What Halloween Means To Me '13 Day 20: Brian Williams

It’s really weird how you meet some people.  Sometime last year, as I sat outside smoking a bowl with some friends, Renee (aka Lyla Sawyer: Chainsaw Chick) told me that she had been talking to some guy on a music app called Turntable who was making a movie and that she had told him about SOC.  Fast forward about six months, and Brian Williams messaged me about his upcoming flick Time To Kill.  Turns out he was that guy.  Small world.  Time To Kill is currently still shooting, but I got to see what Brian and his partner in crime, Ellie Church, are capable of when I saw their short Play Me on The Collective Volume 6.  Have I ever mentioned just how many killer filmmakers I’ve discovered that way?  Play Me is intense, gory, and fun.  Mark Schemanske, who you heard from earlier in the countdown, told me tales of people fleeing a convention screening in disgust.  That’s a good sign.  It also turns out that he’s yet another preacher’s kid.  What can I say? We get out crazy honest.  Go hit up the Mostly Harmless Pictures page to find out where you can see Play Me and the Time To Kill page to keep up with the production.  So, Brian, what does Halloween mean to you?

“I remember feverishly stuffing one of my dad's old button up flannel shirts with that morning news papers, and taping a mask to the top of it, and shoving it into the cardboard coffin I made out of the box my Nintendo came in. I carefully pulled the vial of fake blood I had gotten from an older friend from my pocket, and held it up, watching the way it looked in the light of the sun sneaking through the window in the living room. I remember watching my father drinking the blood of Christ in the church he preached at. I remember the way that blood looked in that glass. I remember the glass being passed from one member to another, and seeing the somber look in each persons eyes as they accepted that cup, and put it to their lips, taking in the blood, holding it in their mouth, and slowly swallowing before they passed it to the next person. I remember spending weeks working on, contemplating, changing, abandoning, and then starting all over again, grand schemes of costumes, props, plays, pieces of art, of music, all for the celebration of a single day. I remember the vhs tape of George Romero's Night of the Living Dead being pulled from the vcr by my father, demanding to know what I was watching. The tape being handed to my mother, and her being told to return it, and to never watch that sort of filth again. I remember designing and printing up tickets to a concert my band was putting on in middle school, writing and recording audio skits, building larger than life models of demons, all to be acted out behind a sheet in between songs at a concert we scheduled for the weekend of Halloween, and feeling the rush of excitement as the days passed getting closer and closer to the day of the show. I remember being chased by the police, as I ran through alleyways, and yards, still wearing my mask, feeling my breath hot, bouncing against the mask, and back into my face as I sweat with fear and excitement, seeing the reflection of the lights on top of the car bouncing against the walls surrounding me.
I remember quitting a job, because they wouldn't let me off for a very special day, and then leaving, wondering if it was one of the dumbest things I had ever done, and then the smile that crept across my face as I saw that special girl in her costume, and saw her beauty, and reached out to hold her hand as we ran all across the town filling our bags with candy, and sneaking kisses every chance we got.
I remember putting my 365 day old son into a costume, and inviting everyone I knew into my home to celebrate, I remember the cake, the trophy we constructed out of bleached bones from various animals, nails, blood, burnt wood, and spiderwebs for best costume, and the looks on the peoples faces as they all admired one another’s work.
I remember all of these things, and I always will. This is what Halloween means to me.”


 11 more days ‘til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  11 more days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock.

What Halloween Means To Me '13 Day 19: Ryan Lieske

At the after party of 2011’s Buried Alive Film Fest, Philip Nutman (RIP) introduced me to Ryan Lieske.  I had just watched his short Down To Sleep and loved the tale of “Life/death, incest… and goldfish.”  He told me all about his next project, an adaptation of Elizabeth Massie’s story Abed.  At the Buried Alive 2012, I got the pleasure of calling Ryan to inform him that Abed had just won Best Feature.   It was also #4 on my Best Flicks of 2012 list.  Abed is an intimate, hardcore, and disturbing take on the zombie formula that actually adds something new to the subgenre.  I can’t wait for this one to get wider distribution, because more people need to see it.  This one is a little different, a little darker, and a little longer than the other entries on this countdown, but I think it’s gonna resonate with a lot of readers (maybe even help them) and I applaud Ryan for bravely addressing some stuff a lot of folks don’t like to talk about.  So, Ryan, what does Halloween mean to you?

“There's no use beating around the bush, so I'll just come right out and say it: I haven't truly enjoyed Halloween in years. Too many years, possibly close to two decade's worth. You could argue, and I'd be right there in concurrence, that I have no business writing anything about this beloved holiday. But, please, stick with me here a second.

