Rogers Gardens has announced their annual Halloween Boutique Opening “Grimm Tales” will debut on Friday, September 2nd @ 9:00am! Visiting this amazing boutique yearly has become a favorite for me and I hope you find time to stop by, it will not disappoint.
“…and the Storyteller paused… and it was as if the wonders he retold had cast a spell upon him…”-A.E.
“The forest is dark and enchanted…branches creak and leaves rustle as trees close in, obscuring the path home. Wander deep into the shadows and you’ll find frightful folklores, fantastical stories and chilling tales. These bedtime stories will give you nightmares, and you’ll discover that not all fairy tales end happily-ever-after.” –Rogers Gardens
The title for this post is a line from the Don Mclean song written for quite another Vincent, but I thought it appropriate here in deference to this amazing collective by the Del Valle Archives. Click pic to take you to the site but beware its for diehards only, as its a bit of a process to acquire from this collection. Worth the effort, let me assure you. While the anniversary of his death is later this month, this can serve as a reminder, should any be needed, that there is much of October left to enjoy his movies and legacy. I am off to watch Laura, where he delights in my favorite of his character roles. Mmmm, Noir!
These spectacular images designed by Nico Delort for Dark Hall Mansion go on sale tomorrow, Tuesday October 13! This collection is a masterwork of theme and design and are certain to sell out quickly. For more information on this incredible set, visit the DHM site. Pic is clickable. Check their blog for more information. Don’t wait to get yours. I won’t.
This is the tale of the strange adventures of young Allan Gray, who immersed himself in the study of devil worship and vampires. Preoccupied with superstitions of centuries past, he became a dreamer for whom the line between the real and the supernatural became blurred. His aimless wanderings led him late one evening to a secluded inn by the river in a village called Courtempierre.
It was an eerie moonlit night. Lights and shadows, voices and faces seem to take on hidden meaning. Allan Gray felt a sinister force descend upon him. In vain he fought the terror that seized him, and fear of things he could not name haunted his restless sleep.
What was going on? What terrifying secret was unfolding? Allan Gray felt certain of one thing: A soul in mortal distress was crying out for help, and a voice within urged him to heed that call…
Excerpt (scroll text) from the 1932 movie Vampyr directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer Based on the short stories In A Glass Darkly, 1872 by Sheridan Le Fanu
…Nat hurried on. Past the little wood, past the old barn, and then across the stile to the remaining field.
As he jumped the stile he heard the whir of wings. A black-backed gull dived down at him from the sky, missed, swerved in flight, and rose to dive again. In a moment it was joined by others, six, seven, a dozen, black-backed and herring mixed. Nat dropped his hoe. The hoe was useless. Covering his head with his arms he ran towards the cottage. They kept coming at him from the air, silent save for the beating wings. The terrible, fluttering wings. He could feel the blood on his hands, his wrists, his neck. Each stab of a swooping beak tore his flesh. If only he could keep them from his eyes. Nothing else mattered. He must keep them from his eyes. They had not learnt yet how to cling to a shoulder, how to rip clothing, how to dive in mass upon the head, upon the body. But with each dive, with each attack, they became bolder. And they had no thought for themselves. When they dived low and missed, they crashed, bruised and broken, on the ground. As Nat ran he stumbled, kicking their spent bodies in front of him.
He found the door, he hammered upon it with his bleeding hands. Because of the boarded windows no light shone. Everything was dark.
“Let me in,” he shouted, “it’s Nat. Let me in.”
He shouted loud to make himself heard above the whirr of the gull’s wings.
Then he saw the gannet, poised for the dive, above him in the sky. The gulls circled, retired, soared, one with another, against the wind. Only the gannet remained. One single gannet, above him in the sky. The wings folded suddenly to its body. It dropped, like a stone. Nat screamed, and the door opened. He stumbled across the threshold, and his wife threw her weight against the door.
They heard the thud of the gannet as it fell.
Daphne du Maurier The Birds, Echoes from the Macabre 1952
“Nibble, nibble, little mouse, who’s there nibbling at my house?”. All of a sudden, the door opened, and an old woman came creeping out.
But the old woman had only pretended to be so friendly. She was actually an evil witch who lay in wait for little children and had built her gingerbread house just to draw them in. Whenever she managed to ensnare a child, she would kill it, boil it, and eat it. This was her very favorite way to feast. Witches have red eyes and cannot see very far, but they have a powerful sense of smell, just like an animal’s, and they can tell from afar when humans are approaching. When Hansel and Gretel were getting close to her trap, she had cackled wickedly and sneered to herself, “I’ve got them! They can’t get away from me now.” Early the next morning, before the children had awakened, she got up and gazed at them resting so sweetly, with their plump, rosy cheeks, and snickered to herself, “My my, won’t they make tasty little morsels.” And she grabbed Hansel with her scraggly hand and dragged him into a little pen, where she locked him up behind a barred door. He screamed all he could, but it did him no good at all. Then she went to Gretel, shook her awake, and said, “Get up, you little slowpoke! Carry water and make your brother something good to eat. He’s sitting out in the pen and needs to be fattened up. And when he is, I will eat him!”
It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! — Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same color as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his shriveled complexion and straight black lips.
The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feeling of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room, and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured; and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness.
Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus, 1818