Scary Movies - Non-American Style

Is it me, or does anyone else ever feel like the ghost stories that come from countries other than the U.S. are scarier? I'm not sure exactly why, but I do know I've always felt that way, even from a very young age.

When I was a kid, I was forever looking for tales of hauntings in Ireland and the British Isles. At the ripe old age of nine, I had never seen a castle first-hand. I had never seen a fortress or a Medieval Cathedral or a proper British churchyard, but I'll tell you this: I was prepared to be terrified by all of them. And I have no idea where that tradition comes from. I just somehow knew that the scariest stories came from castles and old English graveyards and so I spent a great deal of my time hunting down stories from those countries. This lasted through my early adult years when one of the best Christmas presents that Jim ever gave me was a 15-book set devoted to true ghost stories of the British Isles. I had no idea exactly where Cornwall or the Lake District or East Anglia were, but boy howdy, I sure knew a good ghost story when I read one.

Fast forward some twenty or so years later, and I have begun to realize that Asia has some pretty fricking scary stuff. And I'm not even talking about the true stories. Anyone paying attention to paranormal movies over the past decade or so is well aware that some of the most frightening recent films have been re-makes of Japanese ghost/horror stories: The Ring and The Grudge come to mind. I have it on good authority that the original flicks are even scarier. I will take the word of my adviser - I'm much too chicken to watch the originals myself.

And then there have been the offerings from countries other than Japan (The Devil's Backbone, from Spain, and A Tale of Two Sisters, from Korea, come to mind) that are horrifying.

So what is it about these non-American movies that make them so effective? Part of it might be watching actors that I do not know. The Sixth Sense scared the bejesus out of me when I first saw it, but there was always a part of me that held tight to the realization that I was watching Bruce Willis, after all, so this was just a story. However, when I'm watching actors I don't know at all, there is no comforting recognition of the people involved in the story. That always makes it worse for me. Also, movies that do not come from Hollywood have a different feel to them, a completely different kind of atmosphere. I have yet to put my finger on it, but the finished product does not have that slick Hollywood sense, and that probably is also enough to nudge me a little bit more out of my comfort zone.

Lastly, the movies coming out of those other countries take on subjects that are mind-boggling. Watching a video that causes death within a certain period of time? Being stalked by the spirit of a vengeful wife? The storyline itself reduces the main character -and thus the audience- to hapless prey, and feeling paranoid and in fear of one's life is a great way to get someone unsettled from the get-go. There is nothing comfortable about watching these movies.

So there it is. There are Hollywood classics that I have been terrified while watching: the original version of Shirley Jackson's The Haunting (b/w with Julie Harris); The Changeling (George C. Scott), and of course The Exorcist, even though that is not a movie about ghosts. No, it's much worse than that, eh? But if I want to freak myself out to the point that I can't get up and use the bathroom in the middle of the night without turning on lights for every step of the way, or to the point that I'm afraid to close my eyes because of what might be lurking beside my bed -and equally afraid to open my eyes for the same reason - IF I want to get myself to that point? A foreign horror flick will do it every single time.

Ghosts and Pie

What happens when three paranormal/supernatural writers plus their spouses get together for dinner?

Two weeks, ago, my husband Jim and I were lucky enough to draw a dinner invitation from renowned writer Terri Reid and her husband, Richard. Also invited were gifted everything-to-do-with-the-writing-industry (as in writer, editor, e-publishing formatter, POD formatter, cover designer, and all around nice guy) colleague Donnie Light and his wife, Barbara. This was the first time some of us were meeting each other, but instead of any kind of awkwardness or anxiety, the conversation began with ghost stories and we were off and running for at least an hour with that particular topic. Credit must be given to Terri's friendly and very outgoing son, Andy, who was not the least bit shy when it came to telling tales about his haunted home. (Yes, Terri lives in a haunted house.) 

We talked animals and their sensitivity, shadow people, haunted historical sites, personal experiences, and haunted reality TV. In other words, we had a really good time just talking.

We also discussed writing in general, the current shifts in publishing, and our own hopes and dreams as writers. For me, that was a crucial part of the evening. Writing is a very solitary profession, and that explains things like writers' groups, critique groups, and chat boards. We talk online and send each other congratulations, but in the end, all of us go back to our keyboards, and do what we do. Alone. I'm not complaining. I think a bunch of us have hermit tendencies anyway, truth be told. But getting together with others who understand the whole gig is an amazing thing.

