Be Your Own Ghost

Did you ever think that maybe (just maybe) those moments when you get a little shiver might be your future remembering the present?

Spirits In The Material World*

Things I learned this week: Shining a light on a ghost does not clarify, only further obscures. 

*Breaking from my recent unintentional habit of titles that sound like Joy Division songs, I now diverge into the more Top 40 area of 80s post-punk new wave. What this signifies, I don't know, except perhaps being creatively dead .  

The Devil In The Dishes

There is something mysterious about children's games. Oh, not the ones with official rules laid out by the PE teacher, but the ones children create for themselves. Whether it be large groups on the playground or the smaller varieties carried out by just a few, they seem to emerge suddenly, fully fledged, from some shared consciousness.

Listening to my youngest describe his school recess brings this to mind. Some days  he and his friends play The Secret of the Apartment, in which spies try to plant a vial of rainbow gas in the space under the monkey bars.  Other days it's Lighthouse War, in which the teams launch imaginary cat bombs into enemy territory.

Rainbow gas? Cat bombs? Who comes up with this stuff? The kids shrug their shoulders. Who knows? It just happens.

As well I know. In my day we played Dead Drop, or Alien Abduction, or - for a whole 3 weeks in third grade - a nameless game in which the girls gathered keys for no discernable reason. It's not as if anyone told us to do so. It just happened.

Not long ago, I saw some kids building a flower-decorated stone circle out of playground rocks. It looked like some ancient magic they were making. Perhaps it's an impulse as old as humanity itself. As I said, mysterious.

Interestingly, some of these games have a macabre element as well. Fox and chickens, hide and seek, red light green light (called grandmother's footsteps in the UK ) can be pretty scary. Grandmother's footsteps was of course used to great effect as the inspiration for the weeping angels of Doctor Who fame. and a similar game called toca la pared turns up, most alarmingly, in The Orphanage.

Even our preferred version of hide and seek was extra grim. We called it "murder in the dark."

One of my favorite childhood books, The Thing at the Foot of the Bed, had a chapter called Ghost Games, and even though this was separate from the How To See Ghosts chapter, my cousins and I tended to mix them up and play them all with a ritualistic solemnity.

The game that intrigued me most was called The Devil in the Dishes. There's a chant that goes with it. The children, having been sent on an errand, hear a creepy sound and run home to mother, one at a time.

"The devil's in the dishes, chap, chap chapping"

The mother dismisses this with
"It's just your father's nightshirt, flap, flap flapping."

This continues until the mother finally comes out with the children to chase the devil.

This game appears to have originated in 19th century Ireland, which might have been long ago, but read enough "scariest thing that ever happened to you as a kid" tales on Reddit and you'll begin to see the pattern is familiar in the present day.

The adults might insist there is nothing out there, but there was, and the kids knew it all along. And the most haunting question is always, "why didn't they believe me?"

There are things the kids know that adults no longer understand.

Perhaps it's this that gives the mysterious quality to children's games. They are full of secret knowledge, intuitive knowledge of the world and how it works. As adults, having internalized the rules and regulations and how things are supposed to be, we forget. We lose touch, in many ways, with these age-old connections.

It might be something to think about, the next time you pass the playground.


The game at the top of the post is one my youngest invented, with an old gameboard, some ghost figurines and a bunch of foreign coins. The rules are malleable and arcane, but being it's ghosts, what else did you expect?

edit - here is a brilliant thread on Reddit about made up children's games..

Strange Territory

Even the palm of your hand can be a map, if you like.

It's no secret that I'm a map nerd, so on the chance that any other map loving aficionados of the strange and unusual happen to land here, I thought I'd share links to a few favorites. Enjoy.

Especially for weather watchers, a live wind and ocean current map of the globe.

Live earthquakes map. Exactly what it says on the tin.

The New York City rodent density map. Rodents, maps...what's not to love?

Map of Waffle House locations by state.

Map of devil place names. (I can't help noticing the trail of devil names in my state exactly follows the rather unnerving escarpment upon which I reside.)

Interactive map of Chicago area Mothman sightings, 2011 to present
Awesome.

Interactive map of ghost sightings in the UK. (Note -there's a boatload of ghosts across the pond, apparently)

I've mentioned this beauty before, but it's always worth another look - the MUFON live UFO map

This not entirely a map, but in this intriguing article, the writer searches for a rooftop where Bob Dylan was famously photographed, including the use of maps.

There are no doubt many I've missed but this is what I can find in my files on this late night. Happy hunting.

Echoes

Much of my childhood was spent in the dimly lit netherworld of movie theaters and skating rinks. One of the theaters my brother managed had a rather eerie atmosphere. These pictures are modern - the building has undergone quite a bit of renovation in recent years - but it gives a hint at least of how it looked back those days. Despite any resident ghosts, the place was a sort of safe haven for me, a place of endless Twizzlers and SweeTarts and fizzy orange soda. 

