Photographing Spooky Places: Contrasts, Mood

I'm about to embark on going to abandoned places again now that the season is chilly--I despise the heat and rattlesnakes. That being said, I've reviewed some of my photos to find a theme in the way I photograph creepy places and I realized I have a wellspring of examples of ways to bring out hidden messages, mood, and contrasts that I'd love to share with others who want to photograph dark, spooky places and even places not meant to be spooky, but are!

In the first shot, it's one of my obsessions--naked trees. We have a lot of twisted, dead ones here in Arizona and with a background of gray sky they give a very dismal sensation, but this one against the contrast of very blue sky seemed almost crystallized and reaching. Trees are generally great to photograph upwards. Lean your belly against the trunk and prop your elbows on it and take a shot upwards. You'll be amazed what you get. Sometimes, I just zoom in on the bark for some cool texture. Other times, it's that one branch that holds the last leaf that has my fascination.

This cemetery was filled with cats. An old lady came at sunset to feed them. Apparently, they thought I might be the feeding lady, as they crept into the shadows of the post-twilight cemetery. I got a shot of the one atop a headstone and the other behind a tree, the light from the flash reflected on their eyes and made it even more creepy. Wildlife in a place of death is pretty interesting as contrasts go. Don't forget reflectivity too. Glass and metal can create interesting disturbances when flashes are used at night.

My ghost hunting buddy and I always take shots on trips. This one was done into the setting sun. My friend, an artist, said, "no, no! You don't want to do that." I said, "because I'm not supposed to, you know I'm going to have to." (she's quite used to my contrary nature--thank goodness). I love the way it came out. That's me on the left.

This cemetery was bleak. They buried all the prisoners and patients from the asylum in basically graves with markers but no names. It went on forever. It was really pronounced how horrible it was when you see the flat desert and endless sky going on for...eternity. I told my friend right there--do not bury me in the desert!

This cell door is opened, it draw the eye in to the mystery within. The peeled paint on the wall creates a man-shaped shadow. That actually fooled a few ghost hunters that night as we were locked into the abandoned prison for an entire night! Sometimes, it's the dark shadowy corners that creep you out the most. Keep that in mind when setting up a shot. There's the shot that says "here's the whole room" and there's the shot that says "what part of the room am I not seeing?"

This statue was pretty depressing looking, but it became even more so as a monsoon storm was about to hit and the sky turned indigo. Suddenly it took on a sort of end-of-world attitude. I suppose if I shot it at sunrise, it might have had a pinkish pleasant hue, but religion is serious business, so I gave it the appropriate amount of ominous tone.

Lastly, this one shocked me. It was really a shot that almost didn't happen. I was inside of a prison cell decorated by a neo-nazi with disgusting messages and poems. I was going to just leave the place all together, but I realized that the most disturbed person in the prison surely stayed in that cell. People took pictures of it nonstop all night--another prison we were locked in for the night. However, at one point during the night, I got up and went back to the cell, feeling like I forgot something. I looked around and thought, well, I'll just take one more picture. When I looked on my screen, I found this amazing cross shadow falling right over the wording. Apparently, it was caught in just that instant. No one else had a cross on their shots. Sometimes, the gut instinct is the one to go with. I know in ghost hunting, if you want a shot of action, you have to take them when you feel it in your bones or when a place calls to you to go back.

Hope you learned a few things about looking at the world as potentially spooky. Even the most mundane things looks scarier if you do them in black and white, get below them looking up to show proportions that look enormous, capturing deep shadows, and letting the scene be obscured by tree limbs, or even letting a human shadow cast over a scene. Just like in a haunted house, it isn't what you can see that scares you, it's what you can't see that might be lurking... keep that in mind.

Ghostly Phone Calls?

There are some questions I repeatedly hear when people talk to me about ghost hunting. “Do ghosts follow you home?” “Can ghosts have sex with you?” and “I have this friend who got a call from her dad after he died. Is that possible?”

Here’s my own strange experience. My sister, Tina, died in 2005. When she passed on, she and I had just been talking about my ghost hunting and desire to reach our family members we’d lost. She said she’d be joining them at Aspen Grove some day when she passed on (she didn’t know she would die a month later).

When she passed quite suddenly, I remember settling down from the sobbing long enough to say, “Tina, please give me a sign. You know me. Give me one sign you know I’ll get.” At the time, I was sitting on my bed and the shade on the lamp beside me swung fully to its extension one direction then the other. I tested the shade and it was so stiff I had to push it against resistance to make it move. Then, once it was in one direction, it stayed there until I pushed it the other way. At the time, I told her it was a lame sign and was not at all obviously her communicating to me.

I went back to work and was sitting at my computer where I always had e-mailed Tina several times a day. Sometimes, the most mundane things, “I’m making tacos tonight,” “Alex just got an A on his final in geometry,” “It’s finally raining!” I felt like a limb was missing. I wanted to write her every time something happened. I’d open my hotmail account and stare at the screen. I realized then that it said in the corner whose birthday was coming up. It listed “Tina January 1st" as the only birthday and it was not even the right birthday. Her name was there in big blue letters, taunting me. I thought about removing her address from my contacts, but that would make her completely gone for me. I left her on there for years, learning to ignore the sign that showed her wrong birthday.

Several days ago, while cleaning up files and deleting things I'd kept too long, I finally went in and removed her from the list of contacts.

I went on the next day and she was still listed as a birthday on the fictitious January first. In fact, her email was still there along with a pop up message box with “Send Tina a quick message.” I shook my head. I’m too logical to believe my sister was putting herself back into my contact list over and over again and begging for a message. I removed her address again. Still, the next day she popped up. To test it, I removed someone else from my list. That person remained off the list. Tina, however, continued to pop up with the request to message her.

I couldn’t resist. I went into the box that said “send Tina a message” and wrote “Are you there?”

Are you getting shivers now?

Well, the shivers aren’t necessary--yet.

I got a message back from her husband who couldn’t get rid of her email address and used it himself now. He hadn’t communicated since her death. She was the one who did all the letter writing and communications for the family and he wasn’t the writing type. He updated me on my nephews and then told me, “Did you write because it’s the anniversary of her death? I can’t believe it’s been four years today.”

I was shocked. She had died so suddenly during the holiday time that I didn’t actually mark the date in my mind. I was so confused, I could barely think straight. I just knew it was between Thanksgiving and Christmas some time, unsure if it was November or December.

Sounds kind of coincidental, until you consider this: When I got his return message, I wrote him back and then proceeded to remove her again from the contact list. This time, she remained gone.

The manipulation of electronics wouldn’t be how a spirit would communicate with you. It would be done on a psychic level. The feel of a warm hand on your shoulder when you’re having a very bad day, their favorite song on the radio when you drive past their neighborhood, perhaps even the introduction of someone who will help fill their role in your life and serendipitously find that person also loves oil paintings and playing chess just like your loved one.

When you love someone, you really do become a part of them. You become spiritually intertwined. If you’ve lost someone important you probably remember driving around on the road and seeing people rushing to jobs and daily routines and you feel strangely removed and other-dimensional as if time stood still for you. That strange disconnect is important to taking on a big shock and a new reality, but another part of that could very well be that a fraction of your spirit intertwined with theirs in the spirit world. The more time away from the person, the more break between your spirits, but it’s never completely broken. It’s that connection that makes it possible for psychic connections, a kind of missing limb sensation, as it were. It also explains why it's usually in the first days or week of a person's passing that you are "visited" by them--the connections psychically are still very powerful.

Is there a way to enhance the communication with the other side without involving a ouija board or séance? Yes! As bizarre as it may seem, depending on what I’m facing in my life, I call upon a different missing relative. If I’m dealing with my career issues, I actually talk to my mother. I don’t know why. She wasn’t a big career woman, but she had strong aspirations for me and seemed to intuitively know which way I should go with my talents. If I have issues with major decisions, I talk to my father. My sister Tina is purely for motherhood issues. My brother, Scott, is for courage when I’m afraid to do something. With dozens more relatives and friends, I have plenty to pick from. They become sort of patron saints of different parts of my life.

Periodically, I sit down and speak aloud, catching up my parents on what’s happened since their passing or telling my sibling what’s up with their children. It’s an odd thing to do, but in a weird way I’m making it real to me and putting the need to communicate out there so I’m relieved. I also find that after catching them up on the news, I miraculously receive little signs and often times small resolutions or even big resolutions in the issues I was speaking to them about. I’m not a hocus-pocus kind of person; however, I am impressed with the results.