So what I took away that night when we all parted was the warmth of real camaraderie, the realization that I might work alone but I don't need to be lonely, and the well-wishes of some very large forces in my chosen industry. 

I also took away the amazing apple pie serving that I did not finish, and a welter of ghost stories that may or may not turn up in various forms in my writing. There is always more than one way to nourish a writer of the supernatural!

By the way, the attached picture has nothing whatsoever to do with this blog post. I just wanted to share a picture of my two favorite hunters. Besides, I'm writing this on Thanksgiving. I have a lot to be grateful for!!!

My Kind of Town

 

Normally, the next word in the line "My kind of town" is "Chicago," and normally, that would apply to me. I grew up in Chicago and have called it, and the area around it, my home for my entire life. But last week, my husband and I were treated to another town that is definitely one of my kind, as they say.

Welcome to Savannah, Georgia, the most haunted city in America. When I first read that claim, I was somewhat skeptical. I know, me skeptical? What's up with that? But I was thinking, how could Savannah possibly be more haunted than New Orleans? Or Washington, DC? Or St. Augustine? San Francisco? Even my own stomping grounds, Chicago? We've had so many disasters here it's not even funny. But when we took a ghost tour of the historic district, well, I guess I found out.

For one thing, Savannah is a massive burial ground. Literally. The city is built on a burial ground and even if you haven't seen the movie "Poltergeist," I'm willing to bet you know that such a site choice does not have the makings for a peaceful, placid kind of place. Secondly, there is all kinds of history in Savannah, from the first encounter with the indigenous people, through the Revolutionary War, piracy, slavery, and the Civil War. There is more history there than you can shake a stick at, and why would you want to? You might accidentally invite something, if you shake a stick at it.

No kidding. The ghost tour Jim and I booked stopped off at some of the more disturbed locations in the city. The Pirate house, where people were literally shanghaid into service on the seas. Or simply murdered, if that's what suited the folks behind these goings-on. The Sorrel-Weed house, that was featured on one of my favorite TV shows, Ghost Hunters. It was the site of the show's first live Halloween broadcast and some of what occurred that night was enough to drive away at least one of the site's employees, we were told. The house on Abercorn that is owned but not lived in. No one is allowed to live in it. Women are even cautioned against approaching the place, it is so malevolent. I'm not an idiot- I kept my distance from the place. Dave, our tour guide, told story after story as we drove through and around the historic district, and encouraged picture taking just to see what would wind up on the photos. (And for the second time in our ghost-tour taking history, Jim captured something in a picture that we can't quite explain. LOVE IT!!!)

But the one, true reason Savannah is my kind of town? People talk about ghosts there the same way they talk about the weather. I have a belief that everyone has a ghost story. The folks there seem to have several apiece, some more than that, and they aren't shy about sharing their tales. There's no hesitation before they launch into their narratives. There is no embarrassment or quick peeks to see if you are looking at them with skeptical eyes or disdainful expressions. No, they just tell you what they saw, when, where, and then go right on with the conversation about restaurants or sweet tea or what have you. And I REALLY LOVE THAT.

We were only there for a couple of nights and we both agree we'd go back in a heartbeat. We both want to know more of the history. I know Jim wants to explore the river and maybe eat more of their amazing seafood. And me? I want as many ghost stories as I can handle. Absolutely my kind of town.

(Pictures from the Savannah, Georgia Photo Album website. Top: Bonaventure Cemetery. Below that: Madison Square-Poetter Hall)

The Joys of Being a Ghost Story Collector

 

The other week, my husband and I got together with some friends we hadn't seen for a few months. As the gathering broke up, one of them turned to me and said, "Hey, I saw a ghost the other night." Those are some of the sweetest words this writer can ever hear, and I love when that happens. My friend went on to tell me that as he was leaving his ex-wife's house (they are good friends), he glanced back and saw her walking on her outdoor back porch. He thought this was rather strange because it was a cold, dark October night, and all she was wearing was a white nightgown. Of course, when he asked her about it later, she said she was never anywhere near the back porch, let alone outside on a cold October night in her nightgown.

