A tale of the macabre that jars a loving memory loose

The Blasi family gets spooked by a lurid tale told by Ira Glassman on National Public Radio's "This American Life."

Where there is no imagination there is no horror.

~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

AUBURN — A spooky story told over a radio is more terrifying than a slice-and-dice movie on the big screen.

Don’t believe me!

Orson Welles' broadcast of H.G. Wells’ "War of the Worlds,” which is a tale of a Martian invasion on Earth, drove the residents of New Jersey mad with fear on Oct. 30, 1938.

Listen to a story of the macabre over the radