Terror Tuesday: Biddeford’s Haunted Theater

Welcome to another Terror Tuesday…where children play with axes and puppies eat the neighbors…

Screened: Vampire Lovers: A Hammer film (1970) based on the novella “Carmilla”. Carmilla, played by Ingrid Pitt, is a beautiful vampire (though I am not certain how she remains active during the day) who befriends the buxom daughters of nobility, only to slowly suck the life out of them and turn them into the undead. Perhaps seduce would be a better word, because she tells them she loves them and pretty soon has them naked and is sinking her teeth into their fluffies. For a 1970 Hammer film, there’s a surprising amount of lesbianism and boob exposure, but the basic story is not bad. Hammer production is lush as usual. Some loose ends remain and if you are expecting the earlier Hammer Dracula type stuff you will be in for a bit of a shock.

Two towns over from me in Biddeford (Maine), the Biddeford City Theater claims its share of ghosts. Unexplained noises and lights float about the building, and the face above the stage’s eyes are said to flick open.

Maine architect John Calvin Stevens designed the opera house in a Colonial revival style. The restored version (the previous ruined by fire) opened January, 1896, and presented a great many vaudeville acts, plays and pageants. It is said on All Hallows Eve, 1904, singer Eva Gray collapsed and died after a third encore of “Goodbye, Little Girl, Goodbye”, at the age of 33. It was reported to be heart failure. Since that night her spirit has been spotted haunting the place.

A second ghost, one Mr. Murphy, who ran the place during its stint and a movie house, also roans the great structure’s corridors, watching over the electrical breakers, especially when they are switched on and off by women.

Having attended a concert there one Christmas many years back, it’s easy to see why the place would be a haven for ghosts. There’s an otherworldly look to it with its rich dark interiors and classic design. Alas, I saw not a sprite, experienced no strange happenings, but reportedly many others have. Perhaps it’s time for another look…on Halloween.

My name is Chloe Everson…and I kick demon ass…
THE CHLOE FILES by Howard Hopkins
In the tradition of Sookie Stackhouse and Buffy, The Vampire Slayer…
In paperback from http://www.bn.com/ and http://www.amazon.com/

Western Wednesday: Ghost Towns: Saint Elmo

The Old West abounds with eerie hauntings and spooky happenings. Tales of apparitions of Indians on horse, whooping and careening across the Plains, Outlaws who met an untimely demise returning from the grave to terrorize the living, and butchered settlers coming back from the dead in various stages of decomposition to roam the dusty streets of ghost towns and the our imaginations.

Ghost towns have always held a particular fascination for me. The reason why such places became ghost towns are numerous and varied. Sometimes mines dried up, sometimes the railroad didn’t come their way and they simply dwindled into history as folks moved on. Sometimes tragic events seemingly cursed the town into abandonment—but were they really abandoned? Or do the spirits of the slain, the shades of the bitter and disillusioned, remain behind, forever roaming dusty streets, drifting among the tumbling tumbleweeds?

One such town is Saint Elmo, Colorado. Built in 1878, deep in a forested area, it was originally named, appropriately enough, Forrest City. After enough houses, shops and hotels sprang up a new name, Saint Elmo, was incorporated in 1880. Initially, the town was a highly proper place but as the population swelled to over 2000, primarily male, due to silver and gold discoveries, numerous dance halls, saloons and cathouses arose and the town began to put the Wild into West. It was the scene of many a raunchy Saturday night binges.

The Stark family, the town’s elite, was responsible for much of its prosperity and survival. Remnants of the family remained years after the town fell into abandonment. According to legend Annabelle Stark, who died lonely after a failed marriage, still haunts the town.

With the failure of many of its mines, the town began to fall into decline. Sometime around 1922 the last residents rode out on the train and never returned. Tracks were torn up four years later.

Saint Elmo is unique amongst ghost towns, as it has been preserved instead of restored. Twenty-four buildings remain, including a mercantile, saloon, jail and private homes. Tourists can visit and apparently chipmunk feeding is a big deal. And if you listen carefully, when the October moon is high and brittle leaves skitter across the empty main street, you just might hear the tinkle of a honky tonk piano or the giggles of bargirls floating out from the saloon…

Terror Tuesday: More Maine Haunts

It’s another Terror Tuesday and a living mist is crawling in off the sea, caressing unsuspecting tourists in its silvery blanket of tiny white teeth…oh, no, sorry, false alarm—it’s just diesel smoke…

Screened: Curse of the Werewolf. Probably my least favorite Hammer horror film, partly because of gory animal killing and partly because of Oliver Reed, the British Bill Shatner, whom I have never cared for. The werewolf looks pretty shoddy and the story, based on a French novel, is weakly transferred. Hammer’s production, as usual, is top notch, however.

Brides of Dracula. 1960 entry from Hammer and a supposed sequel to the excellent Horror of Dracula that starred Christopher Lee. Lee, however, is nowhere to be found in this film, which is probably the weakest (excepting the awful Satanic Rites of Dracula) of the Hammer Drac films. Not only is Lee nowhere to be found, but neither is Dracula. Instead we get a Baron who’s being kept manacled in a gloomy castle by his mother, who also brings him tasty buxom maidens to keep him alive. On a dark and dreary night, the Baroness brings her son a nubile French teacher, who in the expected bone-headed plot device lets the fang-banger out of his manacles. The Baron quickly turns his mother into a vampire, along with a couple village lovelies, and mayhem ensues. The high point of this film is Peter Cushing, reprising his role as Van Helsing. It’s not a bad movie, but David Peel as the threatening vampire leaves a lot to be desired and some of the plot is pretty loose. Without Lee, it is just another vampire movie.

Although Old Orchard is my hometown, I grew up mostly in Scarborough, Maine, the town next door. Also a coastal community, it has its share of ghost stories (and a wooly mammoth skeleton discovered in an old pond.) One such tale belongs to Massacre Pond, formerly called Black Point, the site of a horrendous bloodbath by Indians. The blood-drenched ghost of Richard “Crazy Eye” Stonewell haunts the pond where he was buried in 1697. Originally Stonewell’s wife and infant son were murdered by the Indians and he avenged them by killing every Indian he could find. I can find no refrence as to why he was called “Crazy Eye” but folks claim to see his bloody apparition to this day. So on certain nights, when the moon is misty and low, and the tang of sea air haunts the night wind, do the cries of Indians and shrieks of dying settlers still ring out? Does Stonewell cackle and wail? You’ll have to visit and judge for yourself. Alas, I neither saw nor heard a thing. The site is now located at Scarborough Beach State Park on the Black Point Road, so if per chance you happen to be in Southern Maine, stop by and bring your EVP recorders and old Polaroid cameras. You just might catch a glimpse of something unearthly…


My name is Chloe Everson…and I kick demon ass…
THE CHLOE FILES by Howard Hopkins
In the tradition of Sookie Stackhouse and Buffy, The Vampire Slayer…
In paperback from http://www.bn.com/ and http://www.amazon.com/

The Greatest Crime-fighter of the Forties Returns—Again!

Getting the privilege to work on the first Avenger Chronicles for Moonstone was one of the highlights of my writing career. I have been a huge fan of this pulp hero since I was a kid, almost as long as I have Doc Savage, who beats The Avenger only by about a month. I can still recall the snowy December birthday my father gave me a copy of The Blood Ring. The cover, showing an ice-blue portrayal of Richard Henry Benson, The Avenger, holding a blood-red glowing ring said to possess a curse, burned into my brain for all time and soon after the story set me on a journey to adventure and escape that continues to this day.

Enter The Avenger’s new adventures from Moonstone. The first volume, which I co-edited and wrote for, was a huge success and Moonstone EIC Joe Gentile quickly snapped up the rights to produce two further volumes, both coming very soon. Again I am co-editing and have written a novelette and six vignettes centering on each of Benson’s crime-fighting companions. These volumes should surpass the first, with an excellent lineup of authors and special features on tap. With that in mind, the soft cover artwork for Vol. 2 can now be revealed. Artist E.M. Gist has outdone himself with an icily powerful portrayal of Richard Benson. It is presented here for Avenger fans old and new. And in the meantime, I hope everyone will check out the first volume of The Avenger Chronicles…

Western Wednesday: Dead Man Riding Excerpt

It’s Western Wednesday, so paint your wagon and kiss your hoss.

I received comp copies of my latest western release in yesterday’s mail and the publisher has done the usual beautiful job on them. Slick little hardcovers with bright white paper and durable enough to withstand years of library usage or trail riding. You can get these on sale from Book Depository right now (which offers world wide free shipping) and supplies are pretty limited so act fast if you’re of a mind. The address is: http://www.bookdepository.com/book/9780709089445/Dead-Man-Riding

The Blurb: Two years ago Logan Priest left the woman he loved, hoping to shelter her from the dangers of his manhunting profession. But he made a mistake.

Because a vicious outlaw he brought to justice has escaped prison, swearing revenge—starting with the very woman he sought to protect.