Will your loved one leave you a text message? Not likely. It’s more likely to go down in a strangely psychic manner. You’ll pick up a conversation with someone, feel immediately comfortable with him, ask his name and find out it’s the same one your loved one had. You’ll think about taking a shortcut through a parking lot to miss an intersection that’s bogged up and you’ll pass by a restaurant sign and realize it was the one she talked about all the time, a place you’ve never been and didn’t know where it was located, but today you happened to go through that part of town and cut through that lot and look up to see that sign…

You might ask, "but why couldn't you erase your sister from your hotmail unless she had a hand in it?" Truth be told, I went back and studied what I'd done in the process of removing her from the file and I hadn't verified taking her off. In my subconscious or perhaps my ties to her psychically, I had not confirmed removing her from the list...until I was ready to.

Yes, I do believe there is magic that occurs between the dead and the living and I believe it is recognized only by your soul and not your consciousness. Ask anyone who's lost someone how many times they dream of their deceased loved one? There is no better time, no better state of mind to make the connection.

If you want them to "call" you, they'll do so without a phone.

Snow Walker

This short story is a part of the Spec the Halls contest for speculative winter holiday-themed fiction, artwork, and poetry. You may find guidelines and links to other entries at http://www.aswiebe.com/specthehalls.html

The house wasn’t horrible. It just sat upon the hillside like a drunken partier on a street curb. Two shutters swung loosely creating a comical winking eye.

"I like it.” Billy announced.

“Really?” Madeline doubted her son really meant it, but lately since the divorce he’d been unusually agreeable to anything and everything. She supposed in his 9-year-old mind, the finality hadn’t set in yet. Right now, it had for her.

Madeline squinted up at the peeling paint of the old Victorian. Her great aunt left it to her. The sour old spinster held no one in true affection, but Madeline had once visited with her mother and picked a bouquet of wild violets as a gift for the lonely woman. Her great aunt recalled that one single act of unsolicited kindness and willed her the house. At least it gave Madeline a way to escape Brian and the new life he’d started with that woman.

“You think we might get snow?” Billy asked excitedly, stuffing his cold hands in his pockets.

“Oh yes, it does snow here.”

“Oh boy!” He raced up the steps to the door.

Billy had never seen snow. If they were lucky and the first one came before Christmas day, it could keep him busy. She worried about switching to a new home in the middle of a school year, but the Christmas break was arriving. Perhaps he could meet other kids before school began again. The other houses around them were on spacious half acre lots, all similar Victorians, but in much better repair. She had her work cut out for her, but then a distraction would be welcome for her, as well.

“Come on mom!” He called from inside.

It didn’t matter what happened in life, Billy made everything else seem petty and inconsequential. Pulled into his world of wonder and excitement, Madeline entered the home and studied the contents. Amazingly, her aunt had kept the interior quite neat.

Pleased to find one less thing to worry about, Madeline dropped their bags and exhaled with relief.







“This town would never have been here if it hadn’t been for a trade.” Norma, the tall masculine-appearing librarian announced this over her teacup.

“Well, I suppose that’s true. Our town does owe the Indians, but at what cost?” Linda the next door neighbor sighed.

“They thought the land was cursed.” Norma explained.

Evelyn jumped in excitedly. “They said the rocks were cursed with the power to animate things. That’s how the windigos came about, you know? Animals wandering the rock quarries, picking up the energy and transforming.” Her eyebrows wiggled dramatically.

“I think its rubbish.” Linda announced.

Madeline tried to keep up with the conversation, but her neighbors acted as if she knew the history.

“Didn’t your great aunt tell you any of this?” Norma asked.

Madeline shook her head.

The librarian paced the floor before the window. “Back in the early 1800s the Native Americans traded this land the town is settled on.”

“For what?”

“Cattle. They herded it 25 miles away and stayed there. This was once Reservation land. They even went so far as to write up a contract relinquishing the land.” She stopped and pivoted, blocking out the light and casting a deep shadow over the women. “Evelyn was right. They had a lot of beliefs involving the geology here. People have been reporting strange creatures for almost two centuries. In fact, eventually the rock quarry was shut down due to so many accidents and that part of town was never built up. We pretty much just drive through it, but don’t stay. No one admits it right out, but it’s because they believe in the windigos.”

“Windigos?”

“It’s an Indian tale of shapeshifters, skinwalkers, you know?”

Madeline thought for a moment. “You mean, werewolves?”

“Oh, all kinds of alterations of owls, wolves, bears, even creatures not seen before.”

“Like what Earl saw.” Evelyn cut in. “My husband Earl saw one two weeks ago and Robert and Jason Mathews saw one just last week.”

“What did they see, exactly?” Madeline was fascinated. She admitted to being a closet horror novel fan. She hid them from Bobby, and Brian always ridiculed her reading “wasteful” fiction, but she liked knowing that for a time the world was scary, but it was all make believe. She wished the bad things in the real world were similarly a falsehood.

“Earl said he saw it standing on two legs, big, dark, and hairy. Like a Bigfoot, really. The Mathews brothers said what they saw was on four legs and enormous.”

“It could have been one of the Drucker’s bison.” Linda scoffed.

“No,” Evelyn shook her head briskly. “Those men are both hunters and they live right next to the farm. They know their animals. This thing was not one of the fenced in bison. It was across town near the old water tower and it was taller than them.”

The women went back and forth with their tales of people seeing windigos. It was exciting to live in a town with a mystique and a history. Madeline found it rather romantic and charming.

The children raced down the stairs and outside, screaming excitedly.

“What’s up now?” Evelyn got up and went to the door and opened it up. “Why, look. It’s snowing!”

“Our first snow of the season!” Linda clapped excitedly. “I so love the first snow.”

“Bobby has never seen snow.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Linda clapped her hands.

The women gathered up their coats and went onto the porch to watch the children racing back and forth in the snow. It wasn’t even tall enough to cover the blades of grass. Madeline went inside and got Bobby his mittens and tossed them to him. His nose was red, his smile was huge, and life was bliss for the boy. She loved his resilience. Already he had five friends on their street and she was rapidly meeting the women and being taken in. With the man from the hardware store scraping the paint from the house and preparing it for painting and another man working on the plumbing, it seemed that it would soon become a real home.

Earl walked up the sidewalk, dodging a snowball. He came up the steps and grabbed up Evelyn’s hand. He smacked a loud kiss on her cheek.

“Oh, Earl!” Evelyn exclaimed. “Tell Madeline about the Windigo you saw.”

“You’re scaring her with stories?” He raised a brow and chuckled. “We want her to stay, not run away.”

“I’d love to hear about it.” Madeline confessed.

“Well, only if you have something hot to drink.”

The women escorted him into the warm kitchen while Madeline poured him some cocoa.

“It was about two weeks ago.” Earl explained, his silvery pale eyes looking out the window as the steam from the cup billowed against his rosy round cheeks. “I was taking my truck out for a ride. I hardly ever get to use it anymore now that we don’t have horses and feed to haul. I was headed up Old Lincoln Road across the tracks and past the cemetery towards Kingston.” He explained. “I was slowing down for a cat crossing the road and when I looked up to continue on, there was something loping down the road away from me, but alongside the road. I took off after it thinking it was one of those bums that keep sleeping in the vacant farmhouses along the tracks. This wasn’t a man, though.” He shook his head briskly, his brow furrowing with concern. “It was tall, real tall. It had these long strides on these thick muscular legs. From head to toe, it was covered in dark brown fur. It had no luster, looked kind of wiry. Never seen anything like it. It wasn’t man. But it wasn’t a goddamned bear.”

“What happened?” She asked excitedly.

“He took about two strides to cross the road and went down into the ravine along the train tracks. He was a big son-of-a-bitch though!” He howled.

“Earl!” His wife scolded. “I hope he isn’t scaring you off. It really is a safe place to live.”

“Yeah, sure.” Earl agreed. “It’s fine here in town. Just don’t want to head towards the mines and quarries. The farms around there closed up during the Depression era. Lots of animals went missing and were killed off. Lots of strange critters. They shut down the mines finally, and the quarry. You’re fine here. Just fine.” He nodded. “We never have trouble in town.”

Madeline would take Earl for his word. If he thought it was safe, it was safe. Whatever superstitions they had didn’t have anything to do with the beautiful little town. Relieved once again there were no shocking surprises disrupting her life, Madeline let her guard down and smiled and laughed for some of the first times in months as she visited with her new friends.







