Monthly Archives: October 2023

Uneasy Walks

“Sometimes the fear won’t go away, so you’ll have to do it afraid.”

~~Anon

[Image from Ghosts. Myths. Folklore. Legends. Facebook Group]

The information regarding the image above is from a subgroup (All That’s Interesting) of the FB group mentioned in the credits. Confused? Let’s move forward.

This is about the Dark Watchers–and a few other matters.

It’s a story that is set in the Big Sur, California area. But I suspect that it’s a tale common to every mountainous region. Perhaps the White Mountains in New Hampshire has their own version. Or the Adirondack Mountains of New York State. I’ve hiked in many of these locations (except Big Sur) and, alas, I cannot say that I encountered the Dark Watchers.

Over several centuries, the people who inhabit this particular part of California have had terrifying experiences with the Dark Watchers. Ten feet tall, with hats and brooms, they appear and then vanish. I admit I love stories like this. I’m not so much into the Bigfoot Thing but Urban Legends pertaining to wilderness areas have long been an interest of mine.

I did have a very unsettling experience in the Adirondack mountains. It was the 1970’s and I was on my second attempt to hike the Northville-Lake Placid Trail. Solo. I can’t stress enough that the solo aspect of the trip brought me into conflict with a number of issues. I would be alone, something I abhor. I would be in the deep dark forest. And I would have to spend the night on my own, stirring up my loneliness and my fear of the dark. I can make the story very brief. I was leaving a lean-to after a lunch break. As I continued along the trail I had a very distinct feeling of being watched and followed. The anxiety and fear escalated until I was actually running along the path to where a public campsite was located. I arrived, out of breath and sweating. I caught a ride into the nearby town. I never forgot the fear.

I have read that a logical explanation for this phenomenon is called Pareiodolia. Simply put, the brain provides a familiar image that seems very real when put against an unfamiliar background. That’s Occams Razor; The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.

Which brings me to a disclosure of sorts. I will tell you up front that I am a huge fan of strange things. I especially love ghost stories. This does not mean that I necessarily believe in ghosts, I just love reading about them. At heart I am a Dana Scully. I look for proof. Something that can be tested over and over. I understand that many things are faith-based. That’s okay, as long as the believers allow me the freedom to disbelieve. The Church and the State are supposed to be separate. But, that separation is slowly being blurred by the Supreme Court and the Far Right.

Having said all that, my wife and I are having a wonderful time watching all the X-Files on Hulu. Remember: The Truth is Out There.

[Image credit: Google Search]

A Halloween Musing

“Be afraid…be very afraid.”

~~The Fly

[Source: Google Search]

I’m walking the streets of my hometown. The calendar pages have been turned from mild September to cool October. The weather always dictates my moods when I walk. On a cloudless day, the maple yellows against the azure blue sky can lift my soul into rarefied air. When the cold clouds drizzle, I stare at the flagstone sidewalks and the fallen leaves–and my spirits sink.

I am not a poet as you will shortly see, but I thought it would be amusing to attempt a short ditty as a Halloween treat for you, my readers. A treat is better than a trick, or so I’ve been told:

October nights, the spirits rise,

To save your soul…you must be wise.

On nights when the chill wind blows,

On dead branches sit dead crows.

Their eyes, they blaze a crimson hue,

They lurk, they creep, they lust for you.

Oh, the specters seek you,

And the werewolves eat you,

And the angels forsake you,

…all that’s left is…HALLOWEEN.

[Source: Google Search]

[Source: Google Search]

Two more things, dear reader. I’ve always been afraid of the dark. And I’ve always been uneasy about giants.

So it’s no surprise that I dread the night when I encounter this…

[Source: Google Search]

[Copyright 2023 Patrick Egan]

Someone Called My Name: A Halloween Story

Never respond to a whisper of your name when no one is there…

~~mi abuela

[Photo: Google Search]

{The narrative that follows is the truth. Some ghost stories start with this statement but it is often part of the fiction. It’s setting the reader up to ‘buy’ into the story–perhaps a willing suspension of disbelief. But, this little tale is the truth–to the best of my recollection and that of my wife. She should know. She heard the voice.}

It was a cold New Years Eve in Cooperstown, New York. Upstate winters will drive you indoors, insure that you will have a wool scarf and force you to pull your cap down and over your ears. Yes, it was quite cold on the last day of December, 1992.

My soon-to-be wife, Mariam and I decided to get out of Manhattan and plunge into the heart of Central New York State. I always loved Cooperstown, for its history, its small town charm and its interesting architecture. This was in the dark ages before TripAdvisor, Yelp and Google, so we used a regional pocket guide (a paperback book!) to find a B & B. We booked a room for two nights at an old house that had been converted to an inn. I can’t recall the name but even if I could, I most likely wouldn’t use it in this post. Let’s just call it The Old B & B and move on.

