Thirty Days to Halloween, Day 10: Two Short Horror Films
I enjoy these brief, moments of horror and suspense. I’m sure you will as well. Though many have expensive equipment. If you are interested in making a short horror film yourself, you can learn how by visiting this SITE.
This film is called Whisper.
The second film is entitled Play Time.
This is a fun video for Halloween by the Harp Twins, Camille and Kennerly. You can learn more about them at their website HERE. These beautiful identical twins have toured extensively at concerts and festivals, have several recordings, and have millions of fans. The duo has also modeled and acted in movies, television, commercials, and theatre. Here is the featured song for this blog post. The obviously gifted twins hold Black Belts in Tae Kwon Do, do volunteer work, and have numerous other accomplishments and skills.
I do this song on my guitar for kids in my Halloween show. Speaking of worms, I recently viewed a short horror film where a woman gets revenge by secretly feeding him LIVE TAPEWORM EGGS. Can you believe that these are actually for sale and that some people actually take them as a diet plan? Gross!
Thirty Days to Halloween, Day 8: Bodies in the Trinity: A Story of La Llorona
by Rickey Pittman
The legend of La Llorona, the weeping woman is an ancient terrifying legend. In a way, the legend is a cautionary tale, warning men of how their behavior and mistreatment of women can have serious consequences. It is a tale of how rejection and grief can rip at the heart and warp the mind, a tale of the pain women feel at the loss of children. There are other lessons as well. A movie was made of the tale. I put the trailer at the end of the story I wrote for a horror contest.
BODIES IN THE TRINITY by Rickey Pittman
Evil is a true thing in Mexico. It goes about on its own legs. Maybe someday it will come to you. Maybe it already has—Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
I AM LA LLARONA, AND I WEEP FOR MY CHILDREN. For centuries of nights I have wandered along the waters throughout Mexico. And yes, I walk along the banks of your Trinity River. I have strolled along your Turtle Creek, your Bachman Lake and the other waters. You are surprised to find me in your country? Do not be. No, in my lifetime, your land too was once a part of Mexico.
I am a Mexican ghost, born of a desert tragedy. On that dreadful night, when I realized my lover had abandoned us, I blew out the last candle I had lit for him and drowned my two little children, damning myself forever. But as I was a whore in the eyes of all, what else could I have done? I had given this man my virginity, my honor, my future. No one would help us—-not my parents, not the Holy Church, not the residents of our pueblo. I am forever lost now—in the night, in the madness, pain, hopelessness, grief, and loneliness. Ay, mis hijos, ¿Donde Estan mis hijos?
“Yes. But who are you? Are you an angel?”
I don’t watch much TV, but I love movies, especially those that fit with my two favorite seasons–Halloween and Christmas. My favorite children’s video for Halloween in The Book of Life, a computer-animated film that follows the adventures of a guitar-playing bullfighter, Manolo, on the Day of the Dead as he journeys into the worlds of the dead. The film as breathtaking animation and graphics, and is full of humor, music, and fun. Adults and children alike will enjoy this. Here are the DVD cover and official trailer video.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBw5YScs8iQ
The second video I would recommend for your Halloween celebrations is a video version of the play Dr. Faustus, written by Christopher Marlowe (first performed in 1604), the story of a doctor who became a necromancer and sold his soul to the Devil in return for knowledge and power. In the film version, Richard Burton stars as Faust and Elizabeth Taylor as Helen of Troy. The play has several memorable and famous lines such as, “Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?” You can find more quotes HERE: Here is a trailer for the film. Put it on your list of films to view!
Thirty Days to Halloween, Day 6. “Lobo Meets Red Riding Hood”
Here’s a little bit of horror for you redheads and lovers of redheads. I wrote this short story for a horror contest. It’s sort of a fractured fairy tale, similar to Decaprio’s Red Riding Hood. I placed a trailer video after the story.
“If you want trouble… find yourself a redhead.” – Unknown
I’ve always had a weakness for redheads. On a hiking trail on the Natchez Trace, I heard a runner’s footsteps and turned to see her coming my way. I stopped and leaned against a hickory and lifted my canteen as if taking a drink. She slowed her jog to a walk. “Hello,” she said.
“Hi, yourself.”
“Are you okay? You look a little out of breath and your face is red. As red as my hair.” She slipped the scarlet hood of her cape back to reveal thick, dark red hair that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.
I took another drink of water. “I’m fine.” Liar! my thoughts shouted. She has stupefied you. I thought I’d take a chance. I corked the canteen and extended my hand. “My friends call me Lobo. And you are?”
“Scarlett. I’m going to finish this trail. A little bit beyond that is my grandmother’s house. Want to walk with me? Grandmother always has a good meat pie ready for me.” She tightened the strap on her small backpack and slipped her arm into mine. “Please come with me. Grandmother loves company!”
“Sure.” As we resumed our hike, a thousand questions and thoughts buzzed through my mind.
“Guess how I got my name,” she said.
“Your parents loved Gone with the Wind?”
She snickered. “You’re funny. Obviously, I came out of my mother’s womb with red hair.”
“I like redheads,” I said.
“You’d be stupid not to. I like you too.”
I felt like howling.
As we walked, she told me all about redheads. “Did you know Scotland has the largest percentage of redheads, but the United States has the largest redhead population? The Greeks liked to say that we redheads are emotionally un-housebroken. They believed we turn into vampires when we die.”
She looked at me and grinned. I blinked because for a moment I thought I saw a jagged tooth.
She continued. “The Spanish Inquisition thought redheads were witches.” She sighed. “That may be partially true.”
“Aren’t there some famous redheads, like Lucille Ball?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. Many.”
We walked on past the trailhead and followed another path past a NO TRESSPASSING sign. “There’s her house,” pointing to a small clapboard house.
When we reached it, we stepped up on the porch. She opened the door and stuck her head in. “Grandmother, I’m back! I’ve a friend with me too.” She took my hand and pulled me inside.
“Grandmother, this is Lobo.”
“Glad to meet you, ma’am.”
“Oh, Scarlett, I’m glad you have a polite boyfriend this time.” She looked at me. “This girl has such a hard time keeping a boy around. Won’t you sit down to eat? I just finished cooking this meat pie.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She set a steaming piece down with a spoon. “Dig in, boy!”
I ate like a condemned man eating his last meal. I’ve never tasted a meat pie so good. The grandmother and Scarlett had grown silent and sat as still as statues, looking at me. It felt really weird. Finally the grandmother moved over to her kitchen counter and rolled a pie filling that she pressed into a pie pan.
“Yep, you got a good one this time, Scarlett. I like him. He will taste real good. Make a fine meat pie. The cleaver’s on the shelf, dear. You know what to do.”
Thirty Days to Halloween: Day 5. A review of In the Shadow of the Vampire: Reflections from the World of Anne Rice by Jana Marcus, with an Introduction by Katherine Ramsland.
One can certainly argue that Anne Rice made vampires popular through her Vampire Chronicles and movies based on her books. Her fans and disciples have created an actual subculture. (Google says there are ten vampire bars in New Orleans, there are fan clubs, and vampire tours ). The back-cover description says this fascinating book offers interviews and a closeup view of her devotees and disciples with over 100 photographs from Rice’s Memnoch Ball in New Orleans. The book is rich with memorable quotes, too many to mention in this short review. This book will help you understand the world of Anne Rice and the world of those who live in the shadow of the vampire.
If you ever wondered how books and movies can affect people and how far they can go into the darkness, as one of the opening epigraphs says, “And in this Savage Garden, these innocent ones belonged in the vampire’s arms.”–Anne Rice, The Vampire Lestat.
When I first wrote my children’s picture book Rio Grande Valley ABC and began my intense studies of the Rio Grande Valley and Northern Mexico, I discovered the Day of the Dead. Here are two fine coffee-table books about the Day of the Dead filled with the origins, the history, personal stories, traditions, photographs, motifs, and crafts that are sure to make the Day of the Dead weekend come alive and give you plenty of ideas for decorations of your own home and altar.
The first book is Day of the Dead: A Passion for Life. It focuses on the celebration in the State of Michoacan. The text and photos are by Mary J. Andrade and the book is published by La Oferta Publishing Company. The book illustrates that only in Mexico is Life honored through Death.
