The Faces of Halloween

We spied him wandering with his burning coal. Jack of the Lantern hiding from the Devil. Nothing but flickers lit his way.

Take a walk with us Halloween night. This is what we saw.

And this one was ours. (I was going for an insect motif, LOL!)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Hope

Yesterday, on my way to a client's birthday party in Philadelphia, I decided to make a stop at Laurel Hill Cemetery, which was one of the first rural cemeteries in the United States. Of course, now it lies in a blighted area of the city. Once it must have been a beautiful carriage ride up the Schuykill River from Old Philadelphia.

Despite being yards from crumbling homes and empty warehouses, inside is another world. To say that it's stunning is an understatement. I'll be sharing the visit with you, but today, I wanted to tell you about one of those rare photography moments which takes your breath away.

After spending close to two hours exploring, it was time for me to get going to the party. The setting sun burned through the trees and windy clouds twisted in the sky. I was driving up a narrow lane past a long row of mausoleums when a spritz of rain sparkled in the sky.

On my right, I noticed an obelisk with the crouching figure of a child high at the top. I thought to myself, wow, I'd love a picture of that, but I didn't stop. Time was tight, and I had a nagging fear that someone might lock the only gate.

That's when I saw it. Despite a very broken sky which really didn't look like rain, a double rainbow was hovering right beside the figure of the boy in the sky. I jammed on the brakes, left the car running, and got the camera out of the trunk. I snapped and snapped. The rainbow lasted no more than two minutes.

Sometimes countless maybes, circumstances, and coincidences fall into place. Right down to the golden rays of light reaching down from the sky. Sometimes you have to jam on the brakes, or you'll miss the breath of magic forever.

So here is that moment to share with you. For once, I'm not going to say any words to go with it. I'll leave that to you.

(From K.L. Gilbert, this beautiful verse.)

A child alone
atop a pillar of stone
for eternity says a prayer.

God let me sleep
in peace so deep
under an angel's loving care.

And an angel was sent
as a rainbow bent
to protect the child so fair.

Rebirth

Decaying fruit betrayed by the sun
Infects the skeleton bloom of trees.
Winds from the forest promise peace
Salvation flies on the whirling leaves.

Release the hopes abandoned by light
Embrace the darkening Autumn seas.
Evil unleashed to thunder free
Rekindles withered, forgotten needs.


(This poem is my entry in Minx' contest in honor of Samhain. Check out the other entries at The Inner Minx!)

(Oh, and while I have you here, can I get your opinion on something? I've been thinking about doing a podcast series called "Under the Stars With Jason Evans" where I invite a fellow blogger to sit for a few minutes on a quiet night to talk. They would not be traditional interviews. More like a return to those late night conversations we've probably all had in our youth. The question is, would you be interested in hearing a podcast series like that? Would anyone be interested in participating?)

(UPDATE: Sounds like folks are interested in the podcast idea. (BTW, they would be audio files posted here). Thanks to Jaye, Scott, and (possibly) Terri for expressing interest in participating!! For now, I plan to do them via telephone. Anyone else interested in doing it?)

Merciless (Fiction for Halloween)

(Although it's early, I wanted to write a little story in the spirit of Halloween. This story is my gift to you for the spooky season.)

"Merciless"
by Jason Evans

     I forgot everything in the morning.
     The days lulled me like moving dreams. I showered, drove, and stumbled through my work. But late at night, when the roads hushed and silence slid from the walls, I clawed my pillow into howling shapes. I would lie awake, and she was there.