I believe we were the only guests registered. After a short rest, Mariam and I went searching the streets for a place to have dinner. After our meal we stopped at a few pubs. I remember looking at my watch and thinking that we should get back to our room by nine-thirty at the latest. We didn’t want to get involved in a festive bash to watch the ball drop in Times Square. Too many kisses from strangers and too much noise. We wanted quiet and not be a part of anything that was…too much.

By ten o’clock we were esconced in our cozy room watching Dick Clark in NYC. By twelve-thirty Mariam turned over and closed her eyes. I propped myself up and read a book for an hour or so.

I switched the lights out and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was warm and comfortable. Mariam was deep in slumber. Within a few minutes I followed her into Dreamland.

I felt Mariam’s arm nudging me. “Get up, she’s calling you?”

“Who?”

“The landlady.”

“When?”

“Just now. She called: Patrick. Patrick. Twice. She called you twice.”

I didn’t hear anything. I was asleep. But Mariam said that she was fully awake. It was about eight in the morning. I got out of bed and stood by the door. “Yes? Yes?” I spoke loudly. Silence.

“Yes,” I said again. “Who is it?” Silence.

I cracked the door several inches and peeked out. The hallway was was empty. The light of morning came through a window. I closed the door and began to wonder.

A few hours later, we decided to go for a walk. The landlady was sitting at her desk in a small open office off the dining area.

“What did you want me for?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You called me earlier. What did you need?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t here this morning. I didn’t go upstairs. It wasn’t me.”

“Oh, must be the ghost,” I said as a joke. Her smile faded.

“Well, maybe so,” she said. “Maybe so.”

She then told us a story. She and her husband bought the place to convert it into a B & B. (Her husband was away during the days we were there.) There was a daughter who was not present, the night we were there either. The story went on. A few years ago, she and her daughter were in the yard raking leaves. As they went into the house, the girl asked the mother who the lady in the second floor window was. She replied that she didn’t see her but asked what the woman looked like. The daughter said that she was an old lady with white hair that was put up in a bun.

The story went on. The next day the landlady was standing in line at the supermarket. She got into a conversation with the woman in front of her. She told the woman that she and her husband just bought the house and were planning on turning it into a B & B. She asked about the previous owner. The woman told her that an old woman lived there for many years. In fact, she died in the house. That she was well-known around town for her attractive white hair…that she always wore in a bun.

~~

It has all the elements of a classic Urban Legend, doesn’t it? Perhaps. That’s the story as Mariam and I recollect it. I reconstructed any dialogue I, myself, did not hear to the best of my knowledge.

Who was the woman who called my name on that cold New Years Day…on the first morning of 1993?

One thing for certain. I don’t know. But if was indeed a spirit, I would have liked her to stick around. I had plenty of questions for her. Was this my Ligeia moment?

I shrieked aloud, :can I never–can I never be mistaken–these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes–of my lost love–of the lady–of the LADY LIGEIA.

~~Edgar Allan Poe

[Poe and Ligeia. Source: Google search]

[Photo: Google search]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

[England’s Lady on the Staircase. Perhaps the most famous ‘ghost photo’ of all. Source: Google search]

Word Games In The Time Of Cholera

It’s only words and words are all I have

To take your heart away.

~~The Bee Gees. Lyrics by Henry Priestman & Sean O’riada

[A Wordle puzzle from the N. Y. Times. Sometime in September, 2023]

If you backed away from your device while reading this post, its okay, rest assured. There is no Cholera pandemic. The last one (Covid) was hard enough. So, why the Cholera thing? I used it to grab your attention. The power of certain words is frightening. Once, while chaperoning a week-long field trip to Cape Cod in the 1980’s, I was the Person-in-Charge. We always had a teacher drive their own car in the event of an emergency. The motor coach wasn’t on site. A 7th grade girl had to make a visit to the local hospital for nothing really serious. No worries. Upon our return to the school in Stamford, CT., I was asked by an administrator if everything went without incident.

“Yeah, no problem. We just had to take a girl to the ER for Smallpox,” I said.

I had to help the admin up from the floor.

“S..S..Smallpox?” she managed to blurt out.

“Oh, sorry, I meant a flare-up of measles.”

Believe it or not, I continued to teach there for another few years. So why am I telling this to you? Its the power of words. Smallpox–Measles…for a moment they were the same to me. It may not have been measles, I just don’t recall. So, pardon my liberties with this narrative.

But, I digress.