“I really appreciate you taking me to the tile store.” Madeline turned to Max and watched his handsome profile as he studied the rural roadway. It was 40 miles to the store and it took two hours to pick the tiles for the bathrooms, but luckily Bobby was at Randy’s house across the street for the night so she had no rushed scheduled.

It surprised her that Max finished the peeling of the paint from her exterior and then offered to take her tile shopping so he could tile her baths. He owned the local hardware store and although he had workers there, he seemed like a hands-on man. She hated taking him away from work, but his situation was much like hers. He had been divorced two years, but still not comfortable with free alone time.

“You picked some good tiles, Maddy.” He smiled.

“You picked the ones that went in the master bath.” She told him. “You have very good taste. I think you understand what I’m trying to do with the place.”

“I admit I love these old places. I have a wood cabin myself, but the Victorians along your street, they’re picturesque. Always wanted to get my hands on one. You’ve given me a way to live vicariously through you and fix one up.”

“It seems a shame. You should get one.”

“I wanted to buy the one you’re in, but your aunt willed it to you.” He turned and his dark eyes studied her. “I’m so glad she did.”

“Thank you.” She blushed shyly. Their relationship hadn’t shown signs of affection yet, but she wasn’t naïve. He did look at her and speak to her in ways that said he was interested. Surprisingly, as much as she was completely terrified of another relationship, Madeline was not immune to his charm and the giddy feelings it produced.

“Hold on!” He put his arm across Madeline before she could realize what was happening. Their headlights lit up an SUV in the roadway 20 feet ahead of them as it swerved into the oncoming lane as if dodging something in the road.

Madeline made out something enormous and black, bigger than the SUV. Just as they came up on this shadowy figure, Max swerved into the empty oncoming lane, as well. She leaned into her window and looked out at the intruder as they passed it. She had to lean her head back to look up and take in the massive creature. Her eyes locked onto a set of huge eyes, the whites glowing as they passed it. An ominous shiver raced down her back.

“What the hell was that?” Max slowed down and looked into the rearview mirror. Madeline looked into the side mirror. The small car behind them swerved away from the same enormous black creature. The headlights also didn’t seem to reflect on it to reveal any detail.

Max slowed down, letting the car behind them whiz past. He pulled to the shoulder.

“You okay?”

She couldn’t stop shivering, even with the heater blasting on her feet and arms.

“I really don’t want to stop here.” She looked back over her shoulder.

“Yes, right.” He gathered up his wits and pulled back onto the road.

Both of them remained in silence until they reached town.

“What do you think it was?” Madeline asked him.

Max shook his head, his expression grave. “I really don’t know. I’ve seen the Drucker’s bison and they’re not only properly fenced and on the other side of town, but they can’t possibly have shoulders higher than an SUV.”

“You saw that too?” She asked with relief.

He nodded. “When we passed it, did you get a look at it?”

She nodded. “I saw its eyes but when our lights hit it, I didn’t see individual hairs or details at all. It was like a shadow with eyes.” She shivered.

“We’re okay now.” He comforted her as they pulled into her driveway. “You want me to come in for a while? I-I mean, keep you company until you’re settled in.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” She admitted.

They climbed from the car and headed towards the house. The motion detector light he’d installed on the porch lit up the huge snowman Billy and his friends had made. He’d borrowed a kitchen chair to put the head upon it. The thing stood taller than Max and he was a tall man.

“He did a good job.”

She smiled. “He’s so happy here. It’s like he’s just come to life. He was shy before. Maybe he just needed the great outdoors.”

“I grew up here and I have to say having free run of fields and forests is pretty exciting for kids. Makes them strong and healthy.” He leaned forward and studied the snowman. “What are these?” He pointed to the glistening eyes.

“Billy picked those up alongside the road on the way into town. We stopped to eat our lunch. He pocketed those pieces of quartz because he thought they were diamonds.” She leaned in to study the strange glittering eyes. “He found a good use for them. They’re really quite pretty.”

She turned on the switch near the door and the lights on the Christmas tree cast a glowing light on the gifts beneath. Admittedly, she was greatly relieved to not be coming home alone with the images of that thing still fresh in her head. At least a little conversation might distract her onto other subjects. If she even thought back to that incident on the roadway, she felt her stomach turn to ice.








“Oh my God! Did you hear?” Evelyn was bent over, huffing and puffing, her hand covering her large chest.

“What?”

“Norman Pepper.” She wheezed. “At the end of the street.”

Madeline escorted her friend to a chair at the kitchen table and poured her some hot coffee.

“He was attacked.”

“Attacked?” Madeline felt her stomach flip flop. This was supposed to be a safe neighborhood.

“He was taking his trash to the end of the driveway and something came out of the bushes and knocked him over.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Evelyn waved her hand. “He’s a big guy. Takes a lot to knock him down.”

“Did he see who it was?”

She shook her head. “Nope. He didn’t seen him, but he said he was big and vicious.”

“Vicious?”

“Yeah, he had sharp nails or claws. He cut him along the cheek. Not real bad, but hurts like the dickens.”

Madeline was surprised. The encounter with the “thing” the other night and now an attack, could it have been the same creature?

“You’re looking kind of pale, Maddy.” Evelyn patted her hand. “I don’t mean to scare you. It could have been a prankster.”

“Max and I saw something the other night on the road. It kind of shook me up. We don’t know what it was, but it was huge.”

“Windigo?” Evelyn asked excitedly.

“I’d have to say. Honestly, its shoulders were over 6-feet off the ground!”

“Jesus!” Evelyn howled. “You have any liquor for this coffee?”

That made Madeline break into a smile. Leave it to Evelyn to break a tense moment.

“Mom?” Billy called out.

“Yes?” Madeline responded.

He came rushing into the kitchen, boots leaving wet tracks, mittens crusted together with snow.

“Billy.” She sighed.

“I’ll clean it up, mom. I just gotta tell ya.”

“What?”

“The snowman.”

“What about him?”

“Me and the guys named him and gave him a cool snow hat!”

“What did you name him?” She asked.

“Mr. Hamilton.”

“Mr. Hamilton?” She asked.

Evelyn blushed. “The boys must have told him that one. It’s the principal at the elementary school’s name. He’s a big tall…robust man with premature white hair.”

Madeline tried not to giggle in front of Billy.

“Do you think that’s a good name, Billy? Someone’s feelings might be hurt.”

He blinked. “Well, we could call him James. They say that’s his first name.”

“I like that name.” She told him.

Please with his diplomatic skills, Billy rushed off to tell his friends the name was “James.”

“That’s an impressive snowman. For a boy who’s never seen snow, he did quite well. With this cold, it might last a month. You know, we’re all so glad you moved here, Maddy. The place is looking wonderful, there’s another happy boy on the street, and you’re such a good friend.” She squeezed her arm.

Madeline couldn’t help feeling a strange icy fear in her belly. The last time she thought she was blissfully contented, it was all a façade. The cozy life in the suburbs with Brian and Billy was so idyllic in her eyes. Was she being too lulled into contentment here? Could anything be this easy and perfect? The dark thing from the roadway crossed her mind and Madeline frowned. It was like the elephant in the room. At some point, it could upset the balance of hope she’d built.







“Max?”

“Hmm?” He replied as he looked up from the menu. It was Christmas Eve and their first real date at a restaurant. She should be joyous and optimistic, but she couldn’t seem to stop wanting to press at the one tender spot of her life in her new town.

“That thing that attacked Norman Pepper. What do you think it was?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I just heard a bit of the story. He got ambushed putting out his trash can? Could have been a desperate raccoon wanting some food.”

“I take it you’ve seen Norman Pepper?”

“Ex Navy SEAL.” He smiled. “Yeah, I guess that would be a raccoon on steroids. Still, we don’t know the whole story. He could have been startled and made himself fall and is too embarrassed to admit it.”

“True.”

“What are you thinking?” He asked keenly.

Never in her whole life had a man asked her that. “I-I was thinking about that thing we saw near the road and I was wondering if it might have been what attacked Norman.”

He patted her hand. “I doubt it. I really do. You want to know why?”

“Why?” She was hoping for some relief from her anxiety.

“Because if one believes in windigos, they only stay along the tracks and the quarry. None have been in town. If you don’t believe in windigos, then just look at the facts. There were no huge tracks in the snow. In the hardware store, the men were all speculating what it might have been, but there were no real tracks to tell.”

