Body Talk

To kickoff the Halloween Season, here is a story about Sydney and Tamara and how their first Halloween together began:

 Indiana Medical History Museum

“You couldn’t have wished for more in body” Sydney Poor was telling the other ghost about his corpse as they sat out in the corridor waiting for their autopsies to be finished.

The other ghost was a woman named Tamara and she told Sydney, “ Well I could have. I would have asked to be taller and blond and impervious to speeding cars. So do you know what…” she  shook her head “ sorry, what’s your name again?”

“ Sydney.”

“ Sydney. Sydney I could have asked for more. In fact, this time I’m going in with a laundry list of things I want this time around.”

“ I’m not sure you can not do that.”

“I don’t care what you’re supposed to do. Do you know why? Because not only did I get hit by a car, it rammed me into another car and it nearly cut me in half. I didn’t die right away. Also the woman who hit me drove off and I’m willing to bet you dollars to donuts that someone driving an expensive car like hers will ever find herself in a court room explaining her actions of October 3oth 2009. So as you can imagine I’m feeling a bit wronged here.”

“ She might.”

“ She might what Sydney?”

 “ Get caught.”

Tamara rolled her eyes up and slouched down in her seat.

“ I wonder how long this really takes.” She mumbled.

“ Well. Until they’re finished I suppose.” Sydney said.

“ So what happened to you?” Tamara asked Sydney.

“ Well. I’m a little embarrassed to say…”

Tamara straightened up in her chair and leaned over to Sydney and said “ Go on, your  secret is safe with me. Dead men tell no tales you know.”

“ But you’re a woman.”

“ Oh come on. Tell me.”

“ My neighbors -this man and woman. Well. They thought….that I was…well …”

“ A what?” Tamara said suspiciously as she leaned away from Sydney.

“ They thought I was a Vampire.”

Tamara’s mouth fell opened.

“ They snuck into my house, dragged me down into my basement and drove a stake through my heart. Then they stuffed my mouth full of garlic and cut my head off.”

“ Oh wow Sydney. Oh wow.”

Sydney’s face was turning bright red.

“ Oh wow. That was a freaking weird death.”

“ Yes” Sydney agreed “ yes it was.”

“Still.  What a way to go.”

“ I’ll say. But Tamara a vampire? How could anyone mistake me for a vampire?”

Tamara shrugged. “ I don’t know Sydney. People are funny things if you ask me.”

Tamara hopped out of her chair and went to the doors and waited. When they whispered open she told Sydney. “ Sydney. Come take a look. They’re right in the middle of  working on you. You have to see this- a woman is pulling the garlic out of your mouth with her fingers. I must say, that doesn’t seem very hygienic to me.”

“ That’s my dead body you’re cracking wise over you know.”

Tamara snorted and then she focused on what was going on in the autopsy room.

“ Sydney get over here, I’m stuck to the inside of the body bag.” Tamara laughed.

“ You’ve got a very odd sense of humor Tamara.”

He got up and when he got to the door Tamara grabbed his arm and dragged him into the autopsy room.

“ I really hate these places Tamara.”

“ Don’t we all.” Tamara said as she dragged Sydney up to the table her body was laying on.

“My word you are mess.” Sydney said.

“ Yeah.” Tamara said with a tinge of pride in her voice.

“ I mean it. A mess. You look like you melted. Wait. What’s that on your head… are those scars?”

“ Bullet wounds.”

“ You’ve been shot?

“ Yep. Good thing for me the people who did that were lousy shots otherwise you’d be sitting here all by your lonesome.”

“ And what about those marks on your hands?”

“ Knife wounds.”

And before he could ask she said, “ I caught on fire  a couple of times.”

“ You’ve led a very interesting life Tamara.”

She didn’t answer.

“ So. How long until …”

Tamara didn’t answer. She was trying not to laugh and failed.

“They thought you were a vampire.” Tamara grabbed her stomach as she doubled over laughing. “ What city were you living in? Stupidville? “

“ And that woman who hit you and drove off what town did she come from? “ Sydney asked

“ Very funny Sydney. The woman who hit me  was a cold hearted wretch.  I got in her way and smoosh here I am. I was no more then a dog to her. “

“ Well. At least you weren’t mistaken for a vampire in your final moments…speaking of- how much longer do you suppose.”

“ It’s a full moon tonight, this is going to go pretty fast. So tell me do we keep the old models  or snag ourselves some new ones?” she asked pointing to the room where the bodies were wrapped in plastic and neatly stacked on shelves.

“ Well. I can tell you this much. I never want to be mistaken for a vampire again.”

“ Oh come on Syd, I’m sure there are a lot of vampires who have been mistaken for Werewolves before and I’m willing to bet they aren’t as bent out of shape about it as you are.”

Sydney looked over to the autopsy tables and then through the doorway.

“ Once we take possession, they’ll be fine- on the other hand- you know we could get some new digs. What do you think?” Tamara asked.

 “ As far as bodies go, like I said before, was a good one. It used to belong to a writer. His name was Bancho Church”

“ Hey. I read his stuff. He was cool. I didn’t know he, you know moved on.”

“ Yes, well he did.” Sydney looked down and cleared his throat. “ Sort of.”

Tamara watched her body being washed and then it was bagged and someone took it to the backroom.

“ Cheer up Sydney, it’s Halloween, there’s a full moon and the night is young.”

Sydney’s body went through next and Tamara followed it “ Come one Syd, if we shake a leg I’ll bet we could get a little Trick or Treating in.”

“ You don’t…” he said.

“ Yeah. I shift and knock on doors. I swear last year I scored about five pounds of candy and got my picture taken about a thousand times. Imagine that, people  have a picture of real …

“ Mental  case.” Sydney interrupted her “ Okay after what we’ve been through we could use some fun. It’s a date let’s go.”

Tamara  said “ Yeah. It’s a date. Happy Halloween Syd.  And just so you know, I’ve ruined lives  of those who stood between me and Choco-Bursts.”

Sydney waited for Tamara to laugh and when she did not, he did it for her.

And she let him.

glow pumpkin

From The Collection of A.M. Moscoso

Halloween Writing Challenge #1

During the month of October, we at Danse Macabre have created special treats to be served  for to enjoy at your leisure.

Three Words.

One Picture.

 

What do you see?

A story? A poem? A memory from Halloween Past or Present?

Use the words, twist the words, dress them up and make them yours

Pingback here and let us know how it went.

We’re dying to see what you’ve created!

 

Attic

Crunch.

Spiders.

Hope you find this one to be tasty!

 

 

 

The Quiet Lady

When I was little, my Grandfather told me that Spirits-especially the bad ones don’t have feet.

I have no idea why that is so because they have hands

( all the better to grab you with )

And they have legs

(all the better to chase you with )

And they have ears

( all the better to hear your rapid heartbeat with )

Still, that little factoid about feet has stayed with me.

I guess it’s no surprise then that this painting by Vilhelm Hammershøi is one of my favorites.

The lady is dressed in black, her back is turned towards us and there are no hard lines in the picture so it’s like a dark fog came together and just to ask us- what is she doing there and what is in her hands? It just occurred to me that maybe you  don’t want to know, well I do. But I’m speaking for myself here.

So this is why I love this painting:  if you look down you can’t see her feet and her shadow is creeping out from under the table towards you- which is funny because she’s not facing a window.

So many words coming from inside of painting, something that has no mouth, or a tongue- but you know, I’m thinking and I am pretty sure that

it does have teeth.

 

amm

If You Know Where To Look

You can find the Devil

if

you know where to look:

Sydney Curnow Vosper 1908

( Click the smaller picture to read an article about how to see

the devil in the woman’s shawl )

Interesting fact- the artist said there is no Devil in the shawl- but he did paint the ghostly, if not devilish face  looking in through the window over the woman’s shoulder.

By design or not, I think this is a great example about how stories and art

take on a life of their own.

Of course if that life is odd and macabre and a little wicked- well, it does not get much better then that, does it?

amm

Empty

Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it conscientiously.

Pascal

She was an explorer, a photographer a sometimes writer with no one in her life to notice if she never showed up after a day or a week or a month or ever again.

It had never occurred to her that this was a bad thing. That’s how she found these empty and abandoned. towns or maybe they found her, these concrete, brick and wooden corpses of dead little cities sitting alongside highways that tried to make their way to the outside world and tragically failed.

She was out on that Sunday looking for something to write about or maybe something to take pictures of for her library when she ended up on this particular road that simply ended and miles and miles of sand and nowhere stretched out in front of it.

Huddled there on the side of the Highway were the faded remains of a fast food stand that sold chicken in a basket and milkshakes – as promised by the weather worn giant plastic chicken in a blue and white basket perched precariously on the red tin roof.

There was the skeleton of a building across the street from the Chicken Stand that may have been a general store with a stack of empty shelves that served as it’s last remaining wall and a closed sign hanging from an empty socket where a window used to be.

Next to the all but dead store was a gas station with a faded blue horse painted on it’s side and a soda pop cooler with a missing door and an ice machine decorated with light blue snowflakes with it’s door chained shut

She slowed down and wondered about that chained ice machine- the chain was as rusted and worn as everything around it, but the lock was new. She wondered if anyone noticed it. If anyone had noticed it and just didn’t care enough to ask what it was they were looking at.

She stopped her Jeep and slowly backed up until she was right in front of the machine.

And it’s locked doors.

She shut her engine off. She unlatched her seatbelt and raised her hips off the seat and fished a scrunchie from her back pocket and tied her long dark hair back into a pony tail.

Her walk to the Ice Machine and it’s locked doors was a slow one. She looked up into the sky and she whistled. She wondered how far it was to the next rest stop. She wondered if it was almost lunch time because she was getting hungry.

When she got to the Ice Machine and it’s rusted lock she reached into her back pocket and took out a ring of little keys. She flipped through them and stopped at one with a little red dot and fit it into the lock.

It clicked and as it did she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun and smiled.

She unhitched the lock and opened the door- just a little. Just enough to let a little light inside and just enough room for her to place her eye right up against the little opening so that she could get a peek inside.

Satisfied she carefully closed the door and locked it again.

Because, we can ask ourselves, who on earth chains ice machine doors shut in abandoned towns on forgotten highways where nobody goes?

An explorer, a photographer a sometimes writer with no one in her life to notice if she never showed up after a day or a week or a month or ever again.

That’s who.

The Swim Reaper

The Grim Reaper:
Artist: José Guadalupe Posada

Myths and horror stories are written about him

songs are written about him

we dress up like him for Halloween.

Times have changed and now The Grim Reaper is, in a twist, saving instead of collecting  lives in New Zealand.

The Grim One is now know as the Swim Reaper and he is warning people that if  you play dumb- you’re done and he off you go with our friend in black.

These are modern times, so it works out that the Swim Reaper is now an Instagram star and you can catch him in a more casual

setting instead of the more formal ones we see in art galleries and cemeteries.

I’ve always believed that a good story will grow legs and run on it’s own. It’s the reality of what happens when we write stories or music- some of these interpretations fall short of the original and some go beyond.

The Grim Reaper has been the Grim Reaper has been a fixture in many cultures to many people for a very long time.

That may have changed a bit in this case, and that is not such a bad thing.