I love Halloween, I do. With every beat of my tired, curmudgeonly heart. Just because I confess to no longer enjoying the holiday, doesn't mean I don't want to. If I could, I would say to Halloween what I've heard several of my ex-girlfriends say: “It's not you, it's me. I've changed. But, can we still be friends?”

So, what's the problem here?

 Well, first off, I refuse to fall back on that old excuse, “Halloween has become too commercialized.” Yeah, of course it has. That's what we do to holidays. Hell, as of this writing, I've lived through 38 Halloweens and I can't think of a single one of them that wasn't commercialized. Even a few short years after being pulled from the primordial soup of my mother's womb, I remember going into supermarkets and seeing row upon row of prefab ghost and goblin costumes, trick-or-treat bags made in Taiwan, and DIY pumpkin-carving kits. Shit, every sitcom and cartoon series in the 70s had a special Halloween episode, and don't even try to tell me that cheapie plastic Dracula fangs are a new thing. No, the second someone realizes they can make a buck off of something by peddling convenience to the masses, they will. And no holiday ( authentic, or otherwise ) has ever been immune. ( I mean, come on, those General Mills Monster Cereals we all love so much? They're an excuse to sell sugar to kids, nothing more.  And, yes, I still buy them every fucking year., even though they've haven't tasted any good since 1983. )

So there is no disdain on my part for the commodification of Halloween. If anything, it's the one reliable constant of the holiday for me. I know that every year, come July, the Independence Day merchandise will disappear and Halloween decorations, costumes, and packaged candy will hit the shelves and I'll get a wistful smile on my face ( which, of course, only lasts a week or two, because the Christmas stuff has to be out now around Back-to-School time. ) Cheap and chintzy as it all is, I love it. Costumes for my cats? Love 'em! Skull-tipped egg-beaters? Gotta have one! Sexy werewolf nun costumes? Ooh, baby!

(  The one thing I can't stand at Halloween? Haunted Houses. Well, at least the ones that invade my neck of the woods every year. Look, clowns covered in neon pink spray-paint, flailing around to Rob Zombie's greatest hits are NOT scary, never WILL BE scary, and need to go the FUCK away. )

But even this, this crass, corporate stab at All Hallows' Eve-ery is just a fleeting moment of joy for me. I can't maintain the macabre mirth anymore. And every year, I vow to myself that I will embrace it, and revel in it, no matter what else may be going on in my life. Every year I make a pact with myself that this year I will learn to enjoy Halloween again. And every year, I fail. Miserably.

Like I said: it's me, Halloween, not you. And I blame a lot of my autumnal ennui on the depression I've been struggling with for the last twenty years. Truly, this is a psychological condition I have been living with my entire life, but I didn't know that until I finally confronted it, and named it, in my mid-20s. Once I was successfully diagnosed with depression in adulthood, I was able to retroactively diagnose my entire life. And man, did it explain a lot.

The ravages of depression are well-documented. Sylvia Plath and Elizabeth Wurtzel now share shelf-space with thousands of memoirs detailing the sundry horrors of living with the disease, each more “harrowing yet hopeful” than the next. Pharmaceutical companies spend ( and rake in ) billions of dollars a year by pimping their panoply of mood-regulating drugs in magazines, on TV, and along the borders of our Facebook newsfeeds. If you're reading this in a coffeehouse or restaurant, look around you: if you aren't currently medicated, then you're probably in the minority. The Pod People outnumber you, Mr. Sutherland. I should know: I'm one of those Pod People. I've been on Paxil ( and briefly on Zoloft ) since the mid-aughts, and I was shocked when I came out about it how many of my friends were on them, too. I never wanted to be on one of these drugs, but I'd be lying if I told you that they didn't save my life.

All I'm trying to say here is that depression is no longer some occult malady, hidden away in some dim, Victorian mansion where the shades are always drawn. You've heard all the stories, you've seen all the movies, and listened to all the Nine Inch Nails albums. It's almost passe – fodder for the Louis C.K.s and Dr. Phils of our world. Hell, you know how it is. You've got a friend or a sister or a etc etc...

So what new insights can I share that you haven't heard a hundred times already today? Probably none. But what I can tell you is that my personal struggles with depression are intricately entwined with my loss of enjoyment with Halloween. And since we're here to talk about Halloween, that darkest of holidays, well, maybe you'll find my particular case of interest. Because there's reveling in the Dark, as all of us lovers of Halloween and Horror delight in. And then there's another breed of Darkness, one more insidious than all the ghosts and zombies and vampires cavorting about in the fog-shrouded necropolises of this most wonderful time of the year. There's a Darkness even darker, and trust me, it can suck all the fun out of loving the Dark.