“Isn’t that kind of odd?”

“Not really. Things freeze overnight and become solid. Still, if it had big heavy prints, they’d still be evident.”

She exhaled with relief. “Thanks.”








“Mom! Mom!” Billy screamed.

Madeline was barely awake, rushing from memory down the dark hallway to his room. The door was wide open and Billy was sitting on the window seat, face turned to the yard out front.

“What, honey?” She rushed in, her heart pounding; certain there must be an intruder or something threatening. The floodlight shined on the snow below.

“L-look!” He pointed.

She looked out over the yard. “I don’t know, what is it you’re seeing honey?”

“Mr. Ham—James.” He corrected.

“Oh, honey.” She sighed. “Someone took your snowman!”

He sniffed. “I bet it was Bart and Mick.”

“I don’t think so. They enjoy your snowman as much as you do. They helped build it.”

He turned his blue eyes up to her, filled with tears. “Can we call Max? He’ll protect us.” He boasted.

She patted his cheek and looked out the window. That feeling was there again, the one of worry and dread. It was the same feeling Madeline felt when she saw that huge creature. An ominous doom, as if it personified all her greatest fears in her life in one physical entity. She certainly didn’t want her son spending Christmas Eve worried about vandalism when he should be waiting for Santa.

“I’ll call him.” She had to admit, she wasn’t happy knowing someone got that close to their door to do harm.








“It doesn’t make sense at all.” Max confided as they sat at the kitchen table sipping cocoa.

“Someone was just being spiteful, I suppose.” She told him.

“No. You see, there wasn’t a trace of him. If someone wanted to bust up his snowman, there should have been piles of snow. That thing was at least 7-feet tall.”

“Well they couldn’t carry it away.” She confessed.

“There was a trench along the snow, like someone dragged it.”

“How could they? It must have weighed hundreds of pounds.” She scoffed.

He scratched his head. “Maybe they pushed it onto a tarp and dragged it.”

“Why would they go to that effort?” She asked.

He sighed. “I really don’t know, Maddy.” He put his arm around her and she melted easily into his side. “Now, we have another dilemma.”

“What?” She whimpered, having had quite enough adventure for the past three weeks.

He laughed softly and kissed the top of her head. “It appears you have a Santa bike for your son but it’s not assembled.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “I was hoping he might want to assemble it.”

“Santa doesn’t leave things unmade. Let me assemble it. I’ve always wanted to be Santa.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him lightly. “I’ll go be sure he’s asleep.” She turned at the stairs. “Max?”

“Hmm?” He looked up from the box near the tree.

“You don’t need to go home tonight. I mean…”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa. I want to see his expression when he finds it.” He offered with understanding.

“Thank you.”








“It’s much too icy to ride!” Madeline laughed as Billy and Max donned their snow gear.

“Come on, mom! Just let me try it up and down the street. Mr. Pepper keeps the road clear. I heard his tractor out there this morning.”

“Aw, come on mom!” Max whined in a kid’s voice.

She laughed and bent to kiss him and stopped herself from that natural reflex. Billy watched them avidly.

“Doesn’t mom get a Christmas kiss? Where’s the mistletoe?” He looked around.

She had actually thrown it out when she went through her and Brian’s things to decide what to take. Well, she hadn’t thrown it out. She had squashed it in his ashtray on the bedroom dresser as a bitter reminder for him.

“We don’t need any, Billy.” Max leaned forward and kissed her innocently.

“Good, now let’s get outside!” Billy ordered.

They were all laughing as Madeline pulled on her coat and followed them as she yanked her gloves from her pockets and began to put them on. She nearly ran right into them on the porch. They’d planted themselves on the top step and weren’t going down.

“What?” She asked.

“Look at this.” Max pulled her up front.

She looked around in wonder.

“What?”

“Mom! Mr. Hamilton is back!” Billy yanked on her arm.

“Oh.” She blinked.

Max looked over at her, his brow rising. “Someone had a Christmas guilty conscience?”

“Must be.” She admitted.

Billy inspected his buddy. “He looks good. Even his hat is still there. His eyes. His nose. His arms.” He chirped.

She leaned forward and studied it. It did look perfectly intact.

“That must have taken a lot of effort.” She commented.

“I bet Santa did it!” Billy sang and rushed off towards the road. It was then that the couple’s eyes followed the trail in the snow where someone must have dragged the snowman back.

“A lot of effort.” Max shrugged.








It was blissful having a real Christmas supper with people to cook for. Madeline sat back in her seat and sipped Max’s hot spiked cider and watched the children play a board game near the fire.

Linda and Peter from next door were pleased to join her and Max and bring their son, Billy’s best friend Randy.

“That was an amazing meal. I can see why you were a chef.” Linda sighed. “I do hope you open that café we were talking about. Main Street could seriously use good food.”

Peter groaned and pulled on his pants. “I have never tasted a bread pudding like that.” He sighed. “What was that flavor in the sauce?”

“Bourbon.” She smiled.

Everyone laughed.

A loud thump drew their attention.

The men went over to the side of the front room.

“Sounded like it was here. Did something fall?” Peter asked.

“Looks intact.” Max shrugged and turned off the light. The women had just arrived when it happened again.

Their eyes wide, they listened in the dark room as a slow, painfully irritating scraping sounded against the glass panes of the window. Max stepped forward, threw back the curtains and in the confusion of the darkness outside, all Madeline could see was a flash of something white going past the window, scraping as it passed behind the bushes near the house.

Max rushed to the front door.

“Max, be careful!” Madeline knew she couldn’t stop him. His protective instincts were strong. She heard him leaping down the steps of the porch. They watched him out the window passing by where the person had gone. Minutes later he came back inside, shivering.

“No one. Not a person in sight.”

“Any tracks in the snow?” Peter asked. “We’re all thinking we have a windigo in our neighborhood.”

“Peter.” Linda chastised.

“Come on, you have to admit, there’s something lurking around our neighborhood. The Bennington’s car was keyed with long scratches, something chased their kids down the street, and Barbara Williams two streets over said that someone was looking in her window.” Peter turned to Max. “What was it you two saw recently?”

“I don’t know.” Max admitted. “I was driving, so I didn’t really catch sight of it.”

“But your headlights had to have hit it.” Peter observed.

“Yeah, but it was just black. No details at all. Maddy saw it as we passed by.”

“I saw its eyes. It was on four legs and had shoulders higher than 6-feet tall.”

Linda sucked in her breath. “Oh, my. That sounds grisly.”

“This thing we just caught a glimpse of was white.” Max noted.

“Maybe another windigo?” Peter offered.

“Listen to you, Peter.” Linda scolded. “You sound like you believe in windigos.”

“I’m not closed to the idea.” Peter admitted. “I haven’t seen one, but I’ve heard people’s stories. They’re very compelling. We know weird things happen near the quarry. I’m not surprised if what we saw was some kind of windigo that somehow found its way to our neighborhood.”

“A polar bear one?” Madeline remarked.

The tension broke and everyone chuckled.

“More than likely it was someone in a white hooded winter coat.” She guided everyone back to the kitchen for hot drinks.

The family put on their coats and left, turning on the motion detector light.

“Hey, Max?” Peter asked as they stepped onto the porch. “Was the motion detector light on when you came out after the…” He looked at the children “person?”

“Yeah, there was plenty of light.” Max admitted.

“Well, at least we know they entered from the front and followed the edge of the house.

Peter turned and stopped.

“Hey, where’s your snowman, Billy?”

Billy rushed forward. “Not again!”

“Someone keeps taking the snowman and putting him back.” Max explained.

“Why the hell would they do that?” Peter laughed. “Hey, look at this.” He nodded to the ground.

“Look at that!” Max shook his head. “They dragged it along the side of the house. Look at the track.” He pointed.

Madeline didn’t like this at all.

“That thumping and white thing must have been the person dragging the snowman away.” Max surmised.

“And his stick arm scraped the window, making that sound.” Madeline felt a flood of relief. This windigo talk was really upsetting her and she didn’t want Billy to hear of it and fear his new home.

“So, you think this prankster will bring it back again?”

“By morning it’ll be back.” Max sighed.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Peter admitted. “We’ll keep our eyes open. It might not be a windigo issue at all, just a neighborhood nutcase.”

“I’m not sure which one is more threatening.” Linda shivered.









