The Lucky 13: Week Ten: Ghosts, Haunted Houses and Psychic Phenomena

Folks, I can't say I know this to be actual fact, but if I had to venture a guess, I'd say that the paranormal--i.e. ghosts--probably makes up the oldest of all horror sub-genres, going all the way back to horror's origins in literature and folklore. Fear is based primarily on what we don't understand and don't know, and so that one great unknowable, death and what comes after, has provided us with some of the most primal sources of pure terror.

The paranormal has been fodder for so many classics. Who doesn't love a good ghost story, after all? There's something about them that feels like the very essence of what horror is all about at its core. And so it's with great pride that both Brutal as Hell and The Vault of Horror bring you our favorite films tackling this otherwordly subject matter...

B-Sol on The Shining

Stanley Kubrick's cinematic jewel is a work of absolute genius from top to bottom. This is a film so rich in texture and flawless in execution that I find it a rewarding experience to watch every single time. More than a horror movie, this film is a work of art.

It's brilliantly shot, thanks in part to cinematographer John Alcott, who had previously worked with Kubrick on A Clockwork Orange and Barry Lyndon (and, incidentally, shot Terror Train right after this). With a sense of light and color that achieves a level of perfection few films ever do. The scene with Jack and Grady in the men's room is a thing of beauty, that can be watched with the sound off and you still wouldn't be able to take your eyes off it. Its a classic example of the Kubrick style.

The imagery is pure Kubrick, presenting the viewer with visuals that stay in the brain long after the movie is over. The barely glimpsed shot of the hacked-up Grady twins; the old lady in the bathtub; that creepy dude in the bear suit--this is surreal, nightmarish horror at its very best.



Cinema Suicide's Bryan White on The Sentinel

Haunted house movies aren't what they used to be. Pardon me while I play the grumpy old man here, but Hollywood and the contemporary audience don't seem to have the time anymore for a deliberately paced ghost story anymore. Everyone wants to see the apparitions right off the bat. They want special effects and lots of them. These days you couldn't possibly get away with making a movie like The Sentinel. It's a movie that takes too long to get to the stuff that people identify as scary, and that's too bad because The Sentinel is freakin' terrifying!

Christina Raines plays a fashion model on the edge who takes up residence in a Brooklyn townhouse. If she wasn't already on the edge of collapse from a crazy work schedule, her neighbors are a bunch of weirdos and when she mentions them to the real estate agent who hooked her up with the place, the woman insists that the only other occupant of the building is an ancient priest who spends his days and nights sitting in the window at the top of the building. I'm tempted to spoil the whole plot here but therein lies the fun. The revelation as to why it's called The Sentinel is fantastic, and what an ending!

The Sentinel, for some reason, is a horror movie that lives below the boards. The '70s was full of horror that capitalized on the Catholic fear generated by The Exorcist. For some reason, everyone in America seemed spooked by the threat of evil spirits and it took Hollywood no time to capitalize on this trend. For this reason, a lot of the movies to follow in the wake of The Exorcist seem like exploitation movies, and The Sentinel was victim to this generalization. It has an absolutely killer cast, with Burgess Meredith playing the ring leader of a band of completely deranged New Yorkers. You also get a quick dose of Christopher Walken in an early role, if he's your bag.

The Sentinel zeroes in on the sort of abstract horror that tends to get under my skin. People behave strangely, as if it's the most normal thing in the world and that I'm the weird one for being the outsider to their strange games. There are also a couple of great jump scares, which no haunted house movie should be without. It owes a lot to H.P. Lovecraft's short story, The Music of Erich Zann, which is a favorite of mine. Haunted house movies aren't supposed to be the sort of thing that repels you with explicit imagery, it's all about implication and only the best haunted house horrors do this right. Chief among them is The Sentinel.



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Only three weeks to go in The Lucky 13! I'd like to thank my contributors, who have thus far helped make this little endeavor what it is--your efforts are greatly appreciated. Now head over to Brutal as Hell to see what Marc Patterson and his crew have come up with. And if you're interested in taking part in the future, just give Marc or myself a holler.

Week 1: Grindhouse & Exploitation
Week 2: Creature Features & Monster Movies
Week 3: Demons, Witches & The Devil
Week 4: Gore!
Week 5: Horror Comedies
Week 6: Vampires
Week 7: Psychological Horror
Week 8: Werewolves
Week 9: Serial Killers

Join us next week, when we finally hit upon that one sub-genre so many of you have been waiting for. That's right, it's zombie time!

Zombelina Reviews The Uninvited (1944)...