Depression's greatest strength, it's most lethal skill, is its stealth. It enters like a breath of burning leaves and lies in wait, tickling your mental nostrils one minute, and then the next has you gasping for breath in the night, clutching at your chest and staring wide-eyed into darkness. You can almost see it. You can almost taste it. You can almost feel it tickling your skin. But just as soon as you think you've caught it, it's gone; it's mist, it's vapor, it's a thousand mocking giggles just around the corner. It knows the fears that you weren't even aware you possessed. It lurks around every smiling face, hurtling those fears at you without a moment's warning. You can be anywhere, it can be any time of day. It doesn't care. It's a cold, dead, emotionless thing, unfettered by decency or respect. Surrounded by family at niece's birthday party, or alone in your home, its only strategy is to throw those fears, that darkness at you when you are least capable of defending yourself. And anyone who's suffered with depression will tell you, you're always least capable of defending yourself. It's hard to combat an enemy you didn't even know you had, much less one that has no concern whatsoever about motivation. It's the proverbial dog chasing the car ( so eloquently soliloquized by the late Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight ), that has no idea what it will do with the car once it catches it. “Hey, pal,” it says, “that's your problem. I just fucked your mind up big time, and I have no idea why. You deal with it.”

I had no idea I was being attacked that first time. I didn't even know I had been attacked until years later. And by then... Well, the damage was severe. And I'm still figuring out how to repair it.

Essentially, at one point during the early 90s ( I can't recall which year ), I slept through Halloween. Slept right through the entire holiday. I don't remember entirely why I did, only that it had something to do with the phase I was in back then where I beating myself up on an hourly basis regarding every little mistake I'd made in my life up to that point. I know that sounds vague, and sort of cavalier, but it's the truth. There was a point back then where I literally threw myself into an emotional purgatory. I would be lying awake at night, or driving to work, and some memory would flit into my head, some cross word I'd said to somebody, or some lie I'd told somebody back in junior high school, or whatever,  and I would be immediately stricken with an overwhelming urge to either fall down on my knees in prayer to a God I wasn't even sure I believed in, or slam my car, full-speed, into the nearest oncoming semi. It was like being smothered by a thick, transparent blanket. I would go cold, tears would tickle the rims of my eyelids, and I would just stare into space, cursing everything about myself: the Gift of Life had been wasted on me; my poor parents had brought a complete waste of flesh into this world and I wished  I could just disappear and be wiped from their memories, so that they would never have had to live with the shame of me. It didn't matter that the infraction I was berating myself over might be something as minor as having lied to get out of a family dinner, or that I once stole a candy bar from a kid's desk in 3rd grade. It was a collection of things, from my entire life, that added up to one big reason why I didn't deserve to draw breath. I hated myself so much back then. And everything I saw, heard, thought, or felt was my depression telling me that I'd better hurry up and die, so that the world could get on with itself. Oh, and try not to leave too much of a mess, it would say. No one's ever wanted to clean after you, anyway, you know?

I know it was getting close to Halloween at this time, because if there was one positive thought fighting for space in my head, it was that I was going to enjoy the holiday this year, no matter what. I remember that the previous year's Halloween had been a bit of a disappointment, and I was determined to make up for that. But no matter how much that pleasant reverie might blossom, it would only last for a few minutes, maybe an hour at the most. Because my depression was right there waiting, reminding me that I had no business hoping for anything.

So, whatever it was on that particular day that was eating at me like a psychological staph infection, I remember crawling into bed sometime in the early afternoon, and not waking again until around the same time the following day. That day had been Oct. 31st, and I'd totally slept through it. I don't believe that I was even cognizant of the fact that it was Halloween. In my depressed delirium, I knew it was just a day like every other day of late, and that there was no use participating in it. It's the first time in my life I can recall using sleep to escape from my life. And I don't just mean a little catnap to get rid of a headache, or something. No, this was a full-on Escape from Reality, that had nothing to do with rest, and everything to do with “checking out.” I'm sure I hoped that I wouldn't ever wake up, that some dream would guide me to my death, and I wouldn't ever have to face my thoughts again.

Naturally, when I did awaken the next day, I new exactly what holiday I had missed. I had promised myself that I would enjoy it this year, and I had failed. The depression had been right. I couldn't even manage to put on a festive facade for a few hours with my friends, for a holiday that had always been my favorite. I was useless. The happiness that filled my life up until that point was the lie; this current state I was in was the Real Me. Obviously.

And, of course, I made the same vow that next year I would enjoy Halloween. By then, I just knew, and hoped ( but didn't believe for one second ) that this wave of depression engulfing me would be over and I would have my life back. By then I would have fought it off, and returned to being Ryan Lieske, who dreamed of being a horror novelist and filmmaker, who loved movies and books and music and friends, who grabbed life by the hair and forced it to his will. Yes, by this time next year, I will be that Ryan again, and nothing is going to get in my fucking way.

Sigh...

A year is a long time. And, as with most things involving depression, it can seem paradoxically longer and yet shorter than it really is. Time means very little in that suffocating fog of fear, doubt and self-loathing.

Over the course of that year, things only got worse. Though I continued to feel as though I was better off dead and buried, I began to desire life even more fervently. In what was one of the most indescribably nightmarish periods of my life, I was suddenly seized by the irrational fear that if I thought too much about Death, I would, without trying, will myself to die. I would literally lie in bed for days on end, repeating the word “live” in my head, for fear that if the word “death,” or even an image of the word “death” appeared to me, I would die. I lost a job over this. All I did, for months and months on end, was lie in the dark and repeat that word in my head, hoping to somehow hypnotize myself into falling asleep. For those five or six hours of fitful sleep, I had some reprieve; but the second I awoke, the word “death” would enter into my head, my defenses momentarily compromised by my slumber. I would feel my skin tingle as though ice were leaking from my pores. My head would swim and my vision blur. “Life!” I would scream in my head. “Life! Life! Life!” and eventually the ice would melt, and I would breathe. I would sit, holding my chest, staring into space, “Life!” resounding in my head, though what I was living then was anything but life.

I looked forward to nothing. I only hoped that maybe somehow, some way, this obsessive affliction would pass, and I would return to normal. But months passed. I somehow managed to find a new job, and I still managed on occasion to hang out with friends and family, but I have no idea how. I have no idea how I must have appeared to them, then.

What I certainly do remember, of course, is that I slept through another Halloween. Probably through Christmas and birthday, for all I know. And if I wasn't actually physically asleep during those days, I was certainly asleep in every other way. Enjoyment for anything had been taken from me, for how could I possibly enjoy eating, or watching a movie, when those very things I used to love would cause my guard to slip, and that word, “death”, would sneak into my thoughts and take it all away?

By this point in time, I had lost all sense of direction in my life. Any dreams I had once had had been extinguished. I was existing ( subsisting, really ) on a second-by-second basis. Who has time to think of the future, when at any second your present could snatched away by am infuriating, terrifying little word?

Writing this now, I know I can feel the dread and weariness of those months and years, but I don't know that it comes off as anything but silly here as I put it all down. Hell, it even seems silly to me, now, all these years later. I conquered it one morning by simply giving up. I laid down, told myself “fuck it,” and thought the word “death.” Just like that. I couldn't go on like that anymore, and I figured that if my body was going to somehow will itself to die, then so be it. It would be better than spending the remainder of my life going insane. I thought the word “death”, over and over, and let the ice run across my skin, my vision go blurry, and my head swim into the dimness of unconsciousness. It almost felt good.  About an hour or so later, I sat up. I was still there. My head didn't hurt. My skin felt fine. I got up, walked around the house, ate some dinner. I think I even went and rented a video. Sure, every once in awhile there was a discomfiting aftershock, and my head would start pounding, or my heart would skip a couple beats as I thought about “death” again. But it would pass.

It was around this time that I told my parents I needed help, and that I wanted to find therapy. And I did. Now, this was a tiny step forward, in what would be a very long journey. And I'm still on that journey. There are a hundred more stories I could tell about that journey; triumphs, setbacks, relapses, etc. etc. It's never been easy, and I still struggle with it every day of my life.

But you know what had always given me hope, after all this time, after all these years of fighting the demons in my head? Yep, Halloween. Those two years of horrific panic attacks and obsessive terror really caused me to slip from my life's groove, and I'm still trying to find my way back. I don't know if I ever will. But I have latched onto Halloween like a talisman, and kept it very close to my heart for all this time. I have never enjoyed it the same since. It pains me to say that, but it's true. But that's why I hold on to it like I do. It is a symbol of everything that I almost lost in those bleak days, and even if I never truly enjoy the holiday again, even if every year it feels more like a burden than a day of macabre mirth and merriment, damn it, I'm going to try!

Because I now understand that that is what coping with depression is truly all about: trying. You can't really beat it. You have to learn to live with it. You have to let it become a part of you, and you have to learn to embrace it as part of you. And no matter how many SSRIs you swallow, no matter how many hours you spend in therapy, no matter how my friends or family members tell you they love you and support you, even in your darkest moments, it will never let you go. If you are brave, you can harness some of that Depression's power, and make it work for you. Never all of it; it's too strong to concede too much of its authority. But if you are brave enough, you can learn to carry it with you, to hold it up against every hope you ever have, if only to make that hope shine even brighter.