The second book is Day of the Dead: Art, inspiration, and Counter Culture by Ross Thorne and published by Flame Tree Publishing. David Lozeau provides a very interesting foreword. The artwork and photographs are amazing. The back cover features a beautiful quote by Frida Kahlo, “I hope the end is joyful and I hope never to return.”
Here’s a humorous short story I wrote to help you celebrate Halloween!
“The Egyptian Room”
Henry sat at his desk, and as usual, was surrounded by mountains of files and jumbled papers.
I dragged a chair across the tessellated marble tile floor and sat down. “I think she bought it at the MET’s gift shop,” I said.
“She always did like that spooky place.” He chuckled, then glanced at the picture of Beth, my girlfriend, hanging as if it were a sacred shrine on the wall behind and above him. “Let’s see what she found this year.”
Henry studied the package, then cautiously tore the ribbon and paper from the box. He removed the small crystal pyramid inside and set it on his desk. The pyramid caught a ray of sunlight from the window behind him, and a small rainbow formed within it and I watched the refracted colors slant and shift.
“Interesting,” Henry said.
“Henry, if it’s okay, I’m going to leave work now and meet Beth at the museum.”
“Sure,” Henry said. “This Cleopatra campaign is going to make our company a lot of money. If you run into a snag, give me a call. Remember why we’re in this business.” He pointed to the large plaque on his wall bearing the company slogan: STUART ADVERTISING COMPANY: CHANGING DREAMS INTO REALITY. He stood and walked me to the door. “You and my niece getting along, Neil? I mean, there’s no problems or anything is there?”
“No problems. Why?”
. He patted me on the shoulder and nodded. “Just checking. Sometimes Beth can be a little difficult.”
I left our office and took a cab to the Met. Beth sat on a stone bench in the Egyptian Room frantically scribbling with her pencil. As I approached, I heard her mumbling to herself. I maneuvered my way through the small forest of wooden and stone Egyptian statues surrounding her and peeked over her shoulder at her latest sketch.
When she noticed me, she held up the drawing. “So, do you like?”
“It’s good, really quite good. Who is it?”
She sighed. “It’s Cleopatra, the incarnation of Isis.” She nodded toward the statue closest to us. “Come here, I want to show you something.” She grabbed my hand and led me to another section of the Egyptian Room where we stood before a painting of Cleopatra. Beth stared up at the portrait. “She’s so beautiful!” she said.
“Yeah, she was.”
“She was a Greek you know.” Beth brushed her hand through her hair and tilted her head sideways. “Don’t you think she looks like me?”
I studied the Renaissance artist’s representation of Cleopatra, and then shifted my eyes to Beth’s pose. I did see a resemblance–dark hair, the fair skin, voluptuous body, the eyes that could throw sparks across any room.
“Yes, I do see a resemblance.”
“I knew it!” She slipped her arm into mine. “Sometimes I think I’m her reincarnation. Let’s walk around for a while and brainstorm more ideas for the campaign.”
We spent another hour in the Egyptian room looking at the various Roman and Egyptian artifacts, then went into the Egyptian section of the gift shop. I bought Beth a necklace that spelled Cleopatra in ancient Egyptian and several books about Cleopatra. She bought me a computer program that taught one how to write in hieroglyphics. We divided up the sacks and went out to hail a cab.
“I guess we need to decide on the actors for the commercial,” I said. “Any ideas?”
“It would save the company a lot of money if we did the commercial in-house. So, I’m going to be Cleopatra and you are going to be the Ptolemy who wants to marry her. The slogan we’ll start with will be: ‘Cleopatra: The fragrance that even a pharaoh couldn’t resist.’”
“Who was Ptolemy?”
“Her brother. Cleopatra married her brother for a while. The Egyptians did that kind of thing a lot.”
“Kinky,” I said. “Look, I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll finish up my paperwork and be home about six.”
* * *
WHEN I opened the door to our apartment, a khamsin swept past me. “Hey, Beth, where are you?” I said. There was no answer. I checked the thermostat and turned it down from the desert temperature she had set it on. I hung my overcoat on the coat rack by the door. “Beth? Beth!”
“In here,” a muffled voice replied from the bedroom. I walked in and saw that the room had been rearranged. She had even rolled up the rug.
“I still don’t see you.”
