with the quote, "They're all dead. They just don't know it yet." When I chose to wear this hoodie, I thought the saying was quite appropriate, as the common assumption is that ghosts do not realize they have died. Now, however, as we venture into the dark, I worry that it might refer to our little group instead.

I shudder and follow Luke Stone, Co-Founder of Quest, into the former doctor's waiting room for a little EVP work. Electronic Voice Phenomenon occurs when words not spoken at the time of a recording are audible upon playback. I've heard a few examples of this over the years, and I've always found it quite creepy, especially when what is being said forms a direct answer to an investigator's question.

Sara Larson, her husband Bill, Michelle Pendergrass, and Joy Harber are here with us. The last time Joy set foot in this room, she felt as if she were being strangled. When it happened, she considered it to be an attack. Now, she says that she's not so certain. You see, someone who once sat in this waiting room might have had trouble breathing. Perhaps they died before the doctor could help. And maybe…just maybe, they never left.

We start off basic, leaving several moments of silence after each question to allow for the possibility of a response.

"Is there anyone here who would like to communicate with us?" Luke asks.

Silence.

"The last time we were here, you tried to choke one of our investigators. Did you mean this as an attack?"

More silence.

"Were you yourself choking? Did you want us to know what it was you were experiencing?"

Still more silence.

Sara speaks up; "Did you have the croup?" She then goes on to describe symptoms of the disorder, trying to spark a memory in this entity, to get it to feel as if we really understand.

Brilliant.

Suddenly, we hear the loud creak of footsteps. It sounds as if it is in the room with us, growing nearer...louder...It's...

It's coming from upstairs.

Just one of the other groups, making a sweep of the third floor. We note it. When the recording is reviewed at a later time, we don't want anyone to leap to conclusions the way we did, don't want anyone to think the sound is paranormal in origin.

Bill Larson offers up a challenge, "If anyone is here with us, why don't you come over here and sit next to me?"

Across the room, one of Quest's cameramen, Matt, shuffles his feet. "My legs just got really cold."

Luke perks up. "Really?"

"Yeah." Matt looks down. "It's crawling up my legs. Put your hand down here by my calves."

I move over and hold out my hand. He's right. The air around his legs is significantly colder than the rest of the room. I lift my thermal scanner and take a reading beside his left leg. The screen says the air is 64 degrees, but it feels much colder against my hand. I then take a reading about a foot away. 72 degrees. I put my hand back and the chill has crept higher. It now extends from the floor all the way up to Matt's chest.

"I can't stand it anymore," Matt says and he moves quickly away from that spot, jumping up and down and dancing from one foot to the other as if to shake snow off his body.

"We should see if it happens to somebody else," Luke tells us. "Does anybody want to--?"

"I'll do it," I volunteer, and then I step onto the spot where Matt had been standing a moment before.

I feel something almost immediately. I'm wearing socks and shoes, but I have the sensation of standing barefoot on an icy pond. A draft is blowing in from the hallway. It is cool, yes, but it is nowhere near as intense as what I'm feeling on the bottom of my feet.

This is amazing!

A few minutes pass and the chill slowly fades. We remain for a time, asking more questions, trying to provoke another manifestation, but the room just does not feel the same anymore. Whatever was with us is gone.

We move back downstairs to regroup and have some of Tracy Jones' hot apple pie.



The next group to venture upstairs is going to the third floor. There is a room up there, no larger than a closet really, that is supposed to be home to a dark entity...a spirit that has never had a human form. Some might call it a demon.

I grab the K-2 meter and join Quest on the stairs. The K-2 is an EMF meter that measures electromagnetic fluctuation. More than a few researchers have dubbed it an electronic Ouija board, claiming that you can train a spirit to communicate with you by instructing it to light more or less of the meter's LED lights. Having studied the device for use in my novel, I am now quite anxious to give it a true field test.



We climb up the steps to a wide doorway, the gateway onto the third floor. The door to the left has a large peephole cut at eye level, covered over by a swinging panel. In years past, those wishing to gain access to this level had to be members of the mysterious Independent Order of Odd Fellows (I.O.O.F.), and they had to know the secret password. No sentries tonight, however, so we open the doors and walk right in.

I make my way past shadowy ladders, stepping over hazardous extension cords in the dark to find the entrance of this "demon closet." There are those who have become physically ill upon crossing its narrow threshold, but I tempt fate and step inside. A single lightbulb hangs down on a cord and paint flakes and peels off the walls. I stand there a moment, looking down at the K-2 meter, but there are no spikes. Only one LED is lit. Disappointed, the others move on and I step out of the closet to follow them.

Something pushes against my back.

I spin around. Was that real? Did I actually feel that? It was as if someone were trying to squeeze by me, as if they were trying to get back into that closet.



I catch up to the others and explain what just happened, begging them to return to the tiny back room for another try. Two of the investigators accompany me, and halfway back...I feel something brush across my face. It was as if I had walked through a spider web. One of the investigators shines a flashlight around the room, looking for gossamer strands floating on the breeze, but there are none to be found.

We move into the closet a second time.