Traditionally, Halloween is a time for facing the dark spirits that share this world with us. Whether you believe that metaphorically, or literally, it remains the same: Halloween is that time of year when the world begins to wind down. Plants wither and die. The sun shows its radiant face for fewer and fewer hours of the day. The cold creeps over the land and sends us burrowing into the warmth of our homes. In this dim time of year, the spirits of evil come out to play, to revel in the dampness and decay. And Halloween is our time to face them, to don costumes that echo the horrific visages of those nightmares beasts ( yes, Miley Cyrus masks count ). It is a time exorcise those demons. To hold them up against the dying light, to make that light shine just little bit brighter as it slowly tucks itself away for the year.

And Halloween is the time to remind myself of the demons I have faced, and continue to face. Every year I hold Halloween up before my eyes and say “I may not enjoy you like I once did, but whenever I think of that, I think of all the other stuff I do enjoy. And for that, I thank you.”

You see, Halloween? It's me, not you. And I want so badly for us to be friends again. Until then, I have a life to live. A wonderful, horrible, blessed, cursed life that I wouldn't trade for all the Happy Halloweens in all of history.

But let's see how things go when we meet up again, okay?  Because I promise you, Halloween, that next year...."

12 days ‘til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  12 days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock.

What Halloween Means To Me '13 Day 18: Cameron Scott

If you’ve been reading the blog for any amount of time, you know how much I dig JABB Pictures and the whole Collective family.  They've introdused me to a lot of killer filmmakers, and Cameron Scott and Quattro Venti Scott Productions have been a big part of that family since the beginning.  One thing I dig about watching the Collectives from Vol. 1 on is seeing a artist's style develop, and Cameron is no exception.  He plays dead very well too.  He recently completed his first feature, Post Mortem America 2021, which has been getting rave reviews and selling like Avenged Sevenfold CDs at a frathouse. I can’t wait to see it myself.  You can but it and his other flicks HERE.  In addition to his filmmaking, he hosts a podcast called The Road To Midian where he flies the flag of independent horror.  There is no more worthy cause.  Go listen to it.  I can personally attest that he’s a cool sumbitch too.  I had a blast hanging with him and Hoover at Days of the Dead last year.  Come to think of it, he’s only the second participant on the countdown that’s been at one of my birthday parties.  Hmmm.  So Cameron, what does Halloween mean to you?

"Halloween, Hallowe'en, All Hallow's Eve, Samhain, All Soul's Day, or All Saint's day...it goes by many names. And whichever name or religious aspect of the day that draws you into the festivities, it's a colorful day of the fall season indeed. Jack'o'lanterns, makeup and costumes that turns us into a multitude of characters, games, parties and celebrations that round out the holiday. The headlining practice of Halloween has become trick or treating or 'guising' as it was called in the olden days. Children and sometimes adults alike dressing up in costumes and going door to door and filling their bags with sugary goodies. 
What it means to an individual varies, as well it should. Halloween didn't even migrate it's way to North America until the late 1800's and is still considered relatively fresh in this part of the world. What it means to this individual is this, a celebration of the strange...the bizarre...the macabre. It's that time of year when people who are (in my opinion) entitled to that one good scare, or twelve. 
The real allure of Halloween though has to be the haunted attractions, corn mazes, hayrides and decorations. What other time of the year can you drive down the avenue and see decorations to the like of tombstones, ghosts, goblins, murderous psychopaths, bloody crime scenes, and more jack'o'lanterns? It does this old heart good to see the practice has not been lost in recent years but has actually flourished.  The future of Halloween is uncertain as all things are, but I foresee that it isn't going anywhere anytime soon.  It shall be around for years to come and for generations to enjoy. If I may offer a bit of philosophy to those wanting to join in on the carnival of chaos it is this: Grab a mask, hide in the shadows and wait for that perfect moment to leap out and scare someone out of their skin. I know I will be. 

 13 days ‘til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  13 days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock.

What Halloween Means To Me '13 Day 17: Jimmy Screamerclauz

There is something very, very wrong with Jimmy Screamerclauz.  If his music, writing, and extreme animated horror films are any indication, his mind is a cacophony of eyeballs, fish stick tits, bizarre religious rituals, deformed children, brutal mutilation, hallucinogenic nightmares, and an unexplainable, perverse beauty.  He’s also a brilliant filmmaker.  His film Where The Dead Go To Die was my favorite flick of 2012.  Its real raw emotion fused with mind-bending subversive weirdness creates a viewing experience unlike any other.  I recommend it to anyone who thinks they’ve seen everything, wants to push their boundaries, or is just screwed up in the head.  So strap in folks, I have a feeling this answer is gonna get a little deranged.  Jimmy, what does Halloween mean to you?