Want more Zombelina? Check out her kid's lit. review blog,
Book Town...

TRAILER TRASH: Ghosts Edition!

* Special thanks to Zombelina for this week's Trailer Trash theme!

Retro Review: The House by the Cemetery

"Anne? Mommy says you're not dead... Is that true?"

Let me make this perfectly clear. I LOVE Lucio Fulci. Not everyone does. This is an argument that can never be won one way or another. Some love him, some hate him. Over the years, he's become one of my all-time favorite horror directors. It's been said that his films resemble nothing so much as "fever dreams" or nightmares, and I find this to be very true. Especially in a film like this, which may very well be my favorite of his.

Only Zombi 2 equals The House by the Cemetery among Fulci's body of work, in my opinion, and it is my personal favorite amongst his revered "Lovecraftian" trilogy. It may be because it's the most conventional, linear and plot-oriented of the three, I don't know. I just get a major kick out of seeing Fulci take on the tried-and-true haunted house subgenre, and adding his gore-soaked fingerprint to it. As I've written before, this is his take-off on The Shining.

First off, the thing that grabs me is what may be the finest of all the scores for Fulci's films, and that's saying quite a bit. This one comes not from Fabio Frizzi, Fulci's usual collaborator, but rather Walter Rizzati.

The lovely Catriona MacColl returns yet again in this final installment of the trilogy, playing Lucy Boyle, wife of Dr. Norman Boyle, and mother of young Bob (odd name for a little boy, no?) Just as in the other two films (City of the Living Dead and The Beyond), MacColl is something of an anchor for the film, with her excellent performance conveying so much of the horror.

And what a monster we have in Dr. Freudstein (great name!!), the bizarre, ghoulish undead denizen of the Boyle's creepy-as-hell basement. A deranged scientist who has somehow managed to prolong his life indefinitely by consuming the blood of the living, he is a truly dread-inspiring creation. We experience all the terror and slowly building panic of the Boyle family, and little Bob in particular, as we learn the truth of what evil resides in this new home they are trying to settle into.

Despite this being supposedly the most linear of the trilogy, it certainly has its fair share of surreal Fulci-ness. There's the prolonged scene in the kitchen with the vampire bat. The freaky housekeeper mopping up blood, and not even being questioned by her employer as to how the blood got there. And that ending, which makes about as much sense as any of the other endings to Fulci's films. But I think what most people misunderstand about Fulci is that these are not signs of poor filmmaking--rather, this was Fulci's exact intention, to throw you off your guard and create this not-quite-right version of reality.

As with any Fulci flick, the gore is here on full display. Few brought the grue like Senior Fulci, and this movie is no exception: necks spouting blood, maggot-filled wounds, throats ripped out, and the usual eye trauma is all here for you weirdos to enjoy. And for some reason, I care more about the victims this time around than in most of Fulci's other movies, which makes it all the more difficult to sit through.

I'm always a sucker for a horror flick that puts children in peril--this will always elicit a visceral terror response from me. And in this respect, The House by the Cemetery pushes all the right buttons. Although reviled by some Fulci fans, little Giovanni Frezza in the role of Bob is the perfect cherubic target for the demonic horrors of Freudstein, and he does well portraying a child for whom the irrational fears of nearly every child are actually real.

I will say this with regards to Bob, and this goes for the entire movie--at least the American print. Unfortunately, to my knowledge, there is no American version in Italian with English subtitles, which would've been my preference. And so, the only version I've seen is the one dubbed in English. More specifically, dubbed very badly into English. So bad, that it does occasionally take something away from the film, particularly in the case of the grown woman they chose to record Frezza's lines. I really wish this wasn't the way I experienced the film, but even through the bad dubbing, the movie's excellence shines through. I urge you to be patient with this one major flaw.

One of the most underrated of the films of Lucio Fulci, The House by the Cemetery is well worth discovering for any fan of haunted house films, gore flicks, or Italian horror.

* Thanks once again to the lovely Marilyn Merlot for this week's Retro Review suggestion!

The Real Ghostbusters... No, Not the Cartoon. The Actual Real Ghostbusters...

[As promised, this evening I bring you something just a little different for the Vault. It's a report from a real-life Ghost Hunter. In this case, the person in question is my old high school buddy Jay Stroming, who now has one of the coolest side gigs in the world. I'll let him explain...]