“Here’s some cocoa, honey.” Madeline set it down on Billy’s bedside table. He was curled up under a blanket on the window seat studying the yard below as new flakes of snow dropped.

“You’re really staying up all night?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Good thing you took a nap.” She commented as she left.

He’d proposed the idea to have a stakeout and see who was moving their snowman. At first Madeline didn’t want to encourage him to become frightened or to rush outside and act as her defender. Still, she understood, as the man of the house, he now felt a responsibility to answer such puzzles. She made a compromise, asking Max over too. She explained that Billy was to report activity and Max would chase the perpetrator. With them downstairs for the stakeout, sitting before the fire with some hot cocoa with Irish cream, they snuggled comfortably.

“Do you have an idea who you think might be doing it?” She asked Max.

“No. Not a clue. The older boys just don’t have the attention span for it. Someone has a warped sense of humor.”

“I guess they’re not hurting anything.” She shrugged.

“You know what Norman Pepper told me?”

“What?”

“He said his brother was in the SUV in front of us. He saw it too”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He said they just saw a black mass coming onto the roadway and darted around it. No details. Just like what we saw.”

She shivered recalling the eyes staring back from a mass of absolute blackness.

“I’ve heard the stories all my life and people reporting things along the tracks and quarry. I admit I’ve never spent any time down there, just to drive through, but until the other night, I thought it was all a bunch of legends. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s in the rocks.”

“Why do they think it’s the rocks?”

“The Native American legend says that a man on a vision question believed he must swallow a rock to become part of the earth. It resulted in the ability to shapeshift. They believed he still wanders the land and changes shape at will. Now, the town over the centuries has changed the stories around. They came to the conclusion the rocks made the animals in the woods become strange. My high school science teacher thought it was a high concentration of gases from mining that made people see things.”

“They’re all ridiculous.” She scoffed.

“Between this snowman thief and that dark thing on the roadway, I’m beginning to see why such legends began.” He remarked. “There has to be a logical--”

“Mom! Mom!” Billy rushed the stairs in a storm of excitement. “The light went on and I saw it! I saw it!”

“You saw what?” She asked as Billy swung open the front door.

She chased him down with his coat trying to struggle it onto his flailing arms. Max came out, putting himself before them to search the well lit area. His eyes followed the trench of snow towards the roadway.

“Jesus!”

The tone of his disbelief had Madeline swinging her head up from helping Billy into his jacket. She squinted out toward the roadway where a single streetlight lit the snowman heaving forward with stilted jerks, its tree limbed arms shook.

“W-what’s pulling it?” She asked Max, but could tell by his expression he was as horrified as she was.

“Don’t go after it!” She screamed out, but Max was already catching up to it just as a car slowed down to a stop and the window rolled down.

Peter waved his arm. “What's that?” He screamed.

A truck coming the other direction slammed on its breaks just short of the awkwardly moving mass.

“What the hell is going on!” Norman Pepper screamed as he came down from his truck and tackled the snowman. The mass of hard frozen snow cracked into half and fell to the ground with a thud.

“Sorry, Billy.” The big man apologized as he handed him the scarf and hat from the crusty remains.

Billy went to his knees and sifted through the pile of snow. Madeline bit her lip, waiting to see what he would say about the destruction of his snowman.

Billy stood back up, something in each mitten.

“Look! I found my diamonds.”

“Your diamonds?” Norman frowned at him and stooped down to look at the two stones. He picked one up and looked at it in the bright glow of his truck’s headlights. “Son, that’s not a diamond. It’s quartz rock. Only place we have that is down by the quarry.” He looked over at Madeline.

“When we came into town, we stopped near the quarries for a picnic.”

“I’ll be.” He shook his head. “Now, Billy, these are special rocks. I’d suggest you have your mama put them back at the quarry where they belong. We’ll get you some new eyes for the next snowman.” He patted him on the head.

“Okay.” Billy shrugged and raced away to begin the task in the glow of the motion-activated light.

“Y-you’re telling us that s-snowman became animated because of the quartz r-rock?” Madeline asked, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Norman said with great confidence.








Billy stepped back from the snowman and studied it.

“I think I like these better than the buttons.” He studied the thread spool eyes.

“They’re perfect.” Madeline laughed.

“Mom, he’ll be here until it warms up and he melts, right?”

“Sure.”

“I mean, he’s not going to go for a walk, right?”

She nodded. “He’s not going anywhere, honey.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Cause I wanna make him a wife and a couple of kids and maybe a dog!”

“That’s a lot of work. I guess I should start making the hot cocoa for you young men.”

“Yup.” He nodded and rushed off.

Max stepped out onto the porch and put his arm around Madeline. She leaned into him.

“I heard in the springtime a bunch of the men around here are going to rent some front loaders and try and push the rocks along the tracks back into the quarry pit. Away from the roadways.” He offered.

Madeline smiled up at him and exhaled with relief, her eyes following Max’s as he frowned at the yard.

A single huge crow was pecking at the ground along the walkway where the boys left the remains of their lunch, house keys, toys, and other paraphernalia. The black bird picked out a glinting object to fly away with.

“That wasn’t what it looked like, was it?” Madeline frowned, tension filling her body again.

“Yup.” Max nodded as they watched it disappear behind the trees in the distance. “Quartz.”


END

Happy Cheesy Xmas!

My son and his girlfriend have a wicked sense of humor. This year, they decided to go to Goodwill, find a couple of cheesy sweaters (they were out of the ones with reindeer) and do a classic old-fashioned ala Sears portrait type of Christmas shot. I got this one of them, having them look up and away like the portrait studios do. My son put some effects on it to make it warm and fuzzy and voila! We have a happy cheesy Christmas. Yeah, he gets his weird sense of goofiness and nerd-dom from me. A gene I'm very proud to have passed on.

Winter's Night

Hope this puts you into a wintry night mood...

Writer's Workshop: Narrative and Dialogue

Have you ever picked up a book and started reading it only to find paragraph after paragraph, page after page of narrative but no dialogue? There comes a time in any story where the reader is going to rebel if not given some face-to-face interactions. Just ask anyone who had the wherewithal to read James Michener (Reader’s Digest condensed version doesn’t count!)

The balance of narrative to dialogue is crucial, especially in horror. Horror can withstand a helluva lot more narrative than one would expect in other genres. I used to write romance and if the hero and heroine weren’t interacting, you lost the reader. In horror, however, a person can be isolated with their own thoughts, trapped in a cell, wandering the halls of an abandoned asylum. The mood and atmosphere I wrote about in the last post in this series shows how vital those periods of narrative are for creating the ambiance of the story and the tension.

How does one transition from narrative to dialogue? Well, not ham-fisted like TV news shows trying to segueway from one story to the next. The best way, as always, is to show you a couple of samples and see if you can figure out where they went right and wrong.

Sample 1: The dogs barked and circled the hard packed ground beneath the floodlight. The horses rushed to the other side of the yard. Something threatening was afoot. Within the halo of light in the arena, dirt floated in puffy clouds, obscuring something darker beyond.

Hayley grabbed her riding crop and approached it cautiously, trying to discern just what kind of creature had invaded her sacred place. The horses butted up against the metal fencing, snorting loudly.

“Shh, it’s okay.” She whispered gently to them as their eyes rolled wildly in terror. “It’s okay.” She repeated, more to comfort herself than the horses.

Sample 2: “Are you being big babies again?” Hayley hollered at her horses. “I’m not coming out here every time you make noises.” She scolded.

The arena was dusty and messy. The dogs ran in circles barking. The horses remained on the far side of the arena. It was just one of those kinds of nights. Everything seemed to just go crazy at once. It looked like something might be entering the fenced in arena, but it was hard to see just what it was. Now, she understood the animals’ outburst.

What’s the difference?

The first one takes us into the scene to wonder what the heck is happening and then the character comes in with her own concern for what she’s seeing, almost as if she’s joining us in the arena going, “did you see that?” We see how the environment reacts to the threat and then with the tension built, the heroine arrives to have to handle whatever it is in a climactic challenge.

The second sample took us right into dialogue with no context. We don’t know what she’s barking about until we hear a description of the scene and then we need to go back to the dialogue to see how she’s handling this strange event.

There are times when diving into the dialogue first is appropriate. Consider this scene at a party:

“Can you imagine? That guy is 15 years younger than her! What is she thinking?”

The gossiping partygoers were doing a miserable job of not looking directly at the leggy redhead. Their eyes were darting back and forth as fast as the drinks were being raised to their pinched lips.