     The air shifted outside and pushed against the glass in the windowpanes. Cold was worming in, and dry leaves skittered across the patio. As always, my two hours of sleep shattered in a crystalline fear. The faraway fog of daylight exploded, and miles of darkness weighed with perfect focus.
     From the bathroom, the nightlight glowed in the polish of the wood floors. It fanned across walls and died in the corners.
     Minutes passed, and my throat withered. My tongue made the motions of swallowing, but nothing pushed through. Too much time was passing.
     A fly tapped along the ceiling. It bumped in long, droning arcs. The frayed ends of my brain snapped to the sound. In a slow, lazy dive, it hummed past my head and glided over the bed to open air.
     Wood on wood creaked. The groan of a chair shifting.
     The buzz sliced off mid-flight. My face pulled into a silent scream.
     But a real scream did slash the silence, only not from my lungs. I cowered and every angle of the room shook.
     My wife thrashed upright in the bed. She howled and screeched, but I couldn't help her. Iron clamped me to the mattress. The bed pitched as she pulled her hair and pounded fists into the sides of her head.
     Then, talons sank into my back. Skin split under the grip of her nails. She peeled me off my stomach. The pain rolled me. When she let go, her hands slapped onto my face and neck and forced me to look at her. Her eyes lolled white as they flew around the room.
     "Make her stop! Make her stop!"
     But I couldn't hear the voice my wife heard. I only heard the chair wobbling on one short leg.
     I could see her, though. Oh yes, I could see her.
     "Make her stop!"
     She shoved my face in the direction I never looked. There the girl sat with her dead eyes bent sideways. Her face was twisted by the position death took her. The caverns of her cheeks wallowed in shadows.
     I stared at the hideous vision, and the gnawing voice stopped. My wife collapsed into the bed weeping. Her hands rubbed at her skull to push away the senseless things the horrible child whispered to her.
     Sleep returned quickly for her, but I was left to lock into those dead eyes. My sanity dripped away with the cold sweat sheeting me.
     So many hours until dawn. But nonetheless, I stared. I stared until my heart threatened to explode. When I finally clamped my eyes closed against the rush of hot tears, I knew the airy voice would come.
     My wife groaned and shifted. One of us had to suffer.
     Always.
     I forgot how long we lived there or why the dead girl tortured us. I only knew she was merciless. In the brief silence, I pressed the barrel of the gun to my head.
     In my mind, I didn't hear a shot. I heard my wife's building screams. And nothing would stop them.
     I released the trigger and laid the gun aside. I turned toward the chair, and once again I opened my eyes.

Remember: W. Brown

The Remembrance Series: When I walk among old graves, I think about our voices straining against the grind of years.

Someday not even stone will protect us from being forgotten. Not even our final words will be left to call out to the people flashing by. Yet, we can give these voices a little more life in a way they never could have imagined.

So please take a moment with me to remember...

Inscription:
IN
MEMORY
OF W. BROWN
DIED AUGUST
1844 AGED 75

(This folk art stone is carved from local field stone. Note the guidelines, decorated A's, and inverted 4's in 1844. Surviving stones of this type are uncommon and always draw me when I find them.)



(Hibernia Methodist Church Est. 1841, Chester County, Pennsylvania)

The Railway

"God. Sometimes I want to scratch the skin right off my body."

"Nice."

"Don't you ever feel that way?"

"No. Not really."

"I can't wait to graduate and get the fuck out of here. I'm telling you. I sit in my room. I just sit there and wait for my head to explode."

"Understandable. I don't know how you deal with your dad."

"I can't believe we actually live in this place. The dirt. The shit falling down everywhere. Half the world's a Goddamn strip mine."

"You're really cheery today."

"Don't you ever think about it? How easy it would be? We slip down this hill and climb into one of those cars. We roll off in the sunset. Free at last."

"That train's not moving."

"Yeah, I realize that."

"It's been parked there all summer. Totally empty."

"Right again."

"I wonder why they do that."

"Oh, Christ."

"What?"

"You know what? I'm going to come back here in twenty years. Just to visit. I'm going to stand here and think about all the cool things in my life. And I'm going to think about you. How Brad settled for a job down at the hospital emptying bedpans and how Brad still lives in his grandparents' house. I'm going to think about all these corpses walking around town. I'm going to think about how you turned into one of them."