Ok, first, a quick disclaimer: this blog entry will not be about the horror genre. But it will definitely be related. You see, I’m a ghost hunter. Like those guys on TV (sorry, hard not to make a “Ghostbusters” joke here). If you’ve ever seen “Ghost Hunters” on the SyFy Channel, or any of the other similar shows on other networks, then you know what I do, in a nutshell. Brian is an old friend of mine going back to high school days, and I was honored that he asked me to do a post on my ghost hunting activities for The Vault of Horror. The impetus for his invitation was a recent investigation we conducted at a fire house here on Staten Island, New York, just two weeks ago.

I’ve been with EPIC, the Eastern Paranormal Investigation Center, for a little over three years now, and in fact, I am one of the co-founders, with Arthur Matos. In that time we’ve added two additional members, James Bricks and Laura Pennace, who in addition to investigating, do a tremendous job at historical research, which is key to our group’s philosophy. We’re a very scientifically-minded group, meaning we don’t rely on psychics or mediums, but rather sophisticated electronic equipment, such as infra-red cameras, EMF meters, motion sensors, and so on. We are out to find recordable evidence of the paranormal, whether it be video, audio, readings captured on meters, or ideally, a combination of those things.

In these three years, we’ve investigated a number of locations, mostly residential homes, but we do get the occasional business or high-profile client who wants us to come in and validate what they may be experiencing. About a month ago, we were contacted by Richmond Engine Company No. 1, a volunteer fire house servicing historic Richmond Town and the surrounding areas, here on Staten Island. While we’ve been lucky to never have had to doubt the sincerity of any of our clients in the past, claims of the paranormal seem to carry extra weight when coming from cops or firefighters. These are pragmatic problem-solvers and rescuers who need to deal with tangible facts and deal with life or death decisions on a day to day basis. They are not usually the types to get scared by things that go bump in the night.

The firefighters at Engine Company No. 1, whose names have been withheld for perhaps obvious reasons, were very sincere in their claims of the paranormal. It is a volunteer house, with all the firefighters living nearby and on-call around the clock. They don’t all reside there, as in a traditional fire house, but there are many nights where one or more of them will spend the night. The house itself was built in 1905, in response to public outcry after a girl was killed in a fire because none of the other houses could respond quickly enough. Nobody is known to have died in the building, and only one firefighter in the house’s history has died on the job, and that was out on a call, not in the building itself. Still, firefighters here reported hearing lots of footsteps coming from upstairs when nobody else is in the building; voices being heard; doors being slammed or banged; feelings of being watched; and a dark, shadowy apparition that appears at the top of the stairs.

We conducted our investigation on July 24th, 2009. The investigation began with some quick interviews with the firefighters stationed at the house, followed by a tour of the building. It consisted of a large garage area, which housed the fire truck, a kitchen, and a conference room area with a small restroom and some closets. The second floor contained the stairway, a small hallway, and then the living quarters, which was essentially a large room with a dining room table, some couches and a recliner, a number of display cases with pictures and vintage equipment, and a TV. We then set up our equipment and prepared for a long evening of investigating. We usually set up a safe room, which is a room where we can monitor our equipment, and it is usually the room with the least amount of paranormal activity. In this case we used the conference room.

Throughout an investigation, we rotate in teams of two, with two team members investigating a room, and the other two back in the safe room monitoring the equipment. We conduct EMF sweeps, to see what the Electro-Magnetic Field readings of the room are, to get a baseline. We take lots of pictures, both digital and 35mm. We always have a camcorder running, to document our investigation for later review. And we conduct EVP sessions (electronic voice phenomenon), where we ask questions to the supposed entity in the location, and reviewing our audio recorders later to see if we captured any voices. Investigations generally run from 6-8 hours, starting our recorders at 9 or 10, and running until 3 or 4am. Once we’re done, we break down the equipment and go home. Evidence review can take up to two weeks. If we set up 8 video cameras, and run each one for 8 hours, that’s a total of 48 hours of video to look through. Not to mention hours and hours of audio to listen to.

For this investigation, we focused mainly on the upstairs living quarters and the stairway, as that’s where the bulk of the activity was reported. During the course of investigations, we sometimes have what we call personal experiences. These are things we can’t document, such as if we see something but a camera is not focused on it at the time. During this investigation, we didn’t really have any personal experiences. We did have a brief period of the feeling of being watched in the upstairs quarters, but it didn’t last. The room definitely had a spooky vibe at first, but it didn’t last. Again, it’s only a personal feeling, so we don’t consider it as evidence. Psychological or parapsychological, who knows? One of our EMF meters was reacting a bit strangely during our EVP session, almost as if in response to some of our questions, and we can’t explain why it did this. As I write this, there is perhaps an hour or two left of evidence that we need to review, but so far, we have found nothing out of the ordinary.