If you have something intriguing to say that can pull the reader in, this is often times a good technique at the beginning of a story or chapter. It’s a way to stumble into the scene without seeing it from beginning to end, but entering the middle when the action is happening.

There’s nothing more boring than explaining a person’s full day from sun-up to sun-down in a narrative. Pick your moments that either bring across relationships, routine, novelty, or intrigue. We certainly don’t need to know about their bathroom visits or tooth brushing unless it somehow brings across a sense of character. In my short story “Drained,” the rigid character Holger’s hygiene routine was part of showing what type of person he was, “First, turn down the bed, gather up his pajamas and socks, go to the bathroom where he would undress from his work clothing and lay out the pajamas while he took a shower for precisely 5 minutes, followed by socks first, underwear next, bottoms, and then top, brush his teeth for two and a half minutes, floss, cleanse his sinuses with a neti pot of warm saltwater rushed through his nostril and out the other. Clear his throat, blow his nose, and turn out the light.”

Just remember the reader can allow narrative for a page, but we better give some interactions that demonstrate rather than describe what’s going on.

In terms of writing dialogue, it’s a tricky thing. I’ve found that you need to keep the reader up to date on who is speaking. That’s crucial. You can get away with dialogue with no tags to explain who’s speaking if you have either a character with a portrayed accent that makes it obvious who is talking or you have two people with such opposing views that it’s obvious who is taking what side in the discussion. Still, after about three times of not telling us who it is, you better tell us who it is or we have to go back and count the back and forth to figure it out. Try to pace this. Here is a bad example:

"She's going to have to be fired." Jim announced.

"But she just started two months ago, how are we going to explain that?"

"We should probably review her phone usage and see if maybe we can get her on taking too much leisure time."

"Or we could see what the other workers in her office have to say about her habits."

"That's probably a good idea. Why don't I review the phone logs."

"I'll talk to the workers."

"We can go from there."

Now, that the conversation is over, without peeking, can you tell me if it was Jim who said the last line or his buddy?

You don’t want “she said” after every entry. You can also break this out by putting who’s speaking before or between what they’re saying. Example below:

“I don’t want to go.” John announced. (tag after it)

“You don’t have to.” Peter agreed. “It’s a huge party. No one will miss you.” (tag between)

John shifted in his seat and finished his drink. “Thanks.” (tag first)

As far as the content of dialogue, remember to keep it within the educational levels and region the person is from. If we’re talking California teen, “like” might be about every third to fourth word. If we’re talking about a southerner, “ya’all” might be in the mix. It’s difficult sometimes not to intellectualize dialogue. Most writers are well read and have a vast vocabulary. Keep that to yourself. Your characters might not be of a background to use beautiful prose and obscure vocabulary. You have to be willing to get in the trenches and talk like the common man.

One really effective technique that shows a seasoned writer and one who can make the reader feel part of the action is to show what they're doing through dialogue, rather than description:

“Just put that down please. No, not like that. Like this. It’s not a toy, you know.”

Do you feel like you know what just happened without having to tell the reader through narrative?

Today’s lesson reminds me of my favorite comedy show of all time, the “Carol Burnett Show.” She used to have a fantastic scene about a writer. She’d sit at her typewriter and write out a story and the story would be acted out as it’s written--literally. So, if she wrote “Evelyn flew across the room.” The character on a wire would fly across the room. If she wrote “Daniel hammered his fist against the wall,” the character would take a hammer and pound his hand against the wall. It was pretty hilarious to watch and it did actually impress me as a young writer to really stop and think about how I describe things. I tried to find a film clip of this online but couldn’t anywhere.

Happy writing!

Photographing Abandoned Places

Not too long ago, I wrote a post about tips for photographing abandoned places. I meant to follow it up with some photos I've taken. I have loads and loads of them, but I think these ones give good examples of some of the techniques that worked well.

Looking into the front window at this abandoned building in Hinton, WV, was interesting to me because my favorite element is when nature is reclaiming the building.

The vines and the aged sign on the building in Hinton, WV brought home for me just how long it had been sitting (I remember getting candy there in the early 70s!)

The ruins of a burned building in Globe with the sun's rays coming through it made for a beautiful spectacle.

This abandoned motel in Gila Bend had a TV outside. The juxtaposition of the TV being outdoors just made it too cool for the shot!

The crumbling house in Wellton, Az wouldn't have been so interesting if I just stood back and shot it. Instead, I used the crumbled ruins coming towards me to draw the eye into the picture.

Graffiti and chipped paint, texture, crumbled plaster, whitewashed wood...all great elements. The picture of the Domes in Casa Grande were greatly contrasting with the pretty sky. They seemed to corrupt the desert landscape like an escaped monster.

Ghost Adventures: Warshoe Club Return!

I’ve been waiting for this episode because Zak and his gang are going back to a location where they got some pretty cool evidence. If any of you watched the original 2-hour documentary that started the series, you’re really going to want to see this one.

The guys head back to where it all began at the Washoe Club in Virginia City Nevada. They are re-visiting the location where they got their first documented video evidence of a ghost. The reason for their return is that several investigators have recently caught voices inside the Washoe Club calling out Zak and Nick by name.

The voices don't have nice things to say. Fellow investigators Mark and Debbie Constantino show the guys some EVP's saying, "Nick Groff," "Hate Nick," and "Zak look out." It appears the these spirits have unfinished business with Zak, Nick, and Aaron.

The guys will also be locked down in a location they did not visit during their previous investigation: The Chollar Mine. It is said that there are spirits of miners still stuck inside the mine. Countless men have died inside the mine thanks to fires, falls, electrocution. Once locked down, the guys hear the sounds of people working inside the mine.

Friday night, we’re lighting a fire in the fireplace, curling up with some hot cocoa with Kahlua and enjoying the craziness erupt. Put a pillow across your lap, a blanket over your toes. It’s another interesting location with the most entertaining ghost hunters on TV. Take a slug of your drink for every “dude” and “bro,” and we’ve recently added—every time Aaron’s mouth drops open. (We're going to pay for it Saturday morning!) Enjoy!

Christmas Story: Dreams Do Come True For Ambitious Little Girls!

Above: My 1970 letter to "Santa Clouse" (was spelling it the way my father said it) and me dressed as Santa for my niece when I was 11 years old...

You tell me, is this a tale about dreams, fate, or serendipity?

I thought I’d get you in the holiday mood with a funny little story from my childhood. I was raised in a Methodist family, so the concept of Santa was everywhere in our holiday season. Of course, like other children from the 60s/70s, I grew up on Bing Crosby Christmas specials, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” He was the American Idol back then!

One particular Christmas when I was 8, I told my mother I was going to marry Santa. Well, actually, I bragged. I thought for sure I’d make a good wife and partner for the man who gave toys to children all over the world. I loved cold weather, that was big plus. I was certain I could bake enough cookies for all the elves. And, I loved sleighs and reindeer (must be in my Laplander blood).

My mother just laughed at my “nonsense.”

I proceeded with this bold statement,“I’m going to be Mrs. Claus. Just wait and see!”

Fastforward 13 years on my wedding day March 2, 1984. As we’re being announced, I heard “I present, Mr. and Mrs. Clauss.”

Yes, I did marry a Clauss. I think the lesson is specificity. I said I was going to be "Mrs. Claus," but I didn't mention I wanted the jelly-bellied guy who lived in the cold climate. Instead, I found an athletically built man who adored the desert. There was no making of toys for children, but he did have a mean electronic workbench where he designed his own amplifiers and speakers. No sleigh, but he did have a red Camaro. But, I did get the bragging rights of being “Mrs. S. Clauss.” Something that I get ribbing about every December when I sign receipts in the stores.

When our son was a little boy, he'd be kind of down at Christmastime because kids at school would bug him about his name (thank heavens I didn’t name him “Sandy” like I was kidding I’d do). I told him to tell the kids, “That’s my grandpa, you better not be mean.” It worked every time. Well, he left the cookies for Santa on Christmas and a tired Mrs. Clauss was assembling his Lego castle to put under the tree. Exhausted, I put the cookies back into the bin and drank down the milk and left a thank you note. Santa is a polite fellow. I signed it “Santa Clauss” by force of habit. Yikes! I woke up the next morning realizing it and raced out to the living room. My son was waving the note around and laughing. “Look mom! He signed it Santa Clauss. He was using my name as a joke.”

What a relief!