There is a feeling in that cramped space now…a distinct heaviness to the air. We look up at the hanging lightbulb, and to our surprise, we see it sway back and forth and around as if it were a pendulum. This is the far corner of the third floor. There are no windows, no breezes or drafts, and yet the bulb is moving. And then the light does something else…it begins to bob up and down.

"Do you see that?" I ask.

"The bobbing up and down?" one of the investigators replies.

"Yes!"

The K-2 meter spikes, going from one lit LED to three, then back down to two.

"Is there something here with us?" I ask. "I saw you make this device light up. Can you light three lights?"

The third LED re-ignites and a prickly feeling of pins and needles fills my entire hand. With camera rolling, my fingers begin to convulse and spasm. I ask more questions and the K-2 continues to spike, and then as quickly as it began, everything stops. The K-2 falls back down to one lighted LED. The prickly feeling leaves my hand and my fingers grow as still as the hanging lightbulb above.

It's over.



Just after two in the morning, Quest Paranormal packs up its equipment. As they move out to the safety of their cars and trucks, Bob locks the doors behind them. The Indiana Horror Writers are the only ones left in the Woodcarver's building now, the only ones who will be spending the night, and yet I cannot help but feel that we are far from alone.

Currently listening : Bela Lugosis Dead By Bauhaus Release date: 21 November, 1996

8:38 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

IHW Winter Retreat 2008 (Part 2): 8:41 pm and the Angel of Death
Current mood: anxious
Category: Writing and Poetry

Snow continues to fall past the windows of the old Woodcarver's building. Huge windows. The glass appears to have been blown by hand. It is bumpy, and the view at the edge of each pane is slightly distorted. The panes themselves are lead.

I look across to the old water tower, white against the surrounding gray sky. CONVERSE has been painted across the side in huge black letters. Indiana Horror Writers President Bob Freeman grew up in this small town. All his life, this water tower has stood as a silent sentinel, casting its long shadow across homes both gothic and modern, but soon it will be torn down. A piece of history gone, living on only in memories and photographs, and even those fade with time.

How many people have looked through these windows and gazed at the doomed structure? How many continue to look out on it even after death?



I turn away and follow Bob into the next room. The entire third floor of the Woodcarver's building was once the private domain of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (I.O.O.F.), still one of the largest fraternal organizations in the United States. It is also one of the oldest, with its origins dating back to the eighteenth century, and most secretive. When this building was purchased for restoration, another Odd Fellows chapter acted quickly to remove any and all items relating to their rituals, but a few relics may still remain.

Dead birds litter the floor in my path. I step over them and look around, trying to see if there are any holes in the ceiling, any open windows through which they might gain access, but I can find none. This is quite interesting, given the stories of paranormal activity, because birds are psychopomps, guiding the souls of the dead to and from the afterworld.



A chill permeates the thick brick walls as Bob leads us into a room filled with wooden cabinets, one of which is coffin shaped.

"Is that…real?" I ask.

"This? No." He walks over and opens it up. There is a plastic battle axe and some fabric within, but it is obviously a prop. "Now when they first bought the building, there was a real coffin up here with a skeleton inside. The Odd Fellows would lock new members inside as an initiation. They would leave you in there, and after they opened the lid, you would come out and be reborn into the order."

I look at this wooden replica, trying to imagine what it must have been like…being locked inside with a dead body, no room to turn, only a limited amount of air. Real or not, I wonder how long it took before the poor souls were pounding on the lid, screaming to be let out.

Maybe we should do the same with newbies at out meetings, find out who is really serious about Horror.

The thought brings a twisted smile to my lips, but before I can give it voice, everyone moves off toward the stairs and the warmth of the rooms below.



While talk of the Woodcarver ghosts has occupied much of our discussion thus far, this is a Writers Retreat. The time has come to turn our attention to our craft.

We convene in the old doctor's waiting room. Some of us have laptops, others have good old fashioned pen and paper. Sara Larson has worked very hard to come up with interesting topics and exercises to help us hone our skills, and we will begin with methods to break through Writer's Block.

I move to sit in a comfy blue recliner.

"That's the 'Choking Chair," Bob tells me.

"The what?"

"When Quest Paranormal was here last time, Joy, one of the investigators, sat in that chair and felt as if she was being strangled."

"But she lived," Sara assured me.

"That's comforting." I laugh and slowly lower myself into the chair. My heart is beating a bit quicker, but I don't feel any fingers around my throat, so we continue with the exercise.

The ring of a mobile phone interrupts our discussion. It is Tracy Jones' daughter, who jokes on speaker that Tracy better watch out, that she might inadvertently get a spirit trapped in her cell and bring it home with her. And after this brief chat, Tracy does notice something rather odd about her phone…an alarm has been set, ready to go off at 8:41 pm. She claims that she didn't know her wireless had an alarm, and even if she did, there would be no reason for her to set it for 8:41 pm.

"Maybe the ghost set it," Tiffany Proctor jokes.

We all have a good laugh at that, then go right on with our conversations on writing as if nothing had happened.



