AN IMPRINT IN TIME: Kevin G. Bufton

When I agreed to pen this guest post for Wendy, I had no idea what the topic was going to be. I made my pitch, showed her the sort of stuff I write, and waited for her to come back to me with a yes or no. She said “yes.” Then she said, “Do you believe in the paranormal or the supernatural?”

See, this is why you should always set the parameters before you offer to write a column. It’s a reasonable question to ask a guy like me, especially at this time of year. After all, I’m a writer – a horror writer, no less – and my work is filled with vampires and zombies, ghosts and ghouls, and things that go bump in the night. If you had to make a wild stab in the dark you’d probably guess that I was all about the paranormal.

And you’d be wrong.

The idea of the paranormal just doesn’t sit well with me. As far as I’m concerned, we have our time on this planet, and we’d best make the most of it, because once it’s gone, that’s it – we’re worm food, baby! No heaven, no hell, no reincarnation and definitely no wandering the earth in ghostly torment.

I’m an atheist. That means there is no afterlife, and that’s a very comforting thought for me. Certainly, it’s more comforting than the alternative – that there is some all powerful being, with the attention span and wilfully destructive personality of a five-year old kid strung out on an overdose of Halloween treats, judging me for my actions. Or, worse, that when I die, I’m going to walk the Earth, my spirit occasionally breaking through to some middle aged medium (well, probably a large, to be honest) to tell my loved ones where I buried the bodies money.

Think about that, for just one minute.

The tradition of the ghost story is a long and noble one, predicated on the fact that a regular guy or gal is being haunted by some ineffable being from another plane of reality; the soul of a long departed human being, doomed to trudge around somewhere he called home for the rest of eternity. In the stories, it’s always the living who are scared, by these encounters, but what of the ghost? If we are to believe that these are spirits, with an intelligence and a sentience to call their own, then surely theirs is the worst form of torment?

They are eternally trapped, without form or function. On the rare occasions that they manage to make contact – to reach out to another human being, for the first time in decades – all of a sudden they are treated like the bad guy. Hated and despised, and with no way to argue their case, ever since Waddington’s stopped mass producing ouija boards.

So, yeah, the idea of an afterlife is an affront to me.

That said, I have no problem in believing in the existence of ghosts – I just don’t think that they are trapped souls. Rather, I take the view that they are a recording of sorts; an imprint of someone or something, trapped in the fabric of their own surroundings. So many ghost sightings are tremendously dull, and remarkably repetitive. They always seem to involve the ghost doing the same thing, over and over, regular as clockwork – rather a dull way to spend an infinity, I’ve always thought. It makes perfect sense to me that a particular set of physical conditions can result in the shadow of a person being left behind in the atmosphere, absorbed into the wood or the stone of the place that they spent the majority of their life.

I have my own tale of this sort of thing. As well as my thoughts on the paranormal, Wendy asked me about the time in my life that I was most scared, and the two intersect very neatly. I’ve had a few scares in my life, mostly for perfectly rational reasons – I once slipped down between two massive bales of hay in my nan’s farm, and thought I was going to suffocate before my brother came and pulled me out, for instance – but I’m guessing that’s not the sort of scary moment that Wendy had in mind, this close to All Hallow’s Eve.

My great grandmother died at the ripe old age of ninety, blind and bedridden. She was a wonderful woman, and I used to love sitting next to her on the couch, holding her hand and listening to her talk. Sometimes, I’m not even sure if she knew I was there, or whether she knew who I was if she did, but that didn’t matter. I would cradle her wrinkled hands, with skin as thin as tissue paper, and just listen. Towards the end, she was confined to her bedroom, as she could no longer even make the journey downstairs, but that’s not how I choose to remember her.

I forget how old I was when she died, but I think about ten or eleven. She lived with my nan in an old farmhouse, just outside Chester. The house itself could be creepy at times, with its plethora of rooms, most of which were unoccupied, and twisting corridors and stairwells, in which a young lad could easily become lost. I remember we were visiting my nan, not long after my gran’s death, and I was wandering aimlessly around the house, for some reason or another. I passed the room that my gran had slept and died in, and I heard a distinct moan. This wasn’t the moan of a ghostly apparition, but the moan of my gran, as she lay in bed, her mind hazy and her body aching with the weight of years. The door was slightly ajar and I wanted to go in, to see what had made that noise, but I couldn’t draw up the nerve to do so. I didn’t need to. I knew what that sound was – it was Gran – I’d heard that same moan a dozen times or more, when she had still been alive.

I was eleven years old and a bright young thing, so I’m not saying it couldn’t have been my imagination playing tricks on me. What I am saying is that at the time, I knew that sound. It was real, a noise coming from a real throat, not from some trick of memory. I’d be prepared to swear that in any court in the land. To this day, I wonder what I might have seen if I’d have opened that door, or what else I might have heard if I’d have waited outside a little longer, but I didn’t. The door was open a crack or two and, even at that young age, I wasn’t fool enough to be tricked towards a part-opened door, no matter what might lie behind it.

I ran downstairs, and I think I got told off by my dad for running around the house like an elephant, but I didn’t care.

To this day, it remains my one and only brush with the paranormal – however you define the term – but once was enough.

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OCTOBER 29th GIVEAWAY: 

UPDATE: OCTOBER 29TH GIVEAWAY IS OFFICIALLY OVER!! CONGRATS TO OUR SIX WINNERS!!!  

Today We are giving away SIX ECOPIES of the awesomely terrifying SIX OF THE BEST: A HELLISH HALF-DOZEN. 

To win, simply visit the HALLOWEENPALOOZA OFFICIAL EVENT FACEBOOK PAGE and find today's post announcing this blog/giveaway. Comment in that post that "I WANT TO WIN." If you're one of the first six to do so, you've got A Hellish Half-Dozen thrills coming your way.  

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SIX OF THE BEST: A HELLISH HALF-DOZEN 

A baby's cry in the middle of the night...a family torn apart by a deadly force of nature...dark and ancient rites, performed in the dead of winter. Six of the Best: A Hellish Half-Dozen is the stunning debut collection from horror writer Kevin G. Bufton. Walk with him, through the twisted corridors of his mind, as he leads you into the dark places, where no soul is safe, nobody can be trusted, and nothing is as it seems. Within these pages, you will discover six tales of exquisite horror that will redefine the meaning of terror for you. "Kevin G. Bufton manages to evoke a sense of horror nostalgia and startling originality at the same time. Reader, read on. These six tales are worth your time." - Nathan Robinson, Snakebite Horror

THE WEEPING WOMAN: Susan J. McLeod

On top of a hill in North London sits one of the most famous —and haunted—of all the world’s cemeteries. Highgate was dedicated in 1839 and soon became the most fashionable place for High Society to be interred. The Victorians had quite a fascination with death, and it shows in this Gothic graveyard. There are numerous elaborate tombs and monuments, including the well-known Circle of Lebanon and the Egyptian Avenue. These exclusive sections are accessible and very popular with tourists. But large parts of the 37 acres are practically a wilderness, where the paths and markers are slowly being swallowed by Mother Nature. It’s a sanctuary for the living as well as the dead, with animals, birds, insects and wildflowers thriving. But what else thrives in Highgate?

There are many reports of ghosts being seen there and the cemetery has been the focal point of countless paranormal investigations. Ley lines are said to run through the grounds, intensifying psychic activity. The most notorious phantom is the Highgate Vampire, a tall, dark figure who appears and then vanishes, sometimes right through a gate or a wall. Animal carcasses drained of blood and even headless bodies were once found. No wonder the place has been referenced so much in literature, and used as a backdrop for British horror films, such as Tales from the Crypt. I can’t tell you if the rumors and legends surrounding Highgate are all true. But I can tell you what happened to my sister there.

Karen has lived in London for over twenty-five years. In the early 1990’s she was a resident of nearby Hampstead and led tours through the cemetery. She often went walking in there to learn all that she could. One day she and her friend Tina were on the Egyptian Avenue. This has two obelisks, one on each side, and then an imposing archway flanked by lotus blossom columns. You pass beneath it into a row of family vaults.

The two women had always felt comfortable here before, but that morning something oppressive was in the air. Karen had the odd sensation of someone following right behind them. She kept glancing over her shoulder, but the path was empty. Suddenly she heard the sound of a marching band. They were playing a funeral dirge. Startled, she opened her mouth to speak, and at the exact same time the words came out of her friend’s mouth: “What is that?”

They stared at each other nervously. The music was too loud to be coming from anywhere but within the cemetery itself. There were no burials scheduled and besides, marching bands weren’t in style anymore.

As quickly as it had started, the song stopped. But it didn’t leave silence. It was followed by a heartbroken sobbing. Karen and Tina turned slowly around, and froze.

A woman was standing not six feet behind them. She was dressed head to toe in black, with a wide hooped skirt and a heavy veil covering her face. Her head was bent, and an overwhelming feeling of sadness came over my sister and her friend. Before they could even think what to do, the woman vanished. She didn’t walk away‒she just disappeared.

To this very day, both Karen and Tina remain convinced that what they saw was a picture from the past‒a slice of time from a Victorian funeral. They’ve never had another paranormal experience in the cemetery, and no one else has reported seeing this apparition. So I suppose they could have imagined it. Who can say what really happens in Highgate?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Susan J McLeod was born in Rochester, New York, on October 22, 1957. She began writing at a very early age, when she discovered that she could invent worlds that were much more fun than the one she lived in. Worlds where candy grew on trees and rivers of chocolate milk flowed. Where adventures were always waiting to happen and no one had to go to school.

Over the years, Susan visited ancient Rome, medieval England, and resided for a long spell on a starship orbiting Orion. A recent stay in Pharaonic Egypt resulted in her romantic suspense novel Soul and Shadow, which won a silver medal in the 2011 Reader's Favorites contest. It has been published by Imajin Books. Fire and Shadow, the second story in the Lily Evans series, was released in October 2012.
Susan also writes short stories and poetry, and has won awards in both mediums.
She works for a non-profit family foundation that supports Zara's Center, a haven for AIDS impacted orphans.

U2 sums up her philosophy in life when Bono sings "We're one, but we're not the same/we get to carry each other, carry each other."

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OCTOBER 28th GIVEAWAY: 

UPDATE: TODAY'S GIVEAWAY IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED! CONGRATULATIONS TO THE THREE WINNERS!! 

Today's giveaway is THREE PRINT COPIES of the talented Susan J. McLeod's FIRE AND SHADOW! It's the second in her Lily Evans Mystery Series and is a perfect read for this time of year -- or any other time! It's part mystery, part suspense and all good! All I can say is that you're in for a real treat!

To win a copy, all you have go to HALLOWEENPALOOZA'S OFFICIAL FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE and find today's post that announces the October 28th post and giveaway! Comment in that post "I WANT TO WIN"! If you're one of the first three to do that, you will win a copy of this awesome thriller! 

Good luck and may Michael Myers never cross your path!!! 

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FIRE AND SHADOW

When the dead need to speak, she must listen…

Artist and Egyptologist Lily Evans struggles with her newly discovered psychic talents, while trying to get her life back to normal now that her mother is in a mental institution and the man Lily loves is far away in England. But "normal" is the last thing she finds.

When her best friend Katy takes her to a Celtic Faire, Lily meets a druid fortune-teller, who warns her that she can “never escape the Other.” Frightened and angry, Lily ignores his dire warning and stumbles across an eerie old portrait of a beautiful woman, who has something to tell her.

With the help of the enigmatic druid and his gifted friends, Lily embarks on a dangerous journey to unravel the mysteries of the portrait, the tarot card reader, an ancient book and whispers of witchcraft. She must discover the truth behind them all…or risk losing her very soul.

 

A PEEK THROUGH A VEIL: Larisa Walk

They say only a thin veil separates us from the paranormal realm. I didn't really believe that until Loughcrew.

We were traveling in Ireland in 2009, visiting prehistoric sites.  Some were easy to find: a tour bus full of retirees could take you to the site's doorstep.  To get to others you had to walk through a grassy field with sheep manure landmines, because they are on a farmer's land.  Still others, like Loughcrew in County Meath, required some endurance and dedication to reach them, since they are located on steep hills with rain-slicked paths, brittle heather ground cover and boggy peat.

We chose the Cairn T of the Loughcrew passage tombs to visit.  We weren't exactly in shape for mountain climbs, but we decided on mind-over-flabby-muscles and after much near-asthmatic wheezing and huffing we made it to the top of the hill.  Only to find out that the passage tomb of Cairn T had its entrance blocked with a metal bar gate, secured by a lock.

We could still see inside the passage tomb with its massive upright boulders and the inner chamber shrouded in cool shadows and decorated with mysterious prehistoric carvings that remind of a celestial or astral map.  That in itself inspired awe, though we wished we knew beforehand that a key was available if you asked the nice ladies in a coffee shop down the hill.

While my husband walked around the site, I continued to gaze inside the tomb.  An urge to put my hands on the stones that formed the entrance and to close my eyes came upon me from nowhere.  A vision formed in my mind, bright and immediate: A funeral of someone important.  Warriors in animal skin tunics and leggings standing in two rows, facing each other as they formed a corridor that led to the entrance of this very tomb.  Each warrior holds a half-disk made of copper in his hands.  Four more warriors carry a wooden stretcher lined with fresh spruce bows.  On the stretcher lies a dead bearded man dressed in finely decorated clothes.  The sun glints sharply from the copper half-disks, illuminating the bearded man's final passage.

In my heart I knew this to be a true vision, especially since I had never read any literature about Celtic burials before, so it couldn't have been inspired by a book.  I thanked the spirits that found me worthy of such a gift, a peek through the veil of mystery and time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

Larisa Walk writes paranormal and historical fiction and lives with her husband and two cats in California. Her books can be found on amazon.com: A Handful of Earth, historical fantasy: http://tinyurl.com/8yghfs9 ;  A Witch Without Magic, paranormal adventure: http://tinyurl.com/9mdcbc6

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OCTOBER 23rd GIVEAWAY:

UPDATE: GIVEAWAY OFFICIALLY CLOSED! CONGRATS TO THE FIVE WINNERS! 

Today's giveaway is FIVE ECOPIES of Larisa Walk's A WITCH WITHOUT MAGIC. It's a little bit of mystery, spells, cranky neighbors and a whole lot of charm! 

To win, simply click on the link to HALLOWEENPALOOZA'S OFFICIAL FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE. Find the October 23rd post announcing today's blog and giveaway and comment "I WANT TO WIN". If you're one of the first five to do so, you win! 

So stop munching the Halloween candy and get to clicking! The prize awaits and these go fast! 

Good luck! 

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A WITCH WITHOUT MAGIC

When her neighbors accuse Belladonna of Satanism and making them age years to days, she must find who is behind it or face a modern day witch hunt. Her mysterious enemy knows where to strike to cause the most damage: Belladonna's only friend is losing his life-force; the garden that feeds her is dying; and her house ghost goes poltergeist. To save her neighbors and friends and prove her innocence, she must travel to the Otherworld where butterflies have razor wings and where her worst fears will come to life.