Many times when we think of ghosts and hauntings, we think of horror movies, and Hollywood special effects. “Poltergeist,” “The Exorcist,” and other movies like that tend to portray the paranormal in what I call the “all Hell breaking lose” way. Nothing is really subtle. Voices are loud. Big, heavy objects move on their own. Apparitions appear at will, scaring people left and right. The ghosts are powerful and in control and terrifying. In real life, ghost hunting is not that spectacular. Most times, we spend the entire night sitting in a dark room, sitting still and being quiet. Heaters or air conditioning units are turned off, so it’s often uncomfortable. We drink lots of coffee and eat lots of candy to stay awake. We don’t have proton packs, and we don’t need them. Usually, the most interesting things are found during evidence review, and even then, you are talking about perhaps hearing a spoken word, maybe two, that you can’t account for, in 12 or 16 hours of audio you must listen to, or a single odd light that doesn’t belong and only lasts for 3 seconds, in 48 hours of video review.

We don’t get paid a dime to do any of this, and in fact we spend lots of our own money in order to be able to do this. So it’s not like the movies, even though I love “Poltergeist” and “The Exorcist” and “The Haunting” (the original, not the awful Liam Neeson version). But it’s still a lot of fun, and when we do catch that little piece of evidence that we can’t find a rational explanation for, it’s as thrilling as any of the best horror movies you’ll ever see. A full report on our investigation will be up shortly on our website, www.epicparanormal.com

Retro Review: House on Haunted Hill (1959)

"Do you remember the fun we had when you poisoned me?"

From time to time here in the Vault, I've advocated for the importance of "having fun" with horror movies. Very often in our post-modern age, horror can become a dreary affair brimming with overly earnest angst aimed squarely at angry 20-something males whose sense of irony has been surgically removed. That's all well and good, but I also need a steady diet of fun, brainless, silly horror movies. Especially if they still manage to serve up some tasty frights along the way. And the original House on Haunted Hill is just such a picture.

Take William Castle, head schlock-meister of the Atomic Age, and add Vincent Price, the finest horror ham to ever intone a baritone cackle, and you have this rollercoaster ride of a movie. This is Price in his heyday as the king of the macabre, playing the role of Frederick Loren, a mysterious figure who offers $10,000 to a group of hapless individuals if they can stay the night in the titular house, a place dripping with the menace of past misdeeds. Is it really haunted? Or is it all part of Loren's mad scheme?

Along with one of the finest horror movie posters ever produced, this film benefits from never removing its tongue from its cheek. We are not meant to take it all very seriously, but rather, as with most Castle productions, we are supposed to have one hell of a hoot with it. Ideally, I imagine this would best be achieved watching it on the big screen--which, sad to say, I've never had the opportunity to do. Hopefully one day...

Carol Ohmart--who would also star a decade later in the cult classic Spider Baby--appears here alongside Price as Loren's bitter wife Annabelle. These two have some of the most delicious dialogue in the film, including a priceless (sorry) exchange that includes the unforgettable line at the top of this post. Robb White, who also wrote the scripts for Castle classics The Tingler and 13 Ghosts, is to be commended for a sharp and witty screenplay that greatly adds to the camp value.

Yes, much of the effects are cheesy--with the floating skeleton being particularly notorious in the annals of horror movie history. But I defy anyone to tell me that they didn't lose ten years of their life when that crazy old crone pops up behind the girl. You know the scene I'm talking about... For my money, the mother of all jump scares!

There is no doubt that this was one of the most influential fright flicks of its era. It raked in a ton of cash, and helped reinvigorate the more gothic-flavored horror film after a decade of giant-radioactive-monster movies. It's even been said that this was the movie that inspired Alfred Hitchcock to make his first bona fide horror movie--Psycho.

As I've said, this is Vincent Price perfectly hitting his stride as the master of on-screen creepiness. It had been some years since House of Wax put him on the map, and his collaborations with Castle would later lead to a legendary partnership with Roger Corman in the 1960s. To see him thoroughly relishing his role in Haunted Hill--as he always seemed to do--is to see a true legend at work. It's easy to see why this was the time frame in which he became the go-to guy for studios looking to class up their horror pictures.

The first of Castle's horror efforts, House on Haunted Hill was also arguably his best (with the obvious exception of Rosemary's Baby, which he only produced and did not direct). Grab it, get some friends together, nuke up some popcorn, and get ready to thrill, giggle and shudder. William Castle perfected the concept of horror-movie-as-funhouse, and this one is the greatest example.