I originally posted the tale of my experiences at another site, which I've reposted here:

Back in the 80's, my brother was the manager of a movie theater. It was a huge old building, built during the age of the silent movie palace. I spent a good chunk of my childhood there - bro would put me to work cleaning the auditoriums between shows and making popcorn at the concession stand. The rest of the time I'd roam the place, which was full of nooks and crannies. It was a bit maze-like, so that was pretty fun. I was quite fond of the place.

Probably all theaters have a creepy feeling after hours. When my cousins would visit, we'd listen to what my cousin Nancy called "theater echoes" - those sort of faint, disembodied voices you hear in a place like that. I suppose it's the acoustics that cause it, I liked to imagine it's some sort of trapped sound that just bounces around for years and years. Anyway, that's probably not too unusual in a place like that, but it did add to the atmosphere.

Sometimes I'd get the distinct feeling I was being watched, but I put that down to the cranky old projectionist - he'd been working there since the 1920's and I was forbidden to go into his booth (which was covered in nudie pictures the times I did sneak a look!) But some other things weren't so easy to pass off.

One was the thing we called "the bat" It wasn't a real bat (though occasionally one got in) because it would have to have been huge, able to move at warp speed and disappear from even an enclosed space instantly. The thing we would see was a large black shape like a wing that would appear in the corner of our eye. Turn to look at it, and it would appear in the corner of our other eye. I recall sitting on the stairs one day for ages, intently watching the thing flit through my peripheral vision - I was determined to look at it properly, you understand. But no luck.

This wasn't scary at all, just weird, and I thought it was just me until one day the staff were standing around and started talking about it - same large black shape, same peripheral flitting.

Then there were some nights, at 12 or 1 in the morning, my brother would be up in the offices finishing the day's paperwork when we'd hear distinctly human sounding footsteps slowly pacing the roof of the building. I recall bro saying that this happened all the time, and not being especially concerned about it. The roof wasn't flat though, so it couldn't have just been someone taking a stroll up there.

the basement

What was somewhat scarier was the basement. That's where the marquee letters were kept, and we'd have to go down there late at night when it was time to change the sign. The basement had a dirt floor and was always cold. Some of the older staff members attributed any haunting activities to this place, because years back one of the workers, a janitor who'd been allowed to sleep there, had died of a heart attack. I tried to stay away from there, not the least because the basement door was inside the men's restroom - the horror stories practically write themselves.

But the thing that really, truly convinced me the place was haunted were the candy machines. For decades, there'd been a couple of candy machines in the lobby, selling gumballs or candied peanuts for a nickel. Probably these machines has been used thousands of times over the years, but while my brother was working there, they'd decided to remove them. Still, after hours when everything was quiet, you could still hear them loud and clear - non-existent coin going into the slot, turn of the invisible crank, immaterial candy rattling down the chute. Over and over, clear as a bell. Everyone who worked there knew the sound.

This is probably the most harmless and innocent of all ghostly manifestations, but very convincing to me. 

Looking back, I think this place wasn't seriously frightening because any hauntings were strictly of the Stone Tape variety.

Edit - I've just looked it up and found an article claiming the theater is haunted - but blaming all the haunting on the ghost of the pervy projectionist! Silly. They should have asked me. Although I'm sure his shade is still hanging around.

Heart Shaped Box

My son, who is 16, was listening to Nirvana's Uplugged In New York on the way to school the other morning. I thought to myself, it must be coming around to the anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death soon. 24 years ago. How time flies.

I knew it not because of my memory - which is good for this sort of thing, yes - but because of the feeling in the air, the deathly smell of Spring.

It's understood that Spring is the season of rebirth, but those of us who tangle with despair know the other side of it - that beneath all the new green is the sickening smell of decay. There are terrible things down in the leaf mould and humus, things that don't bear thinking about if you know what's good for you. It makes sense to me that suicides increase when the growing season begins.

My son wonders what it was like back then, when Nirvana were the big music act and grunge was the thing. I tell him, there was a reason we liked our music so aggressively, appealingly* glum. It was relevant. It was the mood of the time.

Case in point - on the day Cobain died, I was visiting my neighbor Kathy and her brother Darren at their parents house, up at the lake. They were house-sitting while their folks were away, and for my part I was just glad to be out of town. The change of season had done nothing to ease the damp chill of my apartment or the dark pall inside it. There was a lot wrong in my life - Kathy knew this, I think, that's why she'd invited me - and I desperately needed a break.

Diary entry, April 5, 1994

Pain is measured in dols
Triptych - a three panel painting
Gold - Au
Paroxysm - a fit
Sibilant - hissing
Apocryphal - mythical
Alfred Nobel invented a number of explosives

A creepy, creepy day. Cold and humid and dark. I woke in the night and thought "winter is coming" and was filled with dread, as if it really were Autumn and it would all be to do again. The eeriness I feel is so big it's beyond describing.