Yeah, it’s not easy being Mrs. Clauss, but I do hope to live up to the name by embracing the holiday season and being the best cookie baker and gift-giver in the desert.

Producer Wanted: Ghost Documentary

Can spirits attached to beloved places?

I think I have a way to finally prove this with a "sure" thing. I’ve always wanted to go back to my childhood home, Aspen Grove, and revisit the haunting there from the Civil War soldiers who were injured and died in its walls when it was a field hospital. The home was haunted very actively, but what intrigues me even more is who has joined the cast since that time.

My father died when I was 16. He swore he would meet us at “Aspen Grove.” Soon after he died, the people living in the house told us they saw my father in his light gray suit and pink striped tie (his traveling suit that we buried him in). They had no idea he had died several days earlier. My mother died nearly 20 years later and vowed she would be there. After all, she was the historian who made certain the history of the house was revealed and it was placed on the historical register. She loved that place like nothing else in the world, even us children. We kind of knew that about her. The estate was very enchanting and surreal. It lured everyone in as if time could stand still there.

We siblings talked about our parents wandering the halls of Aspen Grove and vowed we would join them. When my brother was dying a few years after my mother, he took a nap in his hospital bed and woke up to tell me he had been flying around Aspen Grove and described in detail the awful changes since the condos were built around the mansion. He promised to be there when he passed. He died several days later.

My brothers death made me finally pursue something I started in childhood—ghost hunting. I felt him touching the other side and I wanted to see if the other side had any choice in interacting with us. My sister and I talked extensively about my ghost hunting exploits and she laughingly told me I’d see her at Aspen Grove. She knew how desperately I wanted to prove what happened growing up and what could now be going on at the estate. She died suddenly and I knew there was no doubt she was going to Aspen Grove.

A couple years later, I spoke with the professor from George Mason University who lived in a cottage at the end of our driveway and was the historian who assisted my mother in her research and a very dear family friend. We talked about the haunting and my research and my siblings and parents. He agreed that he too would like to haunt Aspen Grove. He died a few months later.

It sounds tragic, but when you’re significantly younger than your family on both sides, you tend to know you’ll be watching a lot of people pass, sometimes way too young (my brother was 43, my sister 50). I feel a strange comfort knowing they’re there to greet me. I wouldn’t want to be the first to go.

What intrigues me is the possibility that, not only soldiers that might have watched me grow up there would recognize me, but what about my family and family friend who vowed to be there, as well? What if they saw me arrive to try and contact them? If I were to go there and do a study, would they show themselves in amazing ways? After all, they know how I seek answers and want to communicate. The elements are certainly ideal from the geology to the underground springs to make a perfect storm for activity. If spirits can attach to a place, this is as much a sure thing as I can possibly imagine in terms of a location to prove this hypothesis.

If I can’t find ghosts at Aspen Grove, I would hang up my tools of the trade and give up, but I feel it deep in my bones that it would be a positively amazing study.

I vowed to myself I wouldn’t go without a good team to document and a film crew to observe. This is nearly a guaranteed haunting. I would not want to miss a moment of the evidence that would be gained. It would be a homecoming beyond compare. I even know the places they would most likely attach themselves. I can’t think of a better pinnacle for ghost hunting and I can’t imagine any situation that could provide more proof.

I've considered going myself and doing a study, but I would really need a team. I think this particular hunt would definitely need documentation for the types of things that would occur. So, if you know a producer who's interested, I'm more than ready for the ultimate ghost hunt. I'll keep ya'all posted if this ever materializes.

Conspiracy Theory--Tonight--Tune in!

Tonight on TruTv they’re showing a new show at 10 pm. I can’t wait! I admit, I’d rather not have Jesse Ventura hosting it, but I am excited about “Conspiracy Theory.” He’s probably just the right person to do it, but I’d really rather have had someone a bit more nerdish and paranoid instead of testosterone and paranoid. I don’t care, though, I’m going to watch this show with delight. Look at the episodes below and see if you don’t end up marking you calendars.

Tonight’s episode is “HAARP.” You might have heard me talk about this before. Is it a communications research project or a doomsday weapon that can change the weather, shoot satellites out of orbit- and trigger mind control across the globe? Jesse Ventura and his team head north to a remote region of Alaska to confront the military installation called HAARP.

Dec 19: “9/11.” Jesse Ventura steps into America's most controversial conspiracy by challenging the 9/11 Commission Report and searching for evidence that the September 11th attacks were an inside job. At the urging of victims' families, he finds witnesses who claim the towers were brought down by explosives, the missing black box flight recorders were actually recovered and ground control knew the hijackers were in the cockpits before the jets took off.

Dec 16: “Global Warming.” Whether global warming is real or not, it's believed some people are using the issue to make billions of dollars, start a one-world government and control our lives, from the cars we drive to the foods we eat. Jesse Ventura starts with Al Gore and goes far beyond as he uncovers the evidence that leads to one man behind the global warming conspiracy.

Dec 23: “Big Brother.” Big Brother is watching and it's not who you think. Jesse Ventura's investigation of government surveillance on its citizens tears the lid off a nationwide program that is thought to turn local businessmen and office workers into spies, snooping on their neighbors and ratting on their friends in exchange for information and special privileges from the FBI- including, some charge, a "license to kill."

Dec 30: “Secret Societies.” They're thought to be a group of the world's elite who meet once a year at a luxury hotel and decide how they will run the world. Their latest plan? To thin out the population through disease-and vaccines. Jesse Ventura infiltrates the Bilderberg Group, exposes its well-known members and tries to stop their latest "soft kill" plan-- before it's too late.

Jan 6: “Manchurian Candidate.” Authors and experts warn that forces within the government have revived a program that uses mind control techniques to turn ordinary citizens into programmed assassins. This real-life Manchurian Candidate seems outlandish-until Jesse Ventura searches for the evidence of how it's being done-and goes face-to-face with a man who claims he's one of the killers.

Jan 13: “Apocalypse 2010.” It's believed that the world is heading for disaster in 2012 and the government is preparing to save and protect the elite- while leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves. Jesse Ventura uncovers the evidence, and the Top Secret underground bunkers being built in places ranging from the Nevada desert to the White House, including the largest, now under construction beneath a major metropolitan airport.

Writer's Workshop: Mood and Atmosphere

In horror, mood and atmosphere are more important than the characters you place in them or the actions they take within.

Anyone is more interesting in a setting of intrigue and mystery. Anything they do is motivated by that location and its mood.

A well-written horror story has a setting and a sensory feel that evokes fear, anticipation, concern, and terror. Here are some of the things to consider when building this ambiance:

Setting: You lock a mechanic inside of a gas station garage for the night and he’ll be right at home. You put a trophy wife from the other side of town in that same garage for the night and you have chaos. My general rule of thumb is either I take a setting that looks innocent and create something dark about it—you take the reader from feeling safe to being unsettled by the incongruity. Or, I take a setting that is classically scary like a cemetery, and put a false sense of security by having the main character’s time there seem peaceful and quiet.

Look for the mystery in whatever setting you choose and bring it alive with the next tip:

Senses: Whenever possible, make us smell, taste, feel, hear, and see things the characters are experiencing. How someone interprets their sojourn into the woods can tell you how they feel about their setting. “The fragrance hit her first, a heavy scent of crushed pine oils mixed with rotting sweet-scented leaves and earthy mushrooms. The familiar perfume comforted her nerves and Marcia took in a deep sighing breath of relief.” Don’t forget temperatures, sounds, cavernous locations, dark creeping shadows, a heart galloping, a stomach grumbling, hair standing on end… Put the reader in the body of the hero/heroine and allow them to live it. How you describe the senses can reflect on the character, as well. If she loves sunlight and warmth, her despair in a cool damp dark place should be apparent. Remember, a southern woman might consider floral to be magnolia, a northerner might think roses. Subtle differences, but keep them appropriate to the character’s point of reference, education level, and personal explanatory style. A backwoods boy with not a lot of education isn’t going to compare the fragrance of an opening flower to a fine Cabernet Sauvignon. Really become that character with his prejudices, influences, likes, dislikes, and vocabulary. The reason each human being is unique is purely his internal self-explanatory style—how he explains to himself what he encounters day to day.

Weather: This can be a cheap atmospheric point that manipulates readers and they see right through. Use it in a nonclassic way. Doesn’t it always storm during a climax? What if it’s hot sticky humid with hazy sunlight? How about if the rain slants against the windowpanes, streaking down the glass in rivulets of icy glaze? Sure, thunder booms, but can it shake the walls of the house and slap the rooftop? Sometimes the weather is nothing more than a texture to the setting and not so much a necessary plot device.