Retro Review: The Changeling

Much has been made on here of movies like The Return of the Living Dead and The Exorcist, which played big parts in making me a horror fan. But I don't think I've done enough justice to this picture, and I'm about to remedy that. The Changeling was, without a doubt, one of the most soul-numbingly terrifying movies of my entire childhood, and it has stayed with me ever since.

For my money, this flick ranks right up there with the likes of The Uninvited and The Haunting as one of the truly classic ghost movies. With amazing restraint--as all the best ghost movies demonstrate--The Changeling proves that when it comes to haunted terrors, less is always more.

The great George C. Scott, one of my favorite actors of all time, plays composer John Russell, who takes refuge in an old Victorian mansion after his family is tragically killed in a car accident. While there, he comes into unwitting contact with the spirit of a murdered child, who reaches out to him to try and solve the mystery of his death.

It goes without saying that Scott is magnificent. This man was truly an acting Goliath, and the world is a lesser place without him. As Russell, he puts forth just the right combination of pathos, fear and outrage to really make his character work. We're with him the whole way, experiencing every terror that he does, in every detail.

Director Peter Medak is known more for his work in television, but still, what a formidable TV resume it is: Space 1999, the '80s Twilight Zone, Shelly Duvall's Faerie Tale Theatre (the best!), Beauty and the Beast, Tales from the Crypt, Kindred: The Embraced, The Wire, Carnivale, Masters of Horror. He also did the underrated early Gary Oldman flick, Romeo Is Bleeding. Plus, the script for The Changeling is by William Gray, screenwriter of the original Prom Night!

There is some imagery in the movie that has remained with me for the nearly three decades since I first saw it. That may be simply because I was so young, but I tend to think this movie would've affected profoundly no matter my age. The empty wheelchair; the ball bouncing down the stairs; and most mind-scarringly of all, that repeated shot of the little boy's face underwater in the bathtub. Talk about Kindertrauma! I can't tell you how deeply that messed me up as a kid--phobia of baths ever since!

The greatest thing about The Changeling is that it manages to get under your skin without a single drop of blood, no real special effects to speak of, no over-the-top gimmickry. I'm not saying I have anything against these things--actually, I love them all. But it's also nice to experience a horror movie that doesn't necessarily have to rely on all that for scares. It's a welcome change of pace. What can I tell you, I'll always be a sucker for a good ol' fashioned gothic tale...

It should be mentioned also that the great old-time actor Melvyn Douglas appears in this, in one of his last roles. Douglas starred in The Old Dark House (yeah, he's that old), The Vampire Bat, Ernst Lubitsch's Ninotchka with Greta Garbo, Hud and so many others. The man was a bona fide Hollywood legend, and incidentally, his last role would come one year later in another terrific ghost movie, the aptly titled Ghost Story. If you haven't seen his Oscar-winning performance in Being There with Peter Sellers, treat yourself immediately. The man is gold.

But make no mistake, this is George C. Scott's movie. This guy is such a gem, and I've always worshiped him for performances in movies like Anatomy of a Murder, The Exorcist III, The Hindenburg, and of course his transcendent turn in Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove as the war-mongering Gen. Buck Turgidson. But, it goes without saying, that for me, he'll always be best identified with the real-life general he played in his greatest role ever, George S. Patton. Scott doesn't quite get to flex his chops as much in The Changeling as in some of these other flicks, but it's interesting to see him in a more subdued part anyway.

The Changeling is one of those excellent horror movies that doesn't usually get the level of attention it deserves. So I'm saying it right here and now--do yourself a favor and rent it if you have never seen it. And if you have, rent it again. Either way, you're guaranteed two hours of sublime spookiness.

New Ghost Flick Generating Buzz at Tribeca

New York's Tribeca Film Festival is once again in full swing, and just like last year, when Let the Right One In floored everyone and took home the top prize, it looks once again like a horror film is set to make big waves.

This time around, that film would be The Eclipse, written and directed by Irish playwright Conor McPherson, and starring Ciaran Hinds (who kicks various assortments of ass in the enviable role of Julius Caesar on HBO's impeccable series Rome). Reuters is reporting that a slew of distribution execs turned out Friday for the world premiere, with companies such as Magnolia, Roadside and the ever-reliable Liongate circling the picture for a possible shot at distributing it in the States.

The creepy tale of a widower in an Irish seaside village who develops a relationship with a visiting horror novelist while being haunted by supernatural entities, The Eclipse also stars Aidan Quinn, and is being seen as a movie with potential "word-of-mouth-hit" written all over it. If The Eclipse does indeed get signed, it would be the first Tribeca offering to land a major American distribution deal since Transamerica did so in 2005.