“Rather than try and explain to everyone what Halloween means to me I’d rather just tell you a memory that shaped my childhood. My friend Billy and I were playing our favorite game of all time called “dodge the semi-truck” where we would wait for a truck to come and then see who could wait the longest before jumping out of the way.  Our parents would get quite mad when we played this game, mostly because our other friend Brad didn’t get out of the way in time the summer before and met an untimely demise. It was very sad, though I think we both secretly envied how much braver he was then us. He died like a fucking man!

Anyway, after dodging two trains in a row we decided to wander around the town waiting for nightfall, it was our favorite day of the year, Halloween. The problem was we were getting older now, we were just about 13, and the fact that we watched poor Brad get splattered only a few months prior made us grow up even quicker. Trick or Treating just didn’t seem to cut it for us anymore, but we still wanted to have some sort of Halloween adventure. After much discussion we decided to get some nasty revenge on a man in the neighborhood named Robert Jacobs. The previous summer I was hired to mow his lawn for $2o and when he wasn’t looking I took my shoes off and dipped my sock in the gasoline tank and huffed it. It made the lawn mowing experience much more pleasant and dream like. During one particularly hot day, the heat and gas fumes got the best of me and I passed out while pushing the mower and I ran over his little dog that was playing on the lawn. The dog didn’t die, but it lost one of its legs. I didn’t see what the big deal was, but he was pretty upset and not only refused to pay me, but also made me pay for the dog’s leg surgery! $1500 that cost me! Then the dumb dog just chewed it off and died anyway. The way I see it he buried my money, and tonight was the night we were going to dig up the dog and get my investment back!

We waited for nightfall and met up at the local creek. Since it was Halloween we decided to dress up in costumes. I decided to dress up like a skeleton but wanted to be a little more original then that so I put some fake blood on too, then I was a bloody skeleton. Billy dressed up as our dead friend Brad, which I thought was kind of fucked up but hey who am I to judge, after all I was dressed up as something dead too! We crept into Mr. Jacob’s yard and found the spot where the dog was buried, we thought it would be harder, but we just looked for the big three-legged dog statue he had erected. The glow of his eternal flame helped guide us as well, Mr. Jacobs must have loved that little guy. Once we dug the dog up we learned that the leg I spent so much money on had rotted away, I was pretty pissed so I lifted up the dog’s carcass and tied it to my face like a mask. We snuck into his house and pretended to be the ghost of his dog and asked him if we can have $1500 to pay the toll bridge it costs to get into heaven, he might have fallen for it given enough time, but before he could have time to process it, Billy had already put on one of his wife’s dress and started doing some sort of seductive dance for him, which I thought was quite weird and out of character for my usually more manly friend,  but before I could have time to make fun of and/or question he sexual orientation, an un-amused Mr. Jacobs shot Billy in the face with a shotgun.

Now, a normal shotgun blast would have blown Billy’s head clean off but Mr. Jacobs was one of those old coots that only has civil war guns and he was always just shoving weird shit down the barrel that he found around the house. So in addition to all the ancient bullet fragments that tore Billy’s face apart he also had a match box car sticking out of his eye and a swirly straw sticking out of his forehead.  We decided to was time to run and got out of there fast.

We decided to stop at this all night cheese steak stand and figure out what had just happened to us. The guy liked our costumes and marveled at how real Billy’s looked. Billy was kind of offended so he put one of his teeth in the guy’s tip cup. The guy was pissed at first but then saw it was an adult tooth and knew it was of great value to the right people. The cheese steak was delicious, Billy tried to eat his but the food kept falling out of the hole in his face. After that Billy dropped dead on the table, he bled to death. Apparently when you get shot in the face you’re supposed to go to the hospital and not the cheese steak stand. My best friend in the world died that night and it in all seriousness it should have made me hate Halloween, but luckily Billy died at 12:26 so it was technically November 1^st. FUCK NOVEMBER FIRST! RIP Billy, and Brad, and dumb dog.”

 14 days ‘til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  14 days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock.