Suddenly the carpet began rolling toward me. At my feet, she lay, naked, her arms outstretched. “Julius, mercy! I beg you . . . Show mercy!” She grabbed my legs and with the force of a professional wrestler pulled me to the floor. “Make love to me.” I was just getting into things when she groaned, “Call me Cleopatra!”
I did.
“Oh, Anthony, my Caesar!” she moaned.
After our little romp on the floor, we moved to the bed, and I did the manly thing and dozed off. I woke later when I heard something moving across the hardwood floor.
“I’m serious. I hear something moving around.” I panicked as I remembered something about Cleopatra and poisonous snakes.
“Ummm Hmmm,” she mumbled.
I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of beer. The label was covered with an Arabic script, but there were a few lines in English indicating the beer had been created and bottled in Egypt.
I said to myself, “I guess you really can find anything you want in New York City.”
I went to the bookshelf and opened one of our new books about Cleopatra. I read for about half an hour but became depressed when I noticed that the sexually insatiable Cleopatra destroyed every man she shacked up with. I watched some horror films on television and finished off the two six-packs of beer in the refrigerator and eventually passed out on the couch.
The next day I arrived late at work with a bad hangover and Cleopatra claw marks on my back. I took the Cleopatra file and laid it on Henry’s desk in front of the miniature pyramid. I couldn’t keep from staring at the pyramid. My mind wandered into it, into its endless maze of false tunnels, and I pictured myself dragging Beth’s stiff body deeper and deeper toward the burial vault. I saw myself toss her body into a stone coffin in the queen’s chamber. I sealed the sarcophagus and run toward the entrance. But I’m too late, and I hear the rope cut and the grind of the huge sandstone blocks as they slide down the chutes and seal off my exit. I pound my hands and head in futility against the unmoving wall as the torches burn down to a dim glow. I hear the lid slide off the stone coffin. Beth crawls out and leaps at me. She spins my helpless body round and round, laughing hysterically as she wraps me in strips of linen cloth. “Mummy dearest,” she cackles. Now I know that I’m truly cursed and trapped forever in a tomb with the fruitcake Cleopatra Zombie.
“Hey, are you listening to me?” Henry said.
I woke from my trance. “Sure. Just studying your pyramid.”
“Well, we’re finished here for the day. I guess I’ll see you at the MET later. Beth called and said that she had finished the script and that you two would do the acting for the commercial yourselves. Have you decided on costumes?”
“Yeah. Beth picked them out. I think she’s going to be Cleopatra and I’m going to be a pharaoh or something. She won’t tell me what my costume looks like.”
. “Oh,” Henry said. “This ought to be good.”
*. *. *
The apartment was hot again when I came in from work and I detected the odor of sandalwood incense. I could also hear some belly dance music in the background. “Jesus, Beth. Why do you keep it so hot in here?”
“The heat will help us get into being Egyptians tonight,” she said. She walked out of the bedroom with a large bag in her hand and gave me a kiss. “We need to get ready for the commercial. I went to the costume shop and picked out our clothes.”
“So what do I have to wear to be a Ptolemy?”
“Just this kilt.” She sets the sack on the floor and pulled out a linen skirt.
I took the short kilt and held it up. “No underwear? I thought I’d at least have a loincloth.”
“Silly. The Egyptians didn’t have such things.” She handed me a pair of sandals and an Egyptian headdress. “Put these on too. Oh, and this.” She stuck a fake goatee up to my chin and nodded. “Yes, that will do fine. Now, go take a look while I dress.”
I trudged obediently into the hallway and strutted in front of the mirror, and I was surprised at the transformation her costume had worked. For a moment I imagined myself as King Tut or Moses or someone else important in Egyptian history.
Beth came out of the bedroom wearing a tunic-like robe, a headdress with a snake protruding from her forehead, and a plate-sized necklace that must have cost a fortune. I remembered I had given her my MasterCard last month and shuddered.
“How do I look?” she said as she spun around. That was when I noticed her eyes, lined with green malachite eye shadow. She reminded me of a demented raccoon.
“Let’s eat. I’m starved,” she said.