* * * * *

He stood high above the valley replaying the old conversation in his head and remembering the restlessness. Maybe he still felt it. Maybe a little.

He thought of Brad and wondered what ever became of him.

He was right about leaving and about accomplishing many things. But he was wrong about how it would feel. He didn't expect the guilt over leaving them all behind and missing their lives. He wished he could ask Brad to forgive him.

Back in his car on his way out of town, he breezed through the old streets one last time. And when he met the eyes of a familiar face, he did not stop. He looked away and drove on.

(Picture: St. Michael, Pennsylvania, overlooking what was the bottom of Lake Conemaugh.)

The Last Whisper

A twist in the wind
A memory darkened
elevens...breaking...soars...divining pain...and light
Leaves
Storming

A sprinkle of rain
Alone with the crows circling
confused...red slices...spirals...withered...brushing death
Leaves
Pattering

A carnival ground
Remembering smiles
destroying...treading softness...gathers soil and waits
Leaves
Returning

Along a Road

Welcome to the line. My line.

When I was in high school, I used to drive here at night. Outside this wall, televisions flickered in windows, and car lights crested hills. If friends were with me, we hushed our laughter under the trees.

When my feet swung over the stones and landed on the cemetery road, the vast quiet closed around me, and everything changed.

I walked in silence, sometimes trailed by the moon. Those old hills were covered with so many lives turned grey. I used listen to the words of everyone I ever was. It was there I decided who I would be. And it felt safe.

Where is the place where only you can pass and everything else is left behind? Where is your line?

A Sentimental Journey

"Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow, Leave things of the future to fate; What's the use to anticipate sorrow? Life's troubles come never too late."

--Lawrence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy


Saturday, I was a presenter at a health care conference in Pittsburgh. That's a cross-state trip for me, so it makes for a grueling day. This time, though, I saw it as a opportunity to do something I've thinking about. I haven't been back to my home town in 12 years. Perhaps that's not terribly long, but since I'm 36, it represents a third of my life.

Johnstown, Pennsylvania lies in the Allegheny Mountains east of Pittsburgh. It a coal and steel town, whose macabre claim to fame is the famous 1889 Johnstown Flood (more on that in a future post).

After leaving the conference at 2:00 P.M., I headed east back into the mountains I had crossed that morning. My first stop was the town of St. Michael, which was the location of the hunting and fishing club where the likes of the Carnegies and Mellons vacationed. It was their private lake which emptied in 1889 and wiped out the city of Johnstown.

This town is also featured in my work in progress, The Backwards Path, and I wanted to collect pictures and video of the town to keep that part of the story well grounded.

Continuing south, I visited my old neighborhood. So strange. Part of me flickered to those lost years (like when I thought for a moment I was driving my dad's car), but most of me felt foreign on those streets. It bothered me how few details I remembered of places I drove hundreds of times. I suppose the immediacy of place crumbles no matter how hard our brains try to clutch it.

After visiting downtown, I wound up Millcreek Road to the hilltops overlooking the valley. Grandview Cemetery is located on one of those vistas, and I'll be sharing pictures from there too. But my destination was Brownstown, where my grandparents lived and my mother grew up. Here is a typical view of one of these valley towns.

My grandmother's old house was in a disturbing state of disrepair. As you can see, the shingles are rotting off. Trash is piled around, and the garage my grandfather built looks abandoned. The paved driveway is now more cracks and grass than asphalt. Very sad. You know, I still dream of this house (as I wrote in one of my very first posts.)

So what did I find on my trip to the past? Pieces of myself were scattered in the shadows, and the stranger behind the wheel needed to find them. The long, dark hours on the highway stretch on, and I often pull together the many reflections of myself when I drive in silence. But despite all that I remember, bits of strength were left behind in my rush to leave this place twelve years ago. I'm glad to have some of those pieces back again.

18 and Life to Go*

I was digging through old photographs looking for possible blog material, when I came across a couple real gems. In fact, I couldn't stop laughing.