....

Of course, on the the 5th of April, none of us knew that Cobain was dead. We only knew he was missing. There was some concern though, and there were updates on the TV news. Only a month before, he'd been in a coma, and things had seemed iffy for a while. I commented to Darren (no doubt sounding more callous than I'd meant) that if Cobain had passed away, he might be considered a legend, like Morrison or Joplin or Hendrix had been. I wasn't thinking about it so coldly, really. I was just pondering the strangeness of such a scene, in which one went from being a "troubled rock star" in the here and now to being something quite different in memory.

A few days later, I was back in my dismal apartment when the news broke that Cobain's body had been found. While I hadn't necessarily been convinced before that moment he hadn't just been hiding out somewhere, suddenly it seemed obvious that he could have met no other fate. Suddenly, it seemed that the anguish in his voice had contained a certain foreknowledge of doom.

But then, a downward spiral is always easy to see in retrospect.

I had no personal attachment to the band besides owning their albums; I hadn't even seen them live. Still, that day I felt something shift. It was subtle and nameless, but it was there. The song Heart Shaped Box played on the radio again and again, not that it had ever been away for long.

By then the weather was hot, as humid as steaming wool. I went for a walk among the warren of streets on the other side of Main. The leaves and grass were unfurling in a grotesque display of fecundity and the scent of decay was overwhelming. "The day was bright and shiny like a mirror" I wrote in my journal later, "but the underside of the mirror is death."

Indeed, half hidden under the overgrown shrubbery on Market street, I'd come upon a dead rooster in the gutter; his iridescent feathers shining blue and green. It seemed telling somehow that no one had bothered to retrieve the broken corpse. A terrible knowledge gnawed at my unconscious, and to this day I'm afraid to walk down that street. I have the uncanny feeling I might meet my own ghost.

This is how it was back in those days; It's hardly even symbolic. It was the mood of the time. Anguish and apathy buzzed like fat flies in the sodden heat. Hidden things festered out of sight. For a long time, a raw nerve had been thrumming in the background of the country.**We all felt it, we all knew it was there, but Kurt Cobain had helped give it voice.

How much all this would mean to my son, I don't know. It would be nice if it didn't have to mean anything. It would be nice if his generation had no need to deal with raw nerves and corruption and things hidden out of sight. But it seems that this will not be the case.

This Spring, the landscape has burst into greenery like I haven't seen since then. Pollen blows in waves, water drips from weeds. I feel shaky, remembering the dead rooster and my own ghost left on the side of the road. I'm middle-aged now. I tell myself I've been around, there's no need to be afraid. It's only Spring. It always passes, if you wait long enough.

I tell myself this, and hope this year that it's true.
I keep watch and wait for Summer to come.

*We were depressed as fuck, but we still grew up listening to Abba and The Knack.
**For further reference re: my claim that something had been wrong in the background for a long time, see the article Kids In The Dark by David Breskin. The relevant point to me here is not the Satanic Panic angle or even so much the murder itself, but that a whole community of teenagers kept silent. 

Some People Say...

...a little tiny whirlwind of dust on the ground is a sign of a ghost's passing.

~Maria Leach, The Thing at the Foot of the Bed

The Enchanted World

If three mystical references to 1987 weren't enough already, tonight I give you The Enchanted World.

I don't know for sure when these books first began to be published (even wikipedia dates them to a vague "the 80's") but for me they figure importantly in my memories of that year.

The Enchanted World series was only available through mail-order, and - having always been one to burn the midnight oil - I recall seeing the rather intriguing commercials in the wee hours of the night. There were several, but this was my favorite:

They were beautiful books which (alas) did not fit into our budget, but my cousin Anna's parents were more indulgent. The books were sent one per month, and by the the time I arrived at Anna's house that Summer, she had several. Wizards and Witches, Fairies and Elves, Ghosts, Night Creatures, Dragons, and Water Spirits, I think she had by then. They were Anna's prized possession, and of course I dove right into them.

They were utterly fascinating, not the least because they were chock full of art.

So much of this, to me, blended with the atmosphere of Anna's house, and of course the mysterious aura of Anna herself. We'd burn incense - Gonesh #6 Perfumes From Ancient Times (mine, bought from the hippie record shop*) or violet Spiritual Sky (hers, bought at the renaissance faire). In fact, the combined scents from all the incense we had stored in Anna's room made the entire hallway smell like a temple. Add in Anna's lace tablecloth cloak, her glowing-eyed anthropomorphic tree and Stevie Nicks' Blue Lamp  and you may start to get a clear picture of what things were like that Summer, down near the ocean where ghosts drift close at hand.

I don't know how many volumes of The Enchanted World Anna eventually collected. It was maybe 14 or so before she stopped. I was never able to order a set of my own, but happily, years later, my mother-in-law gave me her old set. All the favorites are there, with the exception of Night Creatures. It pays to marry into a family of bookworms.