But Logan Priest has become a drunk, drowning in self-pity, with no desire to return to the trail—until he receives the outlaw’s grisly calling card and a desperate plea from the beautiful wife of a dead man. Can he gather himself in time to meet the challenge or will he become the killer’s next victim?

And now an excerpt:

DEAD MAN RIDING: CHAPTER ONE

Even after two years, Serena Hedison still missed that man. She reckoned a week didn’t pass when he wasn’t riding through her dreams.

No, that wasn’t quite right now, was it? He wasn’t riding through her dreams; he was riding away from her in them. Away from her and away from the life he’d promised they would one day share together on this small ranch.

She plunged the hoe into the moist spring ground, the thrust coming with more anger than she imagined she should still be holding onto after such a long spell. He was gone, and that’s all there was to it. Longing and anger would not bring him back, would never change his mind.

For Logan Priest was nothing if not a stubborn man.

A trickle of sweat meandered from her forehead and traced a path down her face, which was flushed with crimson. Dressed in a plain skirt and soil- and sweat-stained blouse, she’d been tending this small garden since dawn and the sun, now blazing high above the hilly horizon, beat down on her like Satan’s own fire. Its glaring heat had chased away the chill of the night and glazed the grassland and stands of cottonwood with shimmery emerald, but had not vanquished the chill of loneliness and regret embedded in her soul.

The scent of lilacs from a cluster of bushes planted at each corner of the clapboard-sided ranch house perfumed the air and teased her nostrils. Somewhere, birds were twittering up a storm. A gentle breeze stirred the corkscrew strands of auburn hair that twirled from beneath her blue kerchief to either side of her face. Her brown eyes, lined prematurely—missing someone you loved powerfully will do that to you, she reckoned—narrowed to a squint against the sun’s glare as her gaze swept out over the parcel of land she used to hope would be theirs.

It all felt so…serene. A perfect spring day. Except for one thing:

Darkness.

Was that the right word? Yes, she was certain it was, indeed, though she had no earthly notion why it should be. Darkness, as if something bleak and foreboding permeated the air, invisible and haunting, stalking and inevitable. Something from the past?

Perhaps. But whatever caused that word to invade her mind it was more than something external, for it came also from within, sweeping over her in brief yet intense waves.

Darkness. On a warm, sunlit spring day. On a perfect day…an imperfection.

She shook her head and drew a deep breath, trying to force her mind away from the uncomfortable sensation crawling through her innards.

Hands gripping the handle tight enough to ache, she plunged the hoe into the earth again, still mocked by a joker of anger. Anger came, anger went. It had done so for two years. She reckoned by now she should be used to it, should be over it.

But how did one get over something lost when that something meant everything?

She’d asked herself that question a thousand times, never once settling upon a suitable answer.

He’s gone! she chastised herself, not sure whether she was more angry at him and his excuses, or herself for clutching to a dream that was never to be.

Gone. Forever. He was never coming back.

“It’s for your own good,” he had told her the day she watched him ride off, his head never turning to look back, his heart never reconsidering. As if all they had shared, every raw emotion, every tender touch, every whispered secret, meant nothing at all. Perhaps they hadn’t. To him.

But to her? To her they had meant the world.

Silly excuses. A man in his line of work…well, she reckoned manhunting did indeed come with its share of hazards, dangers, enemies. But how likely was it one of those enemies from his past would ever bother them? How would someone bent on revenge even find them in an isolated little Colorado town such as this? She supposed there were ways, but hadn’t the perpetual threat of danger, of death, been hers to accept or decline?

She told him as much, but he had claimed otherwise. He had told her he would protect her, even if she refused that protection. By riding out of her life forever.

“You sonofabitch...” she whispered, anger rushing through her blood in a dark wave. “Why didn’t you let me make that choice?”

Tears flooded her eyes and she had all she could do to hold them back. She’d told herself she would no longer cry, no longer miss him, no longer mourn what might have been.

She had told herself many such lies over the past couple of years.

“Logan Priest, I hate you!” she shouted and flung the hoe to the ground. “Damn you!” Her hands balled into fists capped with white knuckles. Emotion shuddered through her entire body.

This was getting her nowhere. Why couldn’t she simply move on with her life? Why couldn’t she just forget him?

Because something had been left unfinished, the thought came back to her. Something…

Was coming.

Darkness.

Again, a chill swept over her, black and acute, shivering through every cell. What was wrong with her? She’d experienced strange feelings in the past, premonitions almost, of impending danger, but never anything this strong, this palpable. Mostly, she’d ignored them, chalking them up to fatigue or possibly even a sign that the loneliness was making her crazy or paranoid. A woman on her own was perfect prey for Indian and outlaw alike…

A sound penetrated her reverie.