What Halloween Means To Me '13 Day 16: Patrick Rea

While I don’t know this to be a fact, I think it’s a pretty safe guess that there is not a more prolific maker of short films on the horror scene today than Patrick Rea.  The 30 or so that he has made in the last decade are consistently awesome and have racked up awards up and down the festival circuit.  A Man and His Finger was one of the winners of the inaugural Fangoria Blood Drive back in 2004.  Having lived in Savannah and dealt with the green vest demon bitc… I mean Girl Scouts, I think Get Off My Porch is probably my favorite of his shorts.  Many of them are available online, so get over to his imdb and start Googling some titles.  You’ll be glad you did.  I discovered him through his excellent feature Nailbiter, which I reviewed back in June of 2012.  It’s currently available at Redbox, so you have no excuse for not seeking Mr. Rea’s work out.  So Patrick, what does Halloween mean to you?

                       

“Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, but like anything else, the lead up to Halloween is better than the actual day itself; especially if the day of Halloween falls on a weekday.  Early in my childhood in the 1980's, Halloween was a big deal because I got to dress up and get candy.  I think I dressed up as Skeletor twice and Mumra (Thundercats) at least once.  I was always excited heading to the store and going through the long rows of costumes that had the plastic suits and masks.  It wasn't until the late 80's, early 90's that Halloween became something different all together.  It was my chance to see what horror movies were popping up in the TV Guide.  I would circle the ones that I wanted to watch without my parents knowing and pray I didn't get caught. 

My fondest memory was in 1990, when I attended a Boy Scout Halloween Party at a cabin near the Platte River.  The older scouts decided to bring the original "A Nightmare on Elm Street," "Child's Play" and the recently released on home video, "Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan."  I'll never forget coming home and bragging to my mother about what we watched.  That was the real beginning for me, because the following year I was in charge of bringing movies, and I remember despite various parents protesting, I selected the newly released "Misery", "Graveyard Shift" and "Tremors" to the Halloween party that fall.  The following year I was relieved of my film renting duties, and we were forced to watch less horrific fair.  I remember one specific year where we watched the movie "Geronimo" at our Halloween party. 

While in high school in the 90's, there was a small competition between the classes to see who could smash the most pumpkins on the local viaduct.  Our senior year, I remember thinking we hit the jackpot when we found a handful of pumpkins sitting out by a mailbox near the street.  Foolishly, we immediately grabbed the pumpkins and ran, only to hear a voice from the house yell, "Smell your hands!".  We realized at that point that we had been duped by several students from the freshman class.  They had covered the pumpkins in 'raccoon urine'!  The smell burned the eyes and nose.  We rushed back to our friends house and washed all over our clothes.  Sadly for those dastardly freshman, they would later have to answer to several senior football players who decided to avenge us. 

Halloween has lost a little of its allure, mainly because I watch so many horror movies over the course of the year.  But really for me, it's now about the change in the weather and the excitement of knowing that other people are gathering to enjoy horror movies and other traditions.  We have also started a new family tradition of staying at a cabin over an October weekend in Nebraska and going to the pumpkin patch.  So, the Halloween season continues to be special to me.  Most importantly, this year will be my daughter's first Halloween, so I'm excited to introduce her to some of our traditions, granted she won't be able to cognitively understand the holiday for some time.  Hopefully she won't mind that we are dressing her up as an Ewok!”

 15 days ‘til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  15 days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock.

What Halloween Means To Me '13 Day 15: Todd E. Freeman

It thrills me to no end that old school body horror is coming back in vogue, and Todd E Freeman is one of the directors leading the charge.  Todd burst on the scene last year with a disturbing medical/prison/scifi/horror flick called Cell Count.  In fact, Cell Count was #7 on my top 10 flicks of 2012.  Almost every review I've seen of it, including mine, compares the movie to the early work of David Cronenberg.  I honestly can't think of a greater compliment.  You can, and should, get Cell Count HERE.  His upcoming flick Love Sick (SITE) promises to get under your skin just as much.  Todd is also a fellow PK.  That's preachers kid for you heathens.  It's a very interesting upbringing, but his father doesn't sound like your average baptist preacher.  So Todd, what does Halloween mean to a son of a preacher man?

"For as long as I can remember two things have been an integral part of my life;  Christianity and Horror Movies.  Boy does that explain a lot. 

My father was, and still is, a Baptist Minister.  Now I know just the thought of that may make you cringe at just the thought of being raised by some sort of militant bible thumping maniac.  Let me tell you just how wrong you’d be. 

Halloween for so many of my church friends was a time of struggle and frustration that they could not be a part of the “satanic” holiday.  My Halloween on the other hand was filled with candy, trick or treating, and scary movies.  You see my dad, as well as being a pastor, was also an avid movie lover. He grew up watching movies that were suspenseful, scary, and otherworldly and that’s exactly what our Halloween’s were always filled with. 