Lacking Night Creatures, It's one of my hopes this year to procure a copy. Then one day I'll pass the books on to my own children.

Not quite yet, though.

*Sundance Records In San Marcos, when they were in the little shop downtown. Where I'd once bumped awkwardly into Stevie Ray Vaughan (I didn't recognize him at first because he wasn't dressed like a pimp.)

The Visitation, Part 2

Photo of the Andromeda Galaxy, 1899

In last night's post, I wrote about the way my great-aunt Nina paid a visit at the moment of her death. In the ensuing years, Nina would turn up again, often in dreams, but at least once or twice, I believe, in a more physical way.

Usually, Nina's appearances in dreams were urging me to check up on her husband. Nina's husband was by then nearly blind and mostly deaf, but with an oldster's peculiar bursts of energy, he still found the wherewithal to embark on some harebrained schemes. Sure enough, when we'd check up on him, he'd be heading full tilt toward the verge of disaster. Nina and her husband were very devoted to each other in life, so it was not surprising she would have kept an eye on him in death, even if she had to prod her sister's wacky grandaughter to do it.

A more personal message came in 1996, not long after I was married. I was sound asleep when the doorbell rang. I got up to answer, not noticing I was in my mother's house, far away from where I'd actually gone to sleep. I opened the door to find great-aunt Nina standing there, looking as vibrant and healthy as she ever had. Behind her, the dark sky was filled with a glorious array of stars and galaxies.

"Nina!" I said, now realizing this must be a dream,"Oh my gosh, how are you?" "Oh, wonderful. Just look at this" she said, gesturing at the expanse of stars. "I haven't been this happy since 1944." (1944 being the year of her own wedding.)

I told her I was glad to hear it. She replied, meaningfully "yes, but this is your day." I knew she meant that the living should embrace the pleasures of the living. She said she wanted to tell me that my new husband was a nice boy. "and he has beautiful hair. Tell him I said that, he'll appreciate it."

So I did and he did.

Things went quiet for some years, especially after Nina's husband passed away. But then on the night of January 14, 2015, there was this (text copied from another site where I'd written it down):

(Note: earlier in the night, I had asked whatever compassionate diety might be listening if they could help me out with some advice. I was hopeful, but not necessarily expecting anything.)

The dream begins in the parking lot of a place I used to live. There is a woman there whom I don't know, but we are talking. She says, "I lost 20 dollars in this parking lot once." I replied, "well, lets look around, maybe another one will appear." Sure enough, there is a $20 bill lying on the pavement. I pick it up and hand it to her. We talk about how amazing it is, the way things just seem to materialize in that parking lot. I say "I wonder how it happens? What is the rational explanation?"

Suddenly, our conversation is interrupted by my great-aunt marching into the scene. Great-aunt died in 1991, but she looks as sturdy and practical as ever. She cheerfully waves a finger at me. "You!" she says. "You! Always wanting a rational explanation! Things materialize. Things fall from the sky. Fish. Frogs. Horsemeat in Kentucky. What's the rational explanation? Let me tell you" - she waves her hand to indicate the heavens, or the world around us - "there isn't any rational explanation!"

She then makes a joke about hoping the ingredients for oatmeal cookies would appear so I could do some baking (great-aunt loved baking cookies) and moved off back where she came from. The next thing in the dream, I was looking in my handbag and found a very strange sheet of paper with a poem on it (which I won't repeat here, as it seemed meant to be private) but which I suspect was the advice I'd asked for earlier in the night. 

When I woke that morning, the first thing I thought was "well, if I hear about oatmeal and raisins appearing from nowhere, I'll know once and for all this is true." I was only half joking.

A couple of days later, my youngest child was watching a TV program called The Odd Squad, a sort of humorous X-files for kids. I was going about my business, when I was brought up short, in shock. The clip playing on television described exactly that.

The clip is here

In the way of the Cosmic Joker, and messages from beyond, no one ever specified the event couldn't be fictional. I was struck just the same.

What's more, the events surrounding the strange dream poem have since come true, and continue to come true.

What's the rational explanation? According to the shade of great-aunt Nina, there isn't one, so don't even bother asking. Just bake some cookies and be at peace with this irrational universe.

The Visitation, Part 1

not an actual ghost

It's February again, the birth month of my witchy great aunt, Nina. In her honor, I'll tell you of her visitations from beyond the grave. I think she'd get a kick out of it.

Nina was my grandmother's sister. She was a round German lady who lived in an impeccably neat, flower-covered cottage. Great-aunt Nina was so calm, she was practically Zen. Her kitchen was full of fresh-baked cookies and her garden and orchard were astonishingly abundant. She gave off the feeling of being at one with the earth and happy with it. She said she never worried about anything she couldn't change.

When Nina was in her 70's, her health took a turn for the worse. Her kidneys were failing. I sat with her in the hospital and she seemed in good spirits, although she told her doctors if she were to die, they'd better not dare bring her back. At that point, they were still trying to find the best treatment; Nina was not,it seemed, at death's door quite yet.

I was staying at my mother's house for some reason, I can't remember why, but I was there, alone in the house, when I heard a noise. It was a rattling, banging sound. It seemed to start in the living room or kitchen, then traveled, almost methodically, rattling and banging from room to room. This made me nervous - I knew I was alone but this sounded an awful lot like a person, blindly searching for something.

I thought, perhaps it's a mouse? Mice can make strange noises, can't they? But I'd never seen a mouse in that house, ever. When the whatever-it-was began to rattle the door handles up and down the hall, I began to lose hope in the mouse theory. It would be hard to imagine a mouse going from room to room trying the doors. Meanwhile I was huddled in my bedroom, telling myself that the fact that none of the doors had been opened meant that it was not likely a burglar on the prowl.

I opened the door to my room and looked out, but saw nothing. I left the door open in case there was a mouse, I might see it run by. Anyway, I couldn't bear the thought of my doorknob being rattled again.

The sound was now in the bathroom, where various cans of hairspray and bottles of shampoo were being knocked around. Suddenly there was a crash, as the bathroom shelf fell off the wall. That was a heck of a determined mouse. Now the sound moved into my mother's room where I could hear it shuffling around the closet and rattling the jewelry box. It was at this point that I gave into something I already knew but didn't want to know - that the whatever-it-was was looking for my mother. I could hear it in my head, like an inaudible shout. "Where is Dolly?" it was saying, using my mother's nickname. "I have to talk to Dolly."

The jewelry box was rattling furiously. It was a very specific sound, as if the presence was trying to remove a certain drawer from the box. I knew what was in that drawer, too - the only existing photo of Nina and her two sisters as children. I still didn't twig to what was going on, though. Well, I was still young then, only a teen. It was easier to imagine I was going mad. I'd never been confronted by a newly minted ghost before.

Having no luck finding my mother anywhere else in the house, what happened next is the only thing that could have happened. I was curled up under a blanket on the couch when the whatever-it-was came into the room. I can only describe it as a ball - a large egg-shape really - of energy. I could see it in the same sense I could hear the inaudible shouts; that is, I could perceive it somehow, though not by the usual means. I knew where it was and was not. I could have traced its outline, if I'd so desired. I did not desire, though.

The shape said "where's Dolly? Where is your mother?" In response, to my eternal shame, I screamed.

I think I shouted "she's not here now go away, go away GO AWAY!" as opposed to wordless shrieks, but that might be wishful thinking. The shape hesitated a moment, perhaps slightly annoyed, before turning and leaving. There were a few more rattles, then it was gone.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and then the next moment, thought "Oh, god, what if someone's died? What if someone's died and I just screamed at their soul to leave?" I went to the clock and checked the time. The whole kerfuffle had lasted about 5 minutes, so it had begun at 12:20 PM.

I thought about Nina and crossed my fingers. She wasn't that ill, I told myself. It couldn't have been her. But alas. When my mother came home a while later,, she told me the sad tale. The medicines being given to Nina had caused complications, and her organs had failed suddenly. My mother had not been there when it happened. She'd stepped out to tun an errand. What time had Nina died, I asked.

12:20, Mom said.

....

I was deeply ashamed. After Nina's funeral, I hung back at the gravesite to offer a formal apology. She could visit me any time she wanted, I told her, and I would never turn her away again.

In response, I heard a chuckle in my ear. I heard Nina's voice say, "Stop looking down, I ain't in no grave." Which, I realized later, is exactly the kind of thing Nina would say.

Not long after this, Nina appeared in a dream. She said to tell my mother she wanted her to have the set of ceramic angel fish that decorated the cottage wall. This was important to her. She said my mother would know why.

Dutifully, I gave mother the message. Normally she takes a dim view of such things, but she accepted this without question.  She said "yes, I gave those to her as a wedding present when I was a little girl." I'd had no idea.

Nina has continued to turn up on occasion over the years, and it's always interesting when she does. But that will have to wait until next post.

Psychogeographic Map, Victoria

Inspired by Uair01's latest post on psychogeographic maps, I decided to make one of my own. Not of the place where I currently live, but the place where I used to live. I haven't been back there in a few years now, so it's made strictly from memory.

Lacking the skill to build a map on my own, I stole one from the internet. Even better, I stole it from the 2003 schedule for the Shiner Comanches sports team, already helpfully marked out with directions to the stadium. Completely meaningless for my purposes here, as I never went to the stadium nor had any feelings about it one way the other. Still, these are the kind of details I find immensely fascinating.

Employing my epic MS paint skills, I denoted each site with a spot of color and a number. There are 20 on this map, and could have been many more, but my eyes could only take so much strain in one night. I decided to stick with the places that have strong, specific memories attached, or have something notably strange about them. Sometimes they are both.

Sites are approximate. More or less.

1. The apartment where my cousin lived, an airy place where her friends blew in and out like the breeze. Years later, after everyone had moved away, we drove past the area where we could see the balcony from the lane. We had the eeriest feeling that we'd turn the corner and see everyone waiting for us as if they had never left.

2. Hall Electric. They sold lamps and fans and things. In the old store, the window display had two lighted fans that looked like pinwheels. Even when the rest of the town was dark and asleep, the pinwheels would spin all night long.

3.The Denny's restaurant where we'd go to study. There was a palm tree near the door where grackles would roost, and a surreal hum from the power lines. This is the place where I met my husband.

4.A traffic light that always took an absurdly long time, even when there were no other cars on the road. This is where I first became aware of the disorienting creepiness that often came upon Victoria at night. As if it became an entirely different place when the sun went down.

5. The Victoria mall. If you park around back, you enter through a dim and echoing hallway. There was a restroom there where the lights would buzz and flicker like something out of a David Lynch film.

6. The former location of the Maranatha used bookstore. We'd raid it every couple of weeks, before it became glutted with romance novels. It had that distinctive smell, like paper and dust. I found my copy of John Keel's Our Haunted Planet there.

7. The place where my husband's ex-wife saw a ghost. Also notable because that bit of road always seemed like an afterthought. It gave me the uncanny feeling that it shouldn't have been there at all.

8. The Cimarron Express, where the cashier was always careful not to give me the ojo. She told me once she sensed I was about to receive an important message, and it turned out to be true. I'd go there for frozen coffees and later, my Sad Cheese Sandwich. One day, I will write about the Sad Cheese Sandwich, but not today, not today

9. A place where we used to live.

10.  One afternoon, while peering out my bedroom window, I was startled to see the silhouettes of Nick and Jeff on top of one of the university buildings. Turns out they'd found a trap door and decided they ought to go through it.

11. The Sonic between Red River and Rio Grande. There were other Sonics in town, of course, but interesting times seemed to revolve around this one. In fact, we'd just come back from there the night of Reynaldo. Which reminds me, I need to write a post about the night of Reynaldo.

12 (a). Base for many of the wanderings chronicled in the early part of this blog. Near the church that doesn't want to be photographed

12 (b). Nearby spot of pink I'd forgotten to number but can't be changing everything now - An intersection bordered by a creepy Victorian mansion, Cap'n Jack's rooming house, the crosswalk light that never gave you enough time to pass, and the Coastal Mart which can be seen coming up on the left at the end of this video:

13. The cash machine that seemed oddly out of place, although it was always there when you needed it. It just had a weird vibe, that cash machine. As if the world had ended and the only things left were you and this ATM.

14. Here the little green dot is having to stand in for several things. One was the basement club where we used to dance. Another is the loft where the band used to play. Something dark in the atmosphere there. Chills right up your spine. Across the street was the murder apartment.* Around the side was the funeral home**. If you were quiet very late at night, there's no telling what you might hear.

This is a wretched photograph of me, but it does give a good view of that corner.

Come to think of it, we took quite a few photos in that spot, and they are all wrong somehow. The landscape looks normal, but the people do not.

15. The very cute but suspiciously cheap house we didn't buy because it was bloody terrifying.

16. The radio station, the first place I came to in Victoria and where I realized I'd come to the place I was meant to be at that time.

17. The shopping center that always felt empty even when it was full. The doves' coos and pigeons' wings made a sound as if the place had been abandoned 30 years.

18.  Resurrection Cemetery (I missed the location by a couple of blocks on this one, sorry.) One evening, I  was waiting at the stoplight when I saw a car full of people unloading flowers at a gravesite. It seemed unusual, seeing a car there so late, but thought perhaps they'd come to pay a last visit after a funeral. Then I turned the corner and in my headlights saw that there was no car, no people...there had not even been any place to park.

19. The original site of Hasting's book and music store. Later, they would build a bigger store across the way, with a coffee shop where we spent many pleasant hours. Still, it's the original location that sticks with me. Perhaps it was because of the high windows in front that let you see miles out into the sky, or the back corner where the off-beat people would gather. I remember standing at the counter there in March, 1996 and having one of those unexpected moments of pure bliss that happen sometimes. If nothing else, that would be worth a marking on the map. The Hasting's franchise went out of business last year, so it's all just memories now.

20. This map is so old, the HEB is still marked in its original spot. The shopping center there had an uncharacteristic good vibe. Everything just felt better in that area. No idea why, but it did. When the store was moved further down the road, the mood became cranky and dour - excellent brick-oven pizza not withstanding. So if we're going to get all New Age-y and ask which place in Victoria was a node of positive energy, I'd point to where HEB is marked on the map. One might say a shopping center is an unlikely shrine, but hey...this is America.

...

One day it would be neat to mark all of the significant sites, then connect the dots to see if they make a shape. Although knowing Victoria, the shape will turn out to be a drunken redneck.