My friend and I conned our parents into letting us take one of their cars, rent a condo for us (we paid), and wave goodbye as we motored off to Myrtle Beach. It was the summer after graduation. College loomed in two months. Everything was going to change.

Here we are enjoying the infinite pleasures of underage drinking. The stores and bars down there would serve a chimpanzee back then. Real hard to pick which one is me, I bet. I love the wine/beer thing. I just didn't like how weak beer is, I swear!! I would've opted for whiskey if the grocery stores sold it. Seemed to me that if you aimed to get drunk, you might as well get right to it. (Oh wait, I still think that way.)



This one was taken a couple days later after my friend completed his study of intestinal alcohol absorption rates. He is pouring all his beer down the drain (and hey, he's wearing the same shirt). The night before, we managed to prove in a tightly controlled environment that gulping down a ton of vodka is kind of like going to bed with a fistful of sparklers. You're gonna get burned.



That night I had the pleasure of being rained with projectile vomiting. What's that you ask? What did we have for dinner?

Tacos.

And they didn't look so very different when I saw them a second time.

*I'd like to give proper credit to Sebastian Bach and Skid Row for this late 80's classic.

Nickel Mines

I have a connection to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. It will always hold a special place in my life.

Although I grew up in the mountains and coal country in the western part of the state, I came east to attend Franklin and Marshall College in the City of Lancaster. Over the four years I spent there, I learned the countryside, became friends with long time county residents, met and married my wife, and even managed to sell a car to an Amishman (a long story for another day).



Those of you in the United States, and perhaps even Canada, have probably seen the news from Monday. A local delivery man entered a one-room Amish school house and took the girls hostage. Although his plan to molest them failed, he killed five girls and critically wounded several others before killing himself. Nickel Mines, where this happened, is only 20 miles from our house. Even though we've never driven through it, many times we've passed close on our way to Strasburg.

We purposefully chose to live where the two worlds mix, where the long reach of Philadelphia yields to farms and stones houses standing since colonial times. We are near the mid-point between the cities, and we feel part of them both.

Lancaster County is a unique place, and although I do not agree with their reasons, I have a deep respect for the Amish and their way of life. We've forgotten so much of how to meet the Earth on its own terms. We've lost our knowledge of dirt and sweat and the strength of our own backs. Inspired by the Amish, I decided to build a couple pieces of furniture in college with nothing but hand tools. I've tried to relearn some of the old ways.

There are so many hollows and twists in the road where tourists never go. One room schoolhouses still dot the countryside, and teams of horses harvest fields as the sunset bleeds into the blades of hay. I'll try not to let this crime diminish the magic, but who knows how long such places will exist. The rest of world just punched a hole in this one, and I feel we are all made less because of it. My heart goes out to the children and their families.

Scary Movie Month

Call it Samhain, All Hallows' Eve, or Halloween, the time is coming when day bows to night, growth wilts to decay. But while the balance lasts, before the cold closes over us, the two worlds mix, and fear, regret, and memory are close. I like to embrace that fear and listen to its lessons. I like to walk in its shadow and re-emerge knowing you've conquered it.

To get you in the mood for the season, I thought I'd share a couple clips from one of my favorite dark psychological movies, The Shining. Stanley Kubrick evokes such an amazing sense of foreboding by combining strange camera angles and powerful, disturbing music. Take a ride with Danny on his Big Wheel.



Since you enjoyed that one so much, I thought I give you a little extra. In this scene, Jack Torrance realizes he is speaking with Delbert Grady, the former hotel caretaker who murdered his daughters (featured in the prior scene), then committed suicide. The Overlook Hotel itself begins to speak through Delbert Grady, insisting that Jack's misbehaving wife and son need "a good talking to. Perhaps a bit more...." The understatement of the scene and the overlay of formality are what makes it so unsettling. (Sorry for the racial slur in there.)



Feel free to share some of your favorite movies of the Halloween season!