Month: February 2019

Mathilda Jackson had done all that she could. She’d said all the prayers, performed the necessary rituals, made the necessary intercessions. *In the good Lord’s hands now.* Mathilda put on her prettiest dress. Not so nice at all, she knew. But it would have to do. She brushed out her cotton-white hair, rolled it up…

Lycanthropy doesn’t just mean men turning into wolves, or believing themselves to turn into wolves. The were-creature tends to take the form of the most fearsome predator in whatever respective culture it appears. India has were-tigers; Africa has were-crocodiles; Russia has were-bears. But the wolf, and the werewolf, are by far the most prevalent. Perhaps…

As is the case with animals, there’s something freaky about small children, the concept that they might be able to see things that we as adults cannot. Back in college, I remember my Psychology professor, a Vietnam veteran, telling the class about some members of a tribe of aboriginal people that his unit used as…

Remember Dennis Preston? He’s the makeup artiste extraordinaire whom I met at the Legless Corpse Halloween Horror Film Festival back in 2016, I think it was. I’m pleased to announce that Dennis is still livin’ the dream. This past week he was at HAUNTCON: HAUNTED ATTRACTION NATIONAL TRADESHOW AND CONVENTION in New Orleans, Louisiana. And…

I’ve held off on posting this, but I think I’ll go ahead. Enough time has passed, enough distance achieved, enough water slogged past under the bridge. Also, I’m feeling nostalgic. I took a job writing content for another website. (I won’t name it, nor does it matter, as the website is now kaput.) There was…

In the interests of full disclosure, Gilles de Rais scholar Margot Juby is an online friend of mine. I am a little something of a Rais scholar myself, as I had to do a bit of research when I wrote my play BLUEBEARD: THE TRIAL OF GILLES DE RAIS (forgive the shameless self-promotion), but Margot…

At the risk of getting autobiographical… I grew up in a single parent home. My mother couldn’t drive. My grandfather did the driving, taking us into town for groceries once a week and such, but by the time I was old enough to start developing memories he was already suffering through the late stages of…