We break for dinner early, as Quest Paranormal will arrive at 7pm to begin the set up of their cameras and other equipment. We decide on Marty's Pub, which is but a short walk down the town's main strip. Outside, the snow is now up to our ankles and it does not show any sign of letting up soon. A cold wind whips between buildings that once housed operas and bowling alleys, but now serve purposes far more mundane.

Walking into the Pub is like walking into The Slaughtered Lamb from An American Werewolf in London. Everyone is from the town of Converse, everyone knows everyone else, and everyone's eyes suddenly shoot to the band of strangers who has just walked in from the cold. Bob is with us, however, and so the other patrons quickly lose interest.

If they're okay with Freeman, they're fine with us.

One of the waitresses ushers us to a back room, a large meeting hall where stuffed deer heads stare down at us from every wall. I would like to think we are back here due to the size of our group, or perhaps because the decor is something out of the cabin in Evil Dead 2, but I'm not so sure. Part of me wonders if they might not be trying to segregate us from the "normal" folk out front. Whatever the reason, I have no complaints. The service is fast, the portions of food are huge for the price, and I greatly enjoy the company and conversations of my friends.

"Want to see the Angel of Death?" Bob asks.

"Come again?"

"You remember my story 'T'was the Night Before Christmas'?"

"Of course, I love that one."

"Well the house in that story is based on a real house here in town. There's a statue in the back yard. When I was growing up, an artist lived there, and he made this huge sculpture of a man with a gigantic phallus. Well in high school, somebody broke that concrete phallus off and wore it as a prank, so the artist just changed the statue, turned it into this black, hooded figure."

Well, of course we want to see that!

After dinner, we walk back to the Woodcarver's building. The sun has set, but the street is far from dark. New streetlamps have been installed, their bright glow reflecting off the new-fallen snow, and as we move down the street, I'm reminded of Bedford Falls, the small town in Capra's It's a Wonderful Life.

Upon our return, we find that Quest Paranormal has yet to arrive, so Tracy, Tiffany, and I climb into Bob's van. The old gothic home is there, just as he had described it in his fiction. It is a private residence, however, so we drive around the block to park, then walk back down a snow-covered railroad track. As we draw near, the black monument becomes visible…the Angel of Death. Standing there before it, with huge white snowflakes falling through the surrounding branches, I am again struck by just how surreal this weekend has been, and it is only the first night.





Like bandits, we take our stolen photos and run from the scene, arriving back at the Woodcarver's building in time to let Quest Paranormal through the doors.

It is hard to tell who is more excited about the pending investigation. The last time these ghost hunters were here, they caught a full-bodied apparition on tape and had numerous personal experiences. Tonight, they are hoping for more of the same. And while I have studied the paranormal and paranormal investigation for many years, researching it heavily for my upcoming novel Cinema of Shadows, I have never seen or had contact with a spirit. I am hoping that will change this evening.

Bob gives the team a tour similar to the one we had earlier in the day, and then the professionals begin to assemble their equipment. There they are! Thermal scanners, EMF meters, digital recorders, and nightvision cameras…I feel like a child on Christmas morning. So many toys, but I have to wait until Mom and Dad say it is all right to play.



Upstairs, Bob is helping the team position some of their stationary equipment in the hallway. There are a total of four cameras, each one set so that the group can get another glimpse of the apparition they had seen on their last visit. One of the investigators turns on a digital voice recorder and speaks into it.

"Okay, it's now 8:41 pm…"

Bob remembers Tracy's alarm from earlier that afternoon and his eyes widen. "Why did you say that?"

"Say what?"

"8:41 pm." He holds up his watch. "It's 8:52."

"The timer says…" He looks back down at the clock and it now reads the correct time of 8:52 pm. "Well it said 8:41."

Upon hearing this, that chill returns, following a now familiar trail down my spine. Something is going on here. We just can't figure out what it is yet.



The cameras are all in place. Test sweeps and base readings have been completed and recorded. Now it is time for the real investigation to begin.

Currently listening : The Heart of Everything By Within Temptation Release date: 24 July, 2007

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Meet the Indiana Horror Writers
Current mood: artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry

Here's some stuff to help introduce us to you:

MySpace page:  http://myspace.com/indianahorrorwriters

Web site: http://horror.org/IHW

Join our Yahoo! mailing group: mailto:subscribe-ihw@yahoogroups.com

Wordpress blog:  http://indianahorrorwriters.wordpress.com/

E-mail IHW: ihw@comteck.com

Dates to keep in mind:

March 17th is our next IHW Meeting at Starbucks 6335 Intech Commons Drive, Indianapolis.

April 19th @ Phenomecon in the Crumb Theater. Columbus IN.

June 13th-15th @ Mo*Con III: The Intersection of Spirituality, Art, & Gender. The Dwelling Place 7440 N. Michigan Road Indianapolis

Also, June 14th at Mo*Con III will include the launch party of the IHW Anthology, Dark Harvest.

More to come

Currently reading : Cairnwood Manor: Shadows over Somerset By Bob Freeman Release date: 30 April, 2006

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