Lighting: A lack of light obviously creates fear, but what if you had only the blue light of a nearly full moon casting everything into a lifeless sterile glow? What if the lighter in your shaking hand danced every time you breathed upon it with your shallow breath? You have a candle, but what if all that did was cast strange shadows on the wall that made your fears increase?

The Unknown: This can include nooks and crannies, locked doors, unexplored caverns, mysterious stalkers, shadows cast on a bedroom wall, strange sounds coming from an unidentifiable source. Leave people, creatures, ghosts, monsters, stalkers hanging around the periphery, hinting at them occasionally, but leaving the main character to wander Who? What? Where? When? and Why?

Use your life experience: Ultimately, when I go to write a story, I take myself to a place I’ve been in my life. That’s why I recommend you really soak in a place when you visit it. Don’t just go to the landmarks and stay so busy you don’t stop and realize the sounds, feels, and atmosphere around you. My short story “Cave Dwellers” that I wrote for October and is going to be published was based on a wet cave I found in Hawaii that bothered me. When I was inside of it, I thought I heard something little scamper and the light coming into the cave cast its little shadow. Years later, I saw TV specials about the little supposed alien creatures in caves in Chile and Mexico and that got me thinking of the cave I’d been in that bothered me. Suddenly, I knew what it was like to have a feasible creature in a place imprinted in my mind. And remember your character! You might have been on a tour of a dusty old Civil War Museum, but what if your character (who is not like you) were to be there? People ask me often times how I can write horror when I'm not a person who gets spooked. I understand the thinking processes that make people ignite and feed fear into a state of panic, so I know how my characters might react to scary events, what they might tell themselves about what happened, and how that might feed their terror. If actors can play angry nasty characters when they're naturally quiet and sweet and reserved; writers can do the same.

There are no coincidences.

Everything that got you to this point gave you a huge wealth of reference for writing, whether it was the colorful characters you’ve been surrounded by, your personal struggles through issues, heartbreak, loss, joy, and triumph. Everything you’re writing about on your blogs is serendipitous knowledge that can forward your writing. My theories on rock being associated with hauntings is being utilized in my story “The Thicket” where the rock on the mountain enhances and amplifies paranormal events and pagan magic. Every person I encounter has a look, dialect, speech pattern, mannerisms, motivations, and more for lots of robust characters.

Exercise: Try some time to sit in a room or outside with a notebook or laptop and describe your setting and how it makes you (the character) feel. Now, bring to mind a character from a movie or TV show you've seen and how she would describe the setting. What would she appreciate about it? What would she focus on? What would she like or dislike about it? Now, read your two descriptions and see that the world is not absolute--it's purely how we each see it.

I’ll be continuing my writer’s workshop series. These guidelines I’m putting together in these posts are working my own skills right now as I’m writing and editing my novels and short stories. I hope you find something in here you haven’t considered before.

Happy writing!

Dropa Stones Descendants?

Photo above: Dzopas/Dropas Rulers: taken by Dr. Karyl Robin-Evans during his 1947 expedition. Shows the Dzopa ruling couple Hueypah-La (4 ft. tall) and Veez-La (3 ft. 4 in. tall).

As a followup to the Dropa Stones post I just did, I’m continuing along in this post with the subject I suspect we’re all eager to explore…Are there descendants of the Dropa still living?

By some stretch of the imagination, if we were able to interbreed with a race of supposed aliens, what are the chances we would genetically be able to procreate? Sure, we can produce a Liger (lion/tiger) but it can’t produce offspring—it’s sterile. But, considering this tribe was reported as 3-foot tall extraterrestrials, then it would be assumed that they interbred amongst themselves. You’d then have to guess there were enough original beings to breed for 12,000 years. Putting aside my skeptical and logical nature, I admit I’m also equally open to lots of explanations and supposition. Here’s what I’ve found out about the supposed descendants:

In November 1995, the Associated Press (AP) stated that some 120 “dwarfish beings” had been discovered in Sichuan Province, in a so-called “Village of the Dwarfs”. (Some skeptics cast doubt on the AP account, though it is easily verifiable. In fact, on 9 November 1995, the German publication Bild ran a report titled “Das Dorf der Zwerge – Umweltgifte schuld?” [“The Village of the Dwarfs – environmental pollution to blame?”] about the discovery.) The tallest adult in this village was three foot 10 inches (1.0 m 15 cm) tall; the smallest was two foot one inch (63.5 cm).

The location of the village is only a few hundred kilometers from the Baian-Kara-Ula mountain range. However, despite China’s becoming more open, this entire area including the village remains off limits to foreigners.

Hartwig Hausdorf, who has been on the track of the Dropa since at least the early 1990s, ponders whether in recent years the Dropa’s descendants might have abandoned the mountains and settled in the nearby lowlands— where they were “discovered” in 1995.

According to a report in Bild on 27 January 1997, a Chinese ethnologist claimed that the tribe’s dwarfism was due to a high concentration of mercury in the soil, which had poisoned their drinking water for several generations. The claim did not go unchallenged, however. Dr Norbert Felgenhauer of the Munich Institute for Toxicology argued that this theory is nonsense. He stated that such poisoning would result in immediate death, not stunted growth, and introduced as evidence the case of the Japanese town of Minamata, where in the 1960s many inhabitants died from mercury poisoning. He also noted that mercury was unable to change human DNA and hence could not be held responsible for causing an hereditary trait—one that was clearly apparent in this tribe.

Also reported: The isolated area is inhabited by two tribes of people who, in fact, call themselves the Dropa and the Han. Anthropologists have been unable to categorize either tribe into any other known race; they are neither Chinese nor Tibetan. Both tribes are of pygmy stature, and body weights of 38 to 52 pounds (14-19 kg). They are yellow-skinned with thin bodies and disproportionately large heads, corresponding to the skeletal remains found in the caves in 1938. They have sparse hair on their bodies and have large eyes that are not Asian in aspect, but have striking pale blue irises."

As if these dramatic reports aren’t enough, around the year 2000, crystal skulls were found in some caves in remote mountains. It took 2-years to retrieve 22 ancient crystal skulls, collectively known as THE BEIJING SKULLS, which possibly are linked to the Dropa. Three small Dropa disks have been recovered from the same cave where the crystal skulls were found.

The discoverer who is anonymous at this date states: "I am of the opinion now that the crystal skulls were used by the Dropa as radio transmitters/receivers to communicate with their home base, which could be many light years away from this planet, as well as to communicate with their mates who had also landed elsewhere on this planet. The stone disks were the ancient computer disks to record and save messages sent or received. The skull and the stone disk must work together to be effective just like our computers today. Without software our computer today is a dead machine. From the spiritual angle the skull and the stone disk will open up a new portal which will enhance the working of spiritualists. This is an insight I have received from my skulls."

Whether these reported crystal skulls were actually found or not is vague. It seems a bit coincidental that crystal skulls, something associated mostly with the Americas, were found there. It is a questionable mix of cultural influences. It’s like throwhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifing everything paranormal into one soup pot. Why not just report a Bigfoot skeleton or skeletal remains of a Loch Ness Monster? This crystal skull report to me does sound like hokum, but I do believe the Dropa stones were found. They’ve been viewed and photographed extensively. What exactly they contained and the context in which they were found is secretive. It’s a shame such an amazing find was done in China. It’s unlikely the secrets of it will be exposed to the world any time soon. For now, we can only suppose what they were and what they meant.

As always, I love your input.

"Testimony"

This video (above) is a short my son, Alex, is doing in a series about people with convictions and beliefs in various unprovable subjects. This first one in the series is with a psychologist/hypontherapist trained under John Mack to deal with alien abductees. I thought you might enjoy it. It's rather mesmerizing.

Ghost Lab: Testing Storms Theory

Tonight's episode of "Ghost Lab" on Discovery Channel will be an exciting one for me. I was thrilled when they did the episode in Tombstone relating silver mining and electrical storms, but tonight they're testing the theory that there's more activity during electrical storms. I have noted 100% of the time I've gotten impressive evidence was during electron flux or geomagnetic storms. If an electrical storm was occurring at the same time, it was like crazy magic. I'm curious to see how this turns out. I might just have to contact them about the geomagnetic activity theory because to me it's the one sure thing for getting activity.