Beth led me by the hand to the dinner table. Gyrating to the music, she put one hand on my shoulder, leaned over, and lit a small liquid candle floating in a lotus-filled ceramic bowl on the table. While I waited, hoping dancing girls would appear, Beth filled my plate with the fish, bread, and onions she had prepared for our supper. She filled an alabaster goblet to the brim with beer and set it before me. Beth picked at her food and watched me eat. She looked so pleased. I saw a small cone on top of her head. It looked like it was melting because I could see streaks running down her face and neck and bare shoulders. A wonderful fragrance drifted my way.
“Cleopatra, you’ve got something running down from your head.”
“It’s a perfume cone. Egyptian women wore them. It’s an oil, wax, and perfume mixture. I want every detail to be perfect for the shoot.”
* * *
HENRY sent a limo driver to take us to the MET. As we stepped out of the car, Beth held out her hand in a queenly pose. “Walk me to my temple, Brother,” she said in a deeper voice than I remember her ever using. “I asked Uncle Henry to send us four strong men and a litter to carry us inside.” She sighed. “I guess he forgot.”
I took her hand and we ascended the museum steps between two lines of gawking people. The driver held out his arms and motioned the commoners back to a respectful distance.
After we entered the museum, Beth and I stationed ourselves near the entrance of the stone temple archaeologists had excavated from the water and silt of the Nile and reconstructed in the MET. As the technicians set up the cameras, lights, sound system, and painted flats of desert scenery, the commercial’s director came over and made us practice our lines and blocking.
After the director left, Beth said, “I need to check my makeup.” She patted the face of one of the statues. “You behave yourself.”
“I will,” I said.
“You too,” she said. She winked at me, giggled, and headed for the restroom.
I leaned against one of the temple’s stone columns, touched its cool, rough surface, and studied the wood and stone forms of the statues assembled around me. Most of the Egyptian gods were there. A cold draft of air swept up my bare legs and suddenly my heavily oiled body craved the heat of our apartment. I closed my eyes and imagined myself transported back in time, back to the world of Cleopatra, the transmigration of my soul taking me back to the Nile valley, back to where it all began, and I felt myself dissolving into the past. I opened my eyes and looked into the faces of the gods about me. Into the Eye of Horus, then into the eyes of the goddess Nut who is the night, her body sprawled across the star-spangled Egyptian night sky, and I saw her elegant limbs bridge the flat Egyptian horizon as she gave birth to the dawn. I heard voices, voices speaking to me. To me! Then I realized that the voices were coming from the statues. What did you say? Yes, Osirus. Oh, yes, master. I understand perfectly. I am the incarnation of Ra! I am a god! And look, there comes Isis with my Cleopatra!
French Composer Camille Saint-Saëns wrote Danse Macabre OP. 40. This was the music I heard in my Introduction to Music class that inspired my previous post of “Dance with Death.” The composition is based on a legend that says Death appears at midnight every year on All Saint’s Eve (Halloween). Death calls the dead from their graves to dance for him while he plays his fiddle. The legend says skeletons dance for him until the rooster crows at dawn, when they must return to their graves until the next year. It is a creepy image.
Today, I begin my Thirty Days to Halloween series that will feature original stories, poems, reviews of books, movies, and music devoted to the season. I hope you enjoy it. Today’s post is an original poem I wrote while in my Introduction to Music Class at ACU. I was inspired by the graphics in the professor’s PowerPoint and by the Danse macabre music. This was a poem that I wrote quickly. Here are the poem and graphics. Tomorrow I will post a video of the wild fiddle music itself. According to legend, Death appears at midnight every year on Halloween. Death calls forth the dead from their graves to dance for him while he plays his fiddle.
I danced with death and did not know her.
And the out of tune violin
Played on through the night
To a song that had no end.
As we danced, I wondered,
When would the music end?
She answered, “This dance will last
Until you fall like other dying men.”
Death had soft hands and a pretty face,
Not like I might have feared.
Her eyes looked deep inside my heart,
And she shed a single tear.
A warm embrace she gave me,
And the world began to spin,
My fingers slipped from her hands,
The fate of dying men.
Each must stand to play a part
In an endless symphony,
And dance to increasing tempo
With the ghosts of one’s destiny.
Look closely at the one you hold,
The hands, the eyes, and face,
The face of a lover, a friend or a God,
That will take you from this place.
–Rickey Pittman 1992