So you heard it here first, folks. The Vault championed [Rec] in 2007 and Let the Right One In in 2008. Might The Eclipse become my pet project for '09??

The Haunting in Connecticut, Indeed

The current owners of the home in Southington, Connecticut which inspired this weekend's upcoming film The Haunting in Connecticut are reporting that curious fans are invading their privacy, according to a story today in Newsday.

The house, which was once a funeral parlor (!), was rumored to be haunted as a result of the bizarre experiences of the family that lived there some 20 years ago. And just as then, loiterers are once again showing up to get a gander at the place. And the movie hasn't even opened yet!

Naturally, the current owners insist their house isn't haunted, and local police have added extra patrols to the neighborhood to keep potential trespassers away. I was just watching the making-of documentary on the Texas Chainsaw Massacre special edition DVD set, and Gunnar Hansen mentioned that the first time he realized the movie was going to be a big deal was when curious teenagers started showing up at the house from the movie. Hmmm....

House Explodes in Amityville

No, not that house. That would've been awesome (provided the house was empty, of course), but still, I couldn't help but take note of Newsday's report last Monday of a home mere blocks away from it that was blown to bits by a gas leak. Wonder if it was anything like the end of Amityville 3-D?

Plus, I'll take any excuse to publish that photo to the right. Awesome, isn't it? Better than the movie, I'd say.

Anyway, in case you're concerned, the family that lived there smelled the gas and was able to phone 911 and escape shortly before the house exploded. And if you're wondering how close to the infamous Defeo residence the house is, here you go:



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The Uninvited and Its Great Symphonic Theme

I'm taking advantage of a rare opportunity today, and trying out something a little bit different. As some of you know, horror is not my only bag, baby--and, in fact, I have another blog entitled Standard of the Day, which celebrates the classic pop tunes of the Great American Songbook.

Predictably, there isn't too much of an overlap between these two areas. Especially not in recent decades, when the music of horror films has been of a decidedly different nature. However, one shining point of intersection is the superb 1944 Lewis Allen movie The Haunting, starring Ray Milland, Ruth Hussey and Gail Russell.

Possibly cinema's second-best ghost story--behind only the original The Haunting (1963)--The Uninvited is a classic haunted house movie, generating a unique mood of eerie melancholy that it's able to sustain from beginning to end. Unlike The Haunting, which opts for outright terror, The Uninvited has a sad, dreamlike quality to it that links it to some of the film noir pictures of the same period.

One of the devices used by Allen to create this mood is the film's theme song, "Stella By Starlight". In the movie, it's composed by Milland's character Roderick Fitzgerald, who plays it for Russell's Stella Meredith. It's quite literally a haunting tune that becomes much more than a leitmotif. Rather, it builds to become the driving thematic force of the entire film.

During the 1930s-1950s, it was extremely common for pop songs to be specifically written for movies, and then marketed off the movie's success and vice versa. Kind of a proto-cross marketing technique. Yet it wasn't common at all for this to be done with a horror movie. In fact, to my knowledge The Uninvited represents the only time this was done, at least successfully.

In reality, the song was composed by popular orchestra leader Victor Young. Although it has no lyrics in the movie, the decision was made to give it lyrics on paper, so that artists would be more apt to record it and make a hit out of it. Young's collaborator Ned Washington was brought in to do the honors (the duo had previously worked together on "My Foolish Heart"--which, not so coincidentally, can also briefly be heard in The Uninvited.)

Over the years, "Stella By Starlight" has gained so much prominence as an American pop standard that it has almost completely lost its association with the film from which it originated. In fact, it may even be better known--a possibility sadly supported by the fact that The Uninvited has yet to be released on DVD.

The Uninvited possesses something few horror films of recent decades do--beauty. It is a truly beautiful film, and its theme is suitably beautiful as well. This is why, although at first it may seem odd that a horror movie would feature a timeless American standard as its theme song, after viewing the film, you understand. Of course, unless you have it on VHS, you'll have to wait for it on Turner Classic Movies in order to do that...

For more on "Stella By Starlight", check out Standard of the Day.

Fright House: Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough

You can feel Lydia Roberson's strong enthusiasm for the genre the moment you start reading her debut short story collection, Fright House. The first story, "Crawl", reads like a cross between Edgar Allen Poe and David Cronenberg, and is among the best in the collection. Nevertheless, it is plagued by the problems that persist throughout Fright House, rendering it in the end an unsatisfying and often frustrating read.

A work like this shows us the issues inherent in the phenomenon of self-publication. On the one hand, we have a work by an author with obvious affection for and dedication to what she's writing about--there is passion in these pages. But on the other hand, we also have a collection of tales held together by a flimsy concept that's never fully explored, either on an individual or group level. Plus, the constant barrage of spelling, grammatical and syntax errors is more than any reader should reasonably be expected to get through--Fright House screams out for your blood, but screams even louder for an editor.

The overarching theme that ties Fright House together is the trope of the haunted house. Each of the unusually short pieces explore the effects of these houses on their unfortunate inhabitants. There are some interesting ideas here--the ghost of a spurned lover who trades places with his beloved in "Pay Me Back"; the bizarre personification of death in "The Drummer". Unfortunately, Roberson seems to be more an idea person than anything else--though strong in places, much of the writing reads like something from a college creative writing class.

Alas, this brings me back to the whole self-publication thing. Am I holding Fright House to unnecessarily high standards? I don't think so. If one is putting one's book out there with other books from legit publishing houses, there's no reason it shouldn't be judged by the same literary standards. And despite the zeal and creative approach Roberson takes, the finished product just doesn't hold up.

This Old Haunted House

Taking a little break from speaking about horror fiction, I would like to talk a little about horror fact. Don’t hold this against me, but I used to live in a haunted house. “A haunted house?” you say? Yeah, a haunted house. Two story, full basement, fully attached, single bath, on 77th Street in Brooklyn. For 19 years.

How is this possible, you say? I don’t know. I don’t really believe in the supernatural [though I do not affirmatively deny it, either]. But the house was haunted, and you don’t have to take my word for it. You can ask just about anyone who ever lived there, or even anyone who ever spent a little time there.

Like I said, it is a pretty nondescript house. In fact, the only thing that can really give any credence whatsoever to this series of vignettes is that fact that the house is rather old for our part of Brooklyn, built sometimes during World War I, and probably before America’s entry into it in 1917.

When I was a kid, my mother’s parents lived there, and we moved in when I was 4. I don’t recall really any strange experiences when I was that young, or any stories, but I didn’t like the basement. The stories would come later, which would only confirm events that I was around for. In the spirit of full disclosure, I never actually SAW anything. But my sister and my parents both did. My experiences with the haunted aspect were just amorphous feelings, instincts, hackles.

See, this house, which I loved dearly, and had many great times in, was the seat of my family’s warmth and love. But, for whatever reason, the shadows in certain corners were darker, more inky, than in other places. And there were certain parts which just didn’t feel right – a closet in a bedroom, corners in the basement – and at times it seemed like there were places light didn’t, couldn’t, or wouldn’t, penetrate.

Like I said, I never affirmatively experienced anything. But I can remember being in the basement [which was always disorderly, chock full of stuff in random stacks] as a child, either playing with electric trains set up down there [it was the only area big enough], or looting though the vast, moldering library for many hours at a time, amusing myself with finds from the magical to the titillating. And at first, when I would turn on the lights, and the shadows would flee, I would be fine, and I would set to doing what I planned. And sometimes, after an uneventful while, I would feel something. I would feel it on the nape of my neck, or the base of my spine. And the little hairs would rise. And suddenly I realized that beyond the light lay the shadows in the corners. And then I didn’t feel so safe and secure, and when the opportune moment would arise, I would bolt back up the rickety stairs to the safety of the upper floors.

Then there would be other times, when I was old enough to be home alone [I guess around 12 or so], and I would come home from school, and my sister and brothers were at the sitter’s house, and I would, as just about every kid would do, watch TV. I would start watching at 3:30pm, watching GI Joe, the Transformers, Voltron, and maybe some other half hour long commercials. As the hours crept by, the house would get progressively darker, the shadows slinking ever closer. But me, being in front of the boob-tube, would seldom notice until maybe I was thirsty for more Sunny Delite. As I would turn to get up, it would dawn upon me that the house was, aside from the pale TV glow, entirely dark. And I mean COMPLETELY dark. And that is when I would feel like I was on display, out in the open. I cannot say I felt any overt malevolence, but it was certainly no attention I wanted. Again, instinct would take over and I would freeze until I could summon the will to move, and when I moved it was with the speed I could muster, and I would bolt to the nearest and brightest light I could. Once that light was on, I would then systematically turn on all the lights in the common areas of the house, and again breathe a sigh of relief, for once again I was delivered.

Okay, you're thinking: “Alright, this guy says he lived in a haunted house, and all he is telling us is he is a little wussy who was afraid of the dark.” But I said I never saw anything. However, when I was about 13, and my sister was about 8, and my whole family was home one weekend evening, my sister out of nowhere begins to scream bloody murder. She was upstairs in the bathroom, my mother preparing the usual Saturday feast, and my Dad and I in the living room, probably watching some type of sports. My father and I run up to see what’s wrong, and she related the following: she was taking care of business in the usual fashion when a silhouetted face appeared in the window of the bathroom door [there was an old style, fogged window on the upper third of the door], and the handle began to rattle. She realized it was too tall to be any of us, and thought there was an intruder, so she began to scream at a volume and pitch only achievable by 8 year old girls, and as she did so, the face disappeared.

My Dad and I [mostly my Dad, I was only 13], checked the upstairs, and nothing was amiss or out of place. My sister was not one to make such stories up, and she was clearly shaken from the event. That night we had my aunts [my Mom’s sisters] coming for dinner, and we told them about this strange story, and how silly my little sister was for scaring herself.

Instead of sharing in the laugh, they both looked at each other, and then at my Mom, and with knowing smirks, they each began to tell tales of when they were girls it the house, and of strange goings on, etc. One story they told me was of meeting an old lady after Church, named Mrs. Loughlin. Mrs. Loughlin and her husband lived in the house before my grandparents and sold them the house. Mrs. Loughlin, according to my aunts, told them that one day, years after her husband had died she walked into the bathroom to see him standing there shaving, only to disappear after he turned around to look at her. She then told of a boy, in his teenage years, who had lived there before her, and had died tragically while riding the train to a school dance, and was said to still inhabit the walls. This was the first time I realized that I lived in a haunted house.

Time passed, and the house remained in its usual state – shadows darker than usual, corners that remained uninviting, yet we were all living happily within. My parents had two more kids. While I still never saw anything, I would mark how objects would occasionally disappear, and reappear later in unexplained fashions. In fact, I named this effect “Fred” and joked with friends that Fred lived in the basement.

Then one summer evening before I went away to college, I came home late from hanging out with the guys. My parents had had company for dinner that night, and were still awake talking after the company had left. As I come in my father calls me over to the dining room, saying they has something to tell me, which turned out to be the definitive ghost story from 77th Street.

The story went as follows: after the usual large Saturday night feast of steaks and all the sides, and after the company left and the boys [then 8 and 5 years old, respectively] were put to bed, Mom and Dad stayed up, talking over a glass of wine. Both my sister and I went out. At one point, when all was quiet, they hear a snuffling, a whimpering, of a child, and cautious footsteps one at a time coming down the stairs. My Mom said she called out to the footsteps, thinking it was one of my brothers upset at something, maybe not feeling well, or had had a nightmare. When she called the footsteps stopped. My father told me he called out next, this time using their names, but there was no response. At this point they both realized something was amiss, and my Dad got up and started towards the stairs. He then told me that as he approached the stairs he heard the footsteps go up, one at a time but quickly, and as he got the foot of the stairs, he saw a shadow turning the corner of the landing. He went up the stairs, and there found both my brothers both sound asleep, wrapped tightly up in their blankets. They had never gotten out of bed.

It was clear they both were disturbed by this tale, though also somewhat exhilarated, in that they felt that they were privy to something truly mysterious and otherworldly, or at the very least, weird. They asked what I thought, and I didn’t have a good answer for them.

Years later, the year I graduated college, our family moved out to a new house. My Dad and I spent many hours cleaning out the various corners of the 77th Street house, including the most forbidding of corner and closets. It was in more ways than one a cathartic activity. The next Spring, while we were waiting to sell the old house on 77th, I was using the all but empty house as a study hall for me and my study group from graduate school. We were there daily, and we even made up keys for them in case they had to get in and I wasn’t there. During our finals that Spring I was going to meet my fellow students one day, and for whatever reason I arrived a few minutes after they did. I found them both sitting on the front stoop, with the front door open, and the both of them wide-eyed and ashen faced. I asked what was wrong, and Pat said that he didn’t know what was up, but they both had no idea what was going on. I turned to Cheech, and he said that they were sitting there, talking about the day’s study itinerary, when there was a flash of light from nowhere, and a set of bongos that Pat [a Deadhead] had brought over on another day began to play by themselves. At that these two fully grown men, in the middle of broad daylight, ran out of the house in fear. I am not making this up.

At that point I was constrained to explain the history of my soon to be former house, and after that it took a little reassuring to get them back inside. I had to say it was a little creepy, but nobody ever got hurt. After a little while, we reconvened our study group, but they were never able to just let the random sound of the house settling go without a furtive glance.

I swear to you, gentle readers, that the events as set forth above are 100% true, and that I only changed some names for the sake of privacy in these electronic days.