Autumn Haunts
September 6, 2026 • No Comments
The weather is hinting at the spooky season. It’s not the cold, although long sleeves and fleece are making their way from the back of the closet. Nor is it the dark—at least not completely. It’s the mood, sweet and mellow as the scent of leather-bound books. It’s the mist on spider webs and the call of geese at sunset. This season unfolds old memories like a paper fan.
My thoughts turn to new creative projects in the fall. Perhaps it is the golden-syrup light, or the sense of turning inward. This is the time of quiet reflection, not the intoxication of riotous bloom. It is the time to hunt ghosts.
A half-remembered idea took me to the older parts of town, where the past seeps through the soot-stained bricks. Words spoken a hundred years gone linger just beyond hearing. A story hides there, around the corner. A shadow of what was, or what it wanted to be if it could choose again.
If I pursue, it will vanish. One can’t chase these haunts with the enthusiasm of a toddler scattering chickens. These autumn shades must be coaxed with offerings of stillness. They evade possession like feral cats among the fallen leaves. The only avenue is patient communion, lingering among books and in coffee houses and courting a certain eloquent mood.
There the story may visit. If I am lucky, I will come away with a voice, an image, or an emotional thumb print to build on. The first warp on the loom. Gently, gently, it must be captured. One unwanted distraction and it dissolves back into the autumn dusk.
If the hunt goes well, a thread is caught—the idea, the whisper, the gift the ghost can offer. It will demand a new weaving, a manifestation built from fresh imagination. That was the blood bargain made in the moment the past touched the living. Once summoned, the haunt is in pursuit of you.
Dead Mice Tell No Tales, or, the Supernatural Cat
July 12, 2026 • No Comments
I recently browsed through a book that celebrated the relationship between felines and literature. Many famous writers enjoyed whiskered companions—Hemingway, for instance—and I personally agree that furry company makes the long hours of word-wrangling more pleasant.
Likewise, cats feature in the history of painting and music. Perhaps it is because of their sleek beauty and unmatched grace. Or perhaps it is because they are touched by a sense of the uncanny. The magical. I would go so far as to say supernatural, for how else can a tiny kitten barf hairballs with the prowess of a demon from The Exorcist?
Cats are the customary companion to witches, mostly because witches have a warm hearth, interesting leftovers (yummy eye of newt, anyone?), and the kind of free-wheeling lifestyle that doesn’t include vets or rules about scratching furniture. Witches aren’t bothered by a fey sprite of a pussycat prancing on the rooftop and yowling with spine-shuddering volume at 3:00 am. Or, maybe they are but the cat doesn’t care.
The feline’s reputation as a familiar comes from their ability to mediate between the realms of the living and the dead. This can be seen in the most domesticated of the species, who stare at empty corners with luminous, lamp-like eyes. They see what we don’t. They also walk between worlds, disappearing and reappearing at random moments, typically where they’re not supposed to be. They judge us and the ghosts equally.
The same applies to those who become companions to the undead. Most assume vampires do not keep pets, but a feline’s predatory and nocturnal nature makes them good companions. Besides, a creature with nine lives pairs better with an immortal, who appreciates the more enduring bond.
Cats are indifferent to the histrionic highs and lows of the vampire lifestyle. Their disgust is unmatched when the vampire (like a child licking the icing off a cupcake) takes the juicy bits of its prey and leaves the rest. Cats enjoy the silk and velvet lining of the coffins—just another box to sit in—while they deplore the undeads’ lack of a warm lap. No sense of supernatural dread ever ruffles their fur. Despising all two-legged pretenders, cats consider themselves the best hunter in the room and will occasionally bring their vampire a mouse treat to prove it.
Felines are nowhere as enthusiastic about shifters. Any creature who would voluntarily assume human shape is suspect at best. Werewolves are far better off sharing a bowl of kibble with their doggy companions while watching the game. As for selkies, merfolk, and such watery individuals, no cat will deign to consider that much damp.
JingleVamp: Special Order Hero
December 26, 2019 • No Comments
In answer to the age-old question, authors DO have their sources for characters. I get mine through mail order.
I’ve owned the Dark Hero, Vampire Edition 3.2, for a few years now. He came in a box, all minty fresh with that new hero gleam in his eye. Of course there were limitations. Dark wash only. Do not leave in direct sunlight. I had to get a separate unit, the Djinn Slave 4.0, for household use. However, I have to say I have been a fully satisfied customer.
Of course, all equipment subjected to heavy use eventually needs replacement—and believe me, the 3.2 saw a lot of action since he came out of the carton. He’s held up well, but his cape is getting a bit threadbare and the poor dear gets stuck in the brood cycle more often than is good for him. I’ve had to call the manufacturer’s help desk to unlock the “furrowed brow” setting three times now. So, when I was browsing through the catalogue to see if their new line of minotaur was available yet, my attention was caught by a coupon offer for the JingleVamp Special Edition.
I confess, the notion of a vampire with a “ho, ho, ho” plug-in was vaguely disturbing. I wasn’t sure about the reindeer antlers, either, but I figured what the heck. It would make a change from the usual sort of holiday decoration. So, I placed an order.
The thing I didn’t realize was that, unlike the full-priced Dark Heroes, JingleVamp came unassembled and that the instructions were in the non-language universal to children’s toys and cheap furniture. Soon my living room floor was covered in an explosion of sardonic laughs, sultry glances, and sparkly white fangs as I unpacked and sorted and tried to make sense of the diagrams. Fortunately, there was more information enclosed in a separate envelope:
Hello, and welcome to your new JingleVamp! Here are a few pointers to make sure you fully enjoy your new purchase:
- Note JingleVamp must be rebooted when changing “naughty” and “nice” settings.
- When recharging, do not plug JingleVamp into the same circuit as your Christmas tree. Spontaneous carolling may result, overriding your Dark Hero’s patented Sinister Velvet® laugh cycle.
- Exercise caution when using JingleVamp near pine boughs, holly sprigs, pine trees, or other pointy wooden objects.
- JingleVamp may consume eggnog while set to “party animal.” Caution: Glassware recommended. Paper cartons will leak if bitten.
- Do not engage JingleVamp in reindeer games without permission of local wildlife authorities.
- Your JingleVamp will not pull a sleigh, no matter how nicely you ask.
- Note that Dark Hero units cannot be set to “shopping” mode prior to noon, December 24. “Wrap” mode defaults to intermittent setting. “Write cards” mode is automatically disabled. Contact manufacturer for override instructions.
- Shopping list plug-in sold separately. Unit is supplied with only “black negligee” and “toaster” options.
- If you wish to disassemble unit, use stake provided.
Thank you for purchasing the JingleVamp Special Edition! We hope you enjoy your new Dark Hero’s version of Christmas Cheer.
Merry Fangmas to All!