I also had an incident at work when my supervisor greeted my morning entrance with "Something happened at our house last night and I thought of you." Apparently, while her son was trying to go to sleep, he was visited in his room by an orb of red light that hovered above his face and refused to go away until he finally called out to his mother. He had seen this same thing previously but hadn't said anything about it because he thought his parents would think he was crazy. He was also bothered by the doorbell ringing only to find no one there when he answered.

I get smatterings of ghost stories frequently, like the newly-made acquaintance who was hosting a get-together and said to me, "You should talk to my son. His college is haunted." Or the instructor I had who said, "Have you talked to Dave? His apartment is haunted. Every night at ten PM the door to his bedroom closes itself. When he tried keeping it closed before-hand, the door opened and then closed itself at ten o'clock on the dot." And then there was the PTO mom who told me about her little boy talking to someone she couldn't see at their front door, inviting him in out of the rain. The boy said the man he saw was a fireman, and the PTO mom told me later she found out that the former owner of the house had been a fireman, and had died of a heart attack in that doorway.

I also collect ghost stories off of the Internet ("The Woman Who Sold a Ghost on E-Bay), out of newspapers ("Shoe Factory Road is Haunted!"), and at historic sites that are proud of their ghostly visitors (Shipwrecked Brew Pub and Restaurant, Egg Harbor, Wisconsin). I collect all of these and more, hoarding them in various bins, notebooks, and files to pore over and enjoy again, and to inspire and suggest stories of my own. One can never have too many ghost stories!

So when I go to work, or go to a party, or find myself exploring a new inn or restaurant or museum, I am always open to hearing a tale or two about the dearly departed. That lead-in statement "I have a ghost story for you..." always makes my toes curl in delight. Maybe a strange obsession, maybe even a stranger collection, but hey, some people collect (shudder) clowns or porcelain dolls. (See illustrative picture above) Now that's really strange.

Future Destinations

I think I have mentioned before my goal of getting to the International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. The place was founded by Loren Coleman, and anyone who has ever been interested in Bigfoot, the Yeti, Sasquatch, the Loch Ness Monster, Mothman, the Jersey Devil, mermaids, or the Skunk Ape will know Mr. Coleman's name.

The website for the place is phenomenal and if you haven't been to it, please do try googling the museum. There are all sorts of pictures and quite a bit of information about the venue. I would have guessed that it was a little-known wonder in the bounty of museums in this country, but it has been featured on all sorts of television shows, including Mysteries at the Museum, which is one of my faves. It's even been voted one of the most family-friendly museums in the country, so that's a big plus.

I am considering building a whole trip around Portland, Maine and my visit to the museum. Luckily for me, New England is not huge and while we're out there, we might as well go see other historic sites as well, up to and including the Basketball Hall of Fame. Well, why not? We could do a whole museum tour and take in mystery critters, basketball players, and maybe even a Revolutionary War site or three. What could be better?

The more I think about it, the better it gets. Battlefield sites tend to be haunted. I've also heard that the Baseball Hall of Fame is haunted, so why not the one for basketball? And then we could finish up with an entire museum devoted to creatures that most of my friends call "mythical." Ah, but the "what-if" writer side of my brain is doing the happy dance at the thought of such a journey. What if there are still redcoats walking the historic sites of New England? What if departed basketball players come back to the site of their final triumph from time to time? What if by the time I get to the cryptozoology museum, one of those mysterious creatures has been found and proven to exist? And what if after all of this, I finally get to taste an authentic lobster roll????

My husband and have a trip scheduled to Savannah, Georgia in the near future. Savannah has been designated "the most haunted city in the U.S." I don't know how they passed up New Orleans, St. Augustine, San Francisco, Chicago, Washington D.C. and Gettysburg as the most haunted city, but that's what's on the Savannah website. Accordingly, we've been trying to schedule a genuine Savannah ghost tour for some time now (reservations required), but somehow it doesn't seem to be happening for us. Ordinarily, I would have been really disappointed, but for some reason, I'm okay with that. If we get a tour, great! If not, I still get to hang out in this haunted city for a few days. Maybe something will turn up in the pictures we take.