I have been a crossword player for as long as Rome had Popes (hyperbole). When I began my teaching career in Pennsylvania in the 1970’s I lucked out with my schedules for several years in a row. My lunch period abutted a planning period which gave me more than ninety minutes to get in my MG Midget, buy a New York Times, drive across the river to Wilkes-Barre, go to a McDonald’s for a cheeseburger, fries and coffee. Armed with a sharpened #2 pencil, I would find a hidden booth and get down to work. This was my life for several years.

Before long I moved onto the harder stuff. The Sunday Times crossword. This is a notorious graveyard for word people. I’ve seen grown men reduced to tears, marriages broken, bargains made at lonely crossroads with Satan, farms mortgaged and rings pawned for the power to solve the Sunday Killer. I recall taking my daughter to Quebec City in the 1980’s. We were driving through Maine. At our campsite, after dinner and a short evening walk, she would retire to her little pup tent with a flashlight to read The Witch of Blackbird Pond. I would adjust the Coleman lantern so the light was on the picnic table. A small campfire sent a fragrant scent my way once in awhile, obeying the shifting breezes. I popped open a can of Moosehead Ale, got two #2 pencils, folded the Sunday magazine section to the puzzle and lost myself for an hour. An hour later, I sensed movement near me, beyond the glare of the Coleman. I looked up. A large, furry thing strolled between me and my daughter. It was a black bear. I froze. It passed by and vanished into the woods. I called to Erin. “We just had a bear come through”. She got back to her book. I finished the puzzle.

But not before the word BEAR resounded throughout the campground. It had been heading for the refuse cans. Lights were lit. People scurried about.

The power of one word energized the sleepy campers.

~~

Several years ago, I noticed everyone was talking about SUDOKU. I thought it was a type of sushi, which I don’t eat. When I found out that it involved numbers, I was not interested. I’m very weak in math and arithmetic (is there a difference?). But its not my fault. The nuns didn’t teach it right. (I’ve dined out on that excuse for my deficiencies more than once.)

~~

So, a short time ago I was half sitting/half lying on my bed with my surgalized right foot elevated. Helps the swelling, I was told. I stared out of my bedroom window and surveyed our patio. It was overcast, gloomy actually. The monsoon that swept through the City today had abated, a little. On Alexa, my Spotify was playing Indian Love Song by Slim Whitman. Man, that guy could yodel. My eyes fell on a paperback lying on the window shelf. It was a Crossword Dictionary. I grabbed it and leafed through a few pages. How did there get to be so many words in the English language? It was awesome. I was familiar with many of these. Who can forget EMU or GNU after you’ve spent years doing the crossword? Other words I use a lot danced before my eyes. ERICACEOUS, SALACIOUSNESS and the oft used PINNATIPARTITE. And there was one words I use nearly everyday, if not every hour…NYMPHOMANIACAL.

[The book. Photo is mine]

I should mention that I was an avid Scrabble player. Not so much the board game, but the one you get as an app. The same goes with Words With Friends. I stopped playing them for several reasons:

1–I don’t have a lot of friends.

2–I got sick of the ads. This is where I got smart. Bear with me, my readers. I got so annoyed by having to view hours of ads for online games that I would never play. Games where I get to mow down advancing Zombies with a gun that Rambo would have trouble holding. Or, waifs with a bundled baby who is thrown out in the snow by her cheating husband. And how many times should I have to click NO, or an X to indicate I’m not interested? Five clicks to convince the word-game-people that I don’t want to play Candy Crush Saga. I cried ‘Enough’! I walked away from them like a bad date. But, I came back to those two games out of boredom. The kind of boredom that creeps in at 3:00 AM. Only other insomniacs would understand. But I figured out a way to block those stupid, inane ads…I would outsmart those ads people. I would pay $3.99/month to have them removed! Am I clever or what?

~~

I lived in England for a year in the 1980’s. I used to read the Guardian newspaper every day. I tried to solve the British-style of crosswords and I failed horribly. In the last several years I tried again to conquer them…then success. It takes some getting used to, but that’s because the Brits are far better at English (and words) than we Yanks.

[Order the book if you’d like a challenge. Photo is mine.]

Now where are we? I read via Google that Wordle is the most popular word game today. I had a few friends post their results on FB. I thought it was just another fad…until I tried it. Now, of course, I can’t make it through the day without playing. Kind of like my need to watch TV commercials about Beet Nuggets and ED medication.

As I draw this blog to a dramatic cliff-hanging end…one that will make you await my next post with an eagerness beyond the desolate corners, wilderness areas, unexplored regions, secluded hideaways and uncharted realms. Wait. Just now, at the finish, I noticed a Post-It attached to the edge of my laptop. It’s a note to myself, scribbled during the night. A prompt to help me make my point. It simply reads:

Don’t say gay

What was DeSantis thinking when he made that statement? If I say that, can I be arrested?

It boggles the mind. It is without a doubt beyond doubt and veritably factually…stupid.