A hoof beat? Yes, a hoof beat. Coming from…

Behind her.

She whirled and he was there, as if he had simply materialized out of thin air, his shape black as a raven, backlit by morning sunlight, a battered hat pulled low on his forehead. A wild beard covered his lower face but wilder still were his dark eyes, which somehow seemed to blaze ebony from the shadows slicing across his face.

For a moment, he didn’t move, merely stared down at her, as if studying her like a snake studies a mouse. One hand clutched the reins; the other was occupied with some sort of timepiece he kept turning over in his palm.

“Who…who are you?” Her voice came more unsteady than she would have liked. She reckoned she didn’t even need an answer. She knew who he was, if not in name. He was Evil made flesh. He was the past come back, the emissary of the darkness she had felt pervading the air, her soul.

He was the very thing from which Logan had sought to protect her.

And now he was here, this being of evil, some outlaw from Logan’s past. Somehow he had made a connection between them and found her. And that meant nothing good.

She uttered a gasp, every muscle in her body going rigid. She couldn’t help it. The very sight of this man chilled her to the bone. Call it second sight or plain panic, this man was here to kill her.

Terror Tuesday: Haunted Inn Redux

It’s Terror Tuesday again…the number of free-roaming children in your neighborhood gone down? Gingerbread House no longer quite the appeal to them it was because good candy shutters are too expensive? Yes, the economy has hit even the kid-gobbling old witches in the woods pretty hard. A shame, really. Things will improve. In the meantime, anyone with unwanted tykes may donate to the World Wide Witch Wasting charity…all donations are tax deductible…well, not quite as deductible as if you actually kept the kid and got that government child allotment thingy, but it’s for a good cause and your house will be much less messy and more peaceful…

Screened: Dracula Prince of Darkness. Hammer Studios. Starring Christopher Lee, I think this was the sequel to Horror of Dracula, the adaptation of Bram Stoker’s classic novel, and it’s an excellent one. It seems no matter how many times a holy man—or anyone else for that matter—warns a poor stranger(s) about going near the forbidden castle in the Carpathian Mountains, those warnings go unheeded. Folks just gotta go right on up there, because, after all, it’s all a bunch of superstitious nonsense, don’t you know. No such thing as vampires. Two couples, in this case, go up to the castle and are invited in by the weird old castle keeper, served dinner, given rooms. One wife feels the evil inhabiting the castle, but of course no one pays her any mind. She’s always carping about something.

Well, shoulda listened. Really. 'Cause hubby number one gets offed in a most nasty way and feeds the resurrection of Count Dracula. It’s fairly gruesome for its time, and still chilling. Dracula becomes fixated on one of the women, which is never a good thing, and mayhem ensues. And excellent film, moody and Lee is perfect as always in the role. Highly recommended.

So a couple weeks back I wrote about the haunted Captain Fairfield Inn in the Maine town of Kennebunkport. Kennebunkport is attached to Kennebunk and it sees that particular Inn is not the only haunted one in town.

The Kennebunk Inn is considered one of the most haunted places in Southern Maine. I have stayed there as well and seen nothing, but a lot of other folks have. Built in 1799 by Phineas Cole, the Inn changed hands a number of times throughout its history. For a while it was named “The Tavern”, becoming The Kennebunk Inn in 1930. The first ghost was apparently a clerk who enjoyed his job far too much and wanted to stay on after his death. One Silas Perkins has purportedly moved wine glasses and disturbed other objects in an effort to make his presence known. A second clerk named Cyrus is also said to have haunted the Inn. Apparently there was no pension plan.

The haunting activity increased considerably when numerous additions were made to the place. More incidents with wine glasses (perhaps we can assume this was a dry ghost?), even one of a goblet lifting off a waiter’s tray and flinging itself.

Of course, the night I stayed there nothing happened. It’s an old building, but I heard none of the usual settling sounds or creepy creaks. The door to the room did swing in funny once on its own, but the floor was so slanted the incident could be repeated at will.

It attracts a lot of tourists, however, and is a bit on the pricey side, so the least they could do is provide some rattling chains, but whatever. Maybe next time…

Kicking Evil’s ass one demon at a time…
THE CHLOE FILES by Howard Hopkins
In the tradition of Sookie Stackhouse and Buffy, The Vampire Slayer…
In paperback from http://www.bn.com/ and http://www.amazon.com/

Got Ghosts?