And then there's always that trip to New England...

An Overabundance of Ghosts

I am currently trying to finish my manuscript for Dead Voices, the follow-up to last year's Haunted. In that first book, one of my characters, a regular at the Thursday Night Ghost Story sessions, remarked that thinking or talking or even writing about ghosts would make them all come to you. May Parrish is that character's name and she's a sweet, older, grandmotherly-type lady who tends to come out with observations that unsettle the rest of the people sitting with her. I'm theoretically the person who invented her, and I had no idea how unsettling, not to mention spot-on, she could be.

Dead Voices, like its predecessor, is a ghost story. Maybe I should say "ghosts" story. There are a bunch of them in there, and I really wasn't trying for that. It started out with a haunted house, like so many stories do, and somehow, the specters started mass producing themselves. This wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but they're all clamoring for attention, and their own time in the spotlight, and so on and so forth. Bad enough to deal with that among living characters, but now the dead? Talk about unruly. Everyone wants an individual story line. I wonder if Charlaine Harris had that problem when she started working with the fanged undead.

Just to get away from the chaos they are presenting to me, I took time out to work on this blog entry, which I know should have appeared this morning. Apologies for that. The ghosts got the better of me, yesterday, so I'm writing it today instead. And playing Free Cell.

I guess I shouldn't really complain that so many spirits have shown up to be included. It's kind of flattering, actually. The hard part is weaving together all of their stories so that they make sense as they are revealed, little by little, to the heroes of the entire adventure. Not to mention weaving together all the stories of the heroes. It can get a little rough, but bottom line is, writing books about ghosts and getting to share those books with anyone cares to come along for the ride is probably one of the sweetest things a writer ever gets to do. So somehow, I need to find it in me to complete the Free Cell game, finish this blog entry, and then go whip the manuscript into some kind of coherence.

As I have mentioned in earlier blog posts, every time I start working on this stuff, I get treated to inexplicable bangs and other noises from various parts of the house, even when, or especially when, I am home alone. I guess it comes with the territory of writing about these things. (Thank you again, May Parrish.)  I will need to work around that, as well. But it's the season for hauntings so I guess i'd better get to it.

Hope my inner writer has a ghost of a chance.

In Door County

This column is about Door County, one of my favorite places on the planet. Door County, the little "thumb" on Wisconsin's east side that reaches into Lake Michigan and forms Green Bay on the west, is a land of water, woods, bluffs, farmland, and peace. It is a natural-born resort area but also a realm of hidden treasures, quiet back roads, and sheltering forest. It's the place I go to breathe.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't inspire that other side of me!

Under a golden sun, autumn in Door County is a bounty of iconic seasonal beauty: corn shocks, friendly scarecrows, pumpkins, mounds of apples and even larger mountains of pumpkins, ornamental ears of corn and wagon-loads of every imaginable squash and gourd known to modern agriculture. Fall is a time when the county shines.

Fall is also a time of gray and rainy days, chilly fall nights, the smell of wood fires, and when conditions are absolutely right, twilight fog. Ah, and that fog is as wonderful to me as the sight of autumnal riches. 

When our kids were still young enough to travel north with my husband and me, but old enough to bring along friends, we had a Friday night tradition of lighting a fire in the fireplace, turning out all the lights, and sharing ghost stories. I will never forget the night one of their friends had just hit a climactic part of the story and the log in the fireplace broke. We all jumped about twenty feet, and that turned out to be one of the best ghost story nights ever.

But to kick off an evening such as that, I would remind the kids, as we drove northward past meadows shrouded in dusk and fog, that this was the time when the shops closed and all the customers went home. At least, all the living ones. I would wonder out loud what came out in the foggy night to peruse the jars of homemade jams and the endless bakery cases of pie. I would invite the kids to think of all that could be wandering out in the damp and chill of those deserted fields, following paths that were once followed years and years ago. And if we ventured out, would we see any of them? Would we even -gasp- be invited to join them? A wonderfully chilling thought to ponder over mugs of hot cocoa or cider. Safely inside the cabin,of course

Door County in the fall is an amazing place. When you read this, think of me being up there, enjoying the sun and celebrating the fog. No writer of supernatural fiction would ever turn away from such a place of bright and dark magic.