Note - the piece of music in the video is a hidden track at the end of High Roller by The Crystal Method. IMO, If any piece of music captured the feeling of Victoria  - not the people, but the place itself - that would be it. Set it to play in a loop while reading the post and the feeling comes through quite well. It's the kind of thing I can never manage to convey with words.

Update - I also just realized that the corner you can see behind me in the picture above is the site where the townsfolk hid during the great Comanche raid.. Could this have to do with the spooky feeling that pervades that block?

further notes - Once, I dreamed that the secret name of Halletsville, TX was actually "Bohemavaria". This struck me as so appropriate as to be hysterically funny and that's why it's listed at the top of the map.

Also, having had another look, I see there's too many dots and a couple of number 16's. That's what I get for working until 4AM. You get the idea, anyway.

*Am shocked to realize I haven't mentioned the murder apartment
**or the funeral home, for that matter. And this blog is called Victoria Phantasmagoria. Sheesh.

Fun With Chalk

Last week, we had a chalk bomb battle. It was epic. We all won.

When it was over, we couldn't resist the chance to get a bit arty.

Even the household ghosts got into the act.

I swear, one day when I have my dream house, it will be just these colors. I won't even care if the neighbors complain. We'll just sic the ghosts on 'em.

Ghoulies, Ghosties And Long-Leggedy Beasties

What, you say, it's the wrong time of year for ghosts? Nonsense. It's always time. And it's always time for a few spooky gifs.

It might be February, but the wind is murmuring eerily in the eaves, and I don't feel as if I'm quite alone here...

Riverside Park

Riverside Park in Victoria, Texas is not exactly an inviting place, so when I came across this little anecdote over at Ghosts Of America, I felt a little chill down my spine:

"My friend Brianna was at Riverside Park with her cousin Mary by the kayaking trail on the Guadalupe River. They were away from their family whom were in the parking lot above. Brianna, who was not a strong believer in the supernatural, was down on the bank looking for animals on the other side. Mary stayed on the cliff, she was very scared. All of a sudden there was a loud screaming coming from down the Riverbank. Brianna quickly looked to see what was wrong, it was a young woman who looked no older than Brianna who was 16.

She appeared to be drowning, so Brianna decided to go help but when she got there the woman was gone. There was no sign of anyone but the word RUN spelled in the sand." Sounds just like the kind of tales we used to whisper in the girls' bathroom at school. And knowing Riverside park, it's not so hard to believe. Whenever we spent time there, I always had the urge to keep looking over my shoulder. At the same time, I was always afraid of what I might see. It's that kind of place.

photo source: pinterest

Spooky Scary Skeletons

It's late October, the year is turning, the weather is cooling and leaves are beginning to fall. Along the streets, signs of Halloween appear. In the shops, ghostly figures gather.

There are a lot of things to do, like planning hayrides and carving pumpkins. The little one wants to be a crow this year, so there's a complicated costume to make. But for me, personally, the most important thing about Halloween isn't dressing up or trick or treat, though naturally this is great fun. It's a spiritual night, the time I feel closest to my ancestors and loved ones who have passed on. They have been known to drop by at any old time of the year, but Halloween is special. The air fairly crackles with it.

My favorite Halloween memories are not of anything dramatic, but small moments infused with an ineffable...something.

The school Fall festivals and playing games under the full moon. Baking pumpkin pie.Crossing the bridge above the creek and hearing the leaves rustle ominously. And then there is my very favorite memory, the time I saw the last trick-or-treater of the night - a young girl dressed as a witch - jump the wrought iron fence on the corner. She could have walked around it, but she jumped instead, and I was so glad. She was about 11, and I knew, with a certain melancholy, that her fence-jumping days would soon be over. For that moment though, she was truly a little witch.
 
And as always, there is the sense that spirits are close at hand.

After midnight, when everyone has gone home, it's time to leave offerings for the dead. There is candy, fruit, and (when I can manage) bread baked in the shape of little men. Scoff all you want, but when you have guests, you should always show them hospitality. Most times the weather is warm, but sometimes cold wind whips around my ankles as I make my rounds. Regardless, it must be done, because this is the essence of it all, the point of connection between the living and the dead.

In our family, we often joke that Halloween is a more important holiday than Thanksgiving or Christmas, our equivalent, and we'll be like the family in the Ray Bradbury story, Homecoming. Perhaps this will be the day everyone will come for the holidays every year, fluttering home like bats through the moonlight.

It's not a bad idea. They know we'll always leave a light on for them.

Whitebrush

When the whitebrush wave their thin, whippy branches in the evening, they give the appearance of restless ghosts.

Two Little Ghosts

There is a story that's supposed to go with this picture, but I don't have permission to write it yet. What I can tell you is that a dozen years ago, I had a very strange dream. I stepped outside into a whirl of blowing leaves, and when the leaves scattered on the sidewalk, there was a painting of two faces there. It seemed like I should know them, but somehow I didn't know them at all. The second thing I can tell you is that only one of the faces is a ghost.

Conversational Ghosties and Standing Stones

I've never seen a megalith, though I hope to one day. I have seen ghosts, though never in conversation. ;)

Those Who Take Their Presence With Them, Those Who Leave It Behind

photo by Francesca Woodman

My friend and I were talking the other day about a girl we'd once known and loved. As a child, she'd seemed touched by magic, everyone around her felt touched by magic. I'd feel so bereft when she'd go away. Since we didn't see each other very often, it was my fate to be left behind.

The essence of this is distilled in dreams about her: we talk frenetically, tell half-understood stories, play confusing, yet fascinating games. The clock ticks in the background. There are months of things we want to tell, but there is never enough time. Her mother's voice calls from the distance, saying they have to go. Her real life is somewhere else, far away from mine. As always, I'm left with a vague notion of color and shadow, a memory where her presence once was. Nothing even as substantial as a ghost. Only an undefined longing fills the vacuum.

Childhood friendships can be mysterious, and I've long wondered about this ancient grief of mine. To this day, I'm not certain what I expected. I'm quite sure I was more attached to her than she ever was to me. Perhaps this was the source of the longing - underneath our apparent closeness in those days, I really knew who was loved the least. 

My friend considered this view, but ultimately disagreed.

He said, "It's just that she takes her presence with her when she goes. When she's gone, she's gone. Those kinds of people, there is an emptiness where they used to be.

'You, on the other hand, leave your presence behind."

It was immediately clear what he meant, though I'd never heard it put into words before. It was an intriguing idea. We thought through all the people we've known, whether their presence went with them or lingered. Despite the intangibility of a quality such as "presence", we were able to agree in every case as to who was which. We wondered at first if it was the type or strength of personality that made the difference, but no...there were similar types who fell into different categories, and exceedingly different ones who were the same. Nor did spirituality matter much - one very spiritual roommate left nary a trace of his living there, another had such a strong presence, even the years couldn't diminish it.

It's a nebulous, but distinctive phenomenon. Your beloved is not with you, you are totally alone.

Your beloved is not with you, yet some sense of  them remains. 

I wondered if missing someone more acutely contributed to the perception of absence. Again, my friend disagreed. To him, feeling the absent person's presence made missing them more difficult, a constant reminder that they really were gone. Plus, he pointed out, there are some people who drastically improve the mood in a room just by leaving it. Well, I certainly can't disagree with that.

To me, though, the absolute feeling of absence seems utterly lonely, haunted by longing. As if I might recapture something important if only I could find a trace of that person, somewhere, around some far corner. A sign or signal drifting on the breeze.

This last is how it seemed to me with the girl we'd once known and loved. Years later, when we were grown and living in the same town, I would catch hints of her presence. On the sidewalk, through a shop window, in the echoes of a stairway where she had just been and gone. Not much had changed, really...the ticking clock had been set in motion long ago. The mysteries of our friendship were never to be solved; ultimately, there is little point in loving someone who must always leave you. Instead, I learned to love the traces of her presence for the brief moments they remained, like little whirlwinds, so many vaporous wisps, so many childhood  ghosts. 

Lone Oak Cemetery, Part 4

We reached the cemetery about 45 minutes before dusk, to have a little time to take stock of our  surroundings. Was the place still as creepy? Yes, though not as creepy as it would become as night fell.

We wandered around taking photos and video, looking for details we might have missed. It was a pleasant enough night, if a bit cloudy. Everything was as usual. As the sun went down the wind began to kick up. The photos I'd taken so far looked ordinary enough when seen through the viewer, and then suddenly they were not. 

                                        

View of the west corner of the cemetery at twilight: 

Pollen? Dust? Insects? The dreaded, ubiquitous orbs? If you look closely, you can see there is one light for every tombstone in that corner, including a small one near the eeriest grave, the one where some have imagined hearing voices.

                                                                I immediately turned to the right and saw this in my viewfinder.

I moved on toward the southern part of the graveyard to a place where I felt a strangeness, an eddying wind and rustling leaves that sounded almost like voices. I came to the unusual resting place of Lily Linke, buried just outside the family plot, forever separate. It was here that I began to feel a distinct presence.

I felt the presence follow me onto the path, where I began to feel very uneasy. I told it to go in peace and it gradually drifted away.

It was beginning to feel too spooky, though I was prepared for that. I was determined I wouldn't be scared into running this time. But still, the feeling of being watched was unnerving.. It was time to leave.

In the distance beyond the path, I thought I'd photographed a light from a radio tower or a passing plane. But  I was wrong. There was no tower nor was there a plane that time of night. That tiny light in the distance hadn't been there at all.

I've been waiting for my brother to watch the videotape he recorded that night, but for some reason he seems reluctant to do so....