One Halloween in particular sums up my feelings of family, faith, and scary films.  My dad set up a haunted house in our garage and no it wasn’t one of those scare you into becoming a Christian haunted houses.  It was filled with monsters, the dark, and scares around every corner.  His sense of wonder and entertainment in all things that make the heart beat faster always put a smile on my face.  That night my dad also had us invite our friends over to watch scary movies.  He was an avid 16MM film collector and had a mini film festival set up for kids from 8-15.  First he started with a reel of old trailers from the 1930’s to 1950’s.  Funny I always remember the trailer for the original Maniac being on that reel and sitting in wonder that anything like that could exist on this planet.  After the trailers were over he stood up and gave us the behind the scenes story of how the original The Fly was made.  Some anecdotes that he had read in one of his hundreds of books on the subject including budgets, casting struggles, and crew member filmographies.  Then he reeled up the magic and turned on the little flickering light that made up my childhood.

So I guess what Halloween is to me would be family, faith, and horror.  My family has been and always will be the most important thing in life.  My faith is what fills me with the belief that the impossible is possible as well as the overwhelming urge to strive to be a better person.  Being scared is why I make movies.  Without these Halloween’s of my childhood.  I wouldn’t be who I am as a human being or filmmaker and I am pretty damn happy with being who I am."

 16 days ‘til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  16 days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock.

What Halloween Means To Me '13 Day 14: Joshua Hull

It’s time to kick off Independent Horror Filmmaker’s week on the “What Halloween Means To Me” countdown, and Joshua Hull is in the leadoff position.  I first became aware of his work through a killer short he directed as part of The Collective Volume 5 called Voice Over.  He then sent me his excellent zomcom Beverly Lane, which will be featured on the first episode of The Son Of Celluloid Show (yes, it is still coming). There are a lot, and I do mean A LOT, of really bad horror comedies out there right now, so Joshua’s stuff is a breath of fresh air. He really gets how to play the two genres off of each other.  His style is more laughs than scares, but it works infinitely better than the clumsy genre mash-ups that are, sadly, the norm.  You all know I’m picky as hell about my comedies, and so far I’ve dug everything he’s put out.  He’s got a few upcoming projects in various states of completion including The Impersonators, Pink Slips, and The Ballad of Sadie Grace, so head over to the Arsonist Pictures site to get the lowdown, snag a copy of Beverly Lane, and laugh your ass off.  Alright Joshua, tell us about your mother, the mad scientist…

"IT'S ALIVE!!! Remembering The Year My Mom Played Dr. Frankenstein

Ever since I can remember Halloween has been a huge part of my life. One of my earliest & favorite memories of Halloween is when I wanted to dress up like the Frankenstein monster. My mom is what you would call a Halloween fanatic. She would go all out creating our costumes. Store bought costumes? Not in this house! We would craft EVERY part of the costume from something we already owned. There were 6 of us kids. Money didn't grow on trees..especially for store bought Frankenstein costumes. I was about to get my 1st lesson in figuring out how to pull off a creative vision without money.
It took about a week to get everything we needed for this costume. However we were missing one VERY important piece. I needed the trademark "Franky flattop" head. Those store bought costumes came with one. Where the hell would I get mine from?
Halloween came & I remember dreading my "Franky Round Top" costume all day. I was just going to be a green dude dressed in all black with a round head. My dreams of Karloff were...well Faroff.
What I had failed to realize was my mom is a creative problem solver. She knew exactly how to put the finishing touches on my costume.
"Trust me. It's going to look great!"
I ran upstairs & got into character. All black everything. We had ripped my sleeves & I believe I wore boots that belonged to my older brother (or sister). I sat down in the "Halloween prep" chair and looked at the table with excitement.
It was littered with the trademark Halloween accessories. Face paint, black spider rings, glitter hair spray, fake blood and more. I looked the table up and down multiple times. I didn't see my flattop.
"Where is it???"
I looked over at my mom witching up my sister. She told me to walk to the fridge & grab the milk carton.

"That is your Frankenstein head.."
I looked at her then looked at the milk. What did she mean by that? How would this be my head? The carton still had milk in it! None of this made any sense to a small boy.
"Drink that & then I'll make your head"
Still confused I grabbed a glass & drank the remainder of the milk. I gave the empty jug to my mom & sat down waiting.
I watched as my mom took scissors to this jug. Carefully crafted a custom made "Franky flattop" for me. She finished cutting & took what had been the bottom of the jug and placed it on the top of my head. It was a perfect fit.
I sat in excitement as my mom played Dr. Frankenstein. She was giving life to her very own monster. A monster that went from wanting store bought costumes to believing in the magic of creativity."

 17 days ‘til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.  17 days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock.