The above quotes belong to none other than William Shakespeare and Edgar Allan Poe. Don’t they make a haunting compilation - interesting dinner guest you’d invite to the table on All Hallows Eve? This time of year is fertile ground for a host of dead poets and authors to frighten one’s muse out of hiding.
Do you hear the chalkboard on nails screeching at the window, making the hair curl on the back of your neck and sending a chill up your spine like a Latino ghoul dancing a salsa? I do, shrill, bone deep enough for even my deaf ears. My candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye. (Mary Shelley)
Ah, but why take up company with the dead. Dead is dead. Besides they can always be dug up for a macabre dance or a séance. Why not visit with other dreadful (ghoul inspiring) writers of the uncanny and destitute or just plain horrifying? The living versions of course, although truly…frightening personas in their own rights. How do you come about such an invite? I’ll be glad to twist your spine and help decapitate all remaining brain cells of sanity…by sending you here --> The Coffin Hop. A place where you’ll find the likes of Anthony J. Rapino, Milo James Fowler, Aaron Polson - danse macabre friends of my muse, among others.
Oh, alright already, I’ll tell you what the Coffin Hop is, since apparently I twisted your spinal column a little (just a tad) too hard and cut off a few synapses. To be frank, you get a chance to visit multiple horror writers October 24-31st for a thrill fest of a time. Some I’ve heard are even offering up a few treats in place of tricks. To be honest, I would prefer a trick that would freeze a scream in my throat, but that’s me. No, no, there will be nothing from yours truly. I prefer to wait and skin myself alive down to pulsing vein and muscle sometime in the future. *Sly grin* You had no idea? Oh, you poor soul. It’s always the most innocent one you need to watch out for.
“I could not help feeling that they were evil things - mountains of madness whose farther slopes looked out over some accursed ultimate abyss.” H.P. Lovecraft (Still visiting with the old ones, go on already breathe new life into the fresh bait).