Have you ever seen a ghost? Been haunted? Been annoyed or frightened by weird sounds deep in the night or under your bed?

It amazes me how many people--perhaps because I write spooky stories it increases the number--claim to have experienced manifestations of the supernatural. And, no, not people confined to establishments that offer thousand-dollar happy pills and where getting a buzz means something involving electrodes instead of imbibing in alcoholic beverages.

Ordinary people like you and me. Well, mostly like you, because me I'm not so sure about.

What are your supernatural experiences and otherworldly encounters. I'd like to hear all about them. Comment, please...and watch out for those glimpses of entities at the corner of your eye...

Hammerin’ the Stake

Since summer has rolled around and the nights, for a change, have been warm and a bit muggy, I’ve fallen into my adolescent habit of watching classic horror movies late night. Of course now I am not obliged to wait for the local channel to show them or cut out the naughty bits—I can slip in a DVD and turn out the lights.

So I’ve been going through the Hammer Studios Dracula movies starring Christopher Lee. For me, Chris Lee IS Dracula. No sparkly dude here. Just mean as hell, vixen-biting goodness. It’s amazing after 40 years or so how well these movies hold up and how well done they are. Oh, sure, you get an occasional iffy effect or plot glitch, a convenient resurrection or whatever. But with the budgets they had they still produced some masterpieces of vampire entertainment. Sets are lavish, costumes are gorgeous and the young maidens filling them are innocently naughty with bosoms heaving and tender white throat flesh just begging to be bitten.

Christopher Lee of course made these movies (as anyone who takes a look at one of the non-Lee Draculas, Brides of Dracula, can attest, despite the fact it was a good film). His presence transcends the screen and he projects an aura of menace rarely seen today. Horror of Dracula, in my opinion, is the best Dracula adaptation ever (followed closely maybe by the Louis Jordan and Jack Palance versions). The sequel, Dracula: Prince of Darkness is also very good, as is Dracula Has Risen from the Grave, the gruesome Scars of Dracula, the salacious Taste the Blood of Dracula and a couple others. (The only one to stay away from is Satanic Rites of Dracula, in which Lee cameoed; it was a truly poor entry in the series.)

These are all available on DVD and well worth the money. When folks say they don’t make movies like that anymore, they are right. And it’s a pity.

Kicking Evil’s ass one demon at a time…
THE CHLOE FILES by Howard Hopkins
In the tradition of Sookie Stackhouse and Buffy, The Vampire Slayer…
In paperback from http://www.bn.com/ and http://www.amazon.com/

The Yellowjacket Flies Again

My short story, Flight of the Yellowjacket, is set to appear soon in this summer's The Green Hornet Chronicles, a short story anthology based on the '40s and '60s radio and TV show adventures of The Emerald Avenger. The anthology includes some excllent writers such as Harlan Ellison (ST:TOS: City on the Edge of Forever, etc.) and will be the first of two scheduled volumes from Moonstone Books.

One thing the original Green Hornet series was not bursting with was regular return villains to pit against our crime fighter. So with my story for the antho I hoped to remedy that in creating a character who would thwart Britt Reid and Kato regularly. I created The Yellowjacket. I won't reveal much about the villain--you'll have to pick up the anthology, which is available for pre order on Amazon or check out Moonstone's website at http://www.moonstonebooks.com/.

Earlier this week Moonstone EIC Joe Gentile kindly asked me if I would be interested in bringing the villain back for a second go-round with The Hornet. Of course, I said yes and am now in the finishing stages of Sting of the Yellowjacket, the follow-up tale. It's truly an honor for a writer to get to work with and contribute to the mythos of charters he/she grew up cherishing. I hope readers will enjoy the plunge into The Hornet's midnight-green world as well.

Dark Bits Picks Up an IBRC Award

I woke up this morning to find I had actually won something, which may be a first, unless you count the prizes that used to come in gumball machines. I got those pretty regularly. More acurately, this blog won something and many thanks to the reader who submitted the particular entry. From the email notification:

"During the month of July, the International Blogging Recognition Council (IBRC) had the pleasure of reviewing your blog Dark Bits. Your blog was referred to IBRC through our Refer-A-Blog program. "Terror Tuesday: Foot on the Grave…" was the topic that the Council reviewed. Based on the review, the Council has recommended that your blog receive IBRC’s designation of “Recognized Blog”. IBRC reserves this honor to those blogs that effectively connect with the audience and promote the sharing of ideas and experiences."

I'm pleased to accept it and it's a true honor knowing somebody liked it well enough to submit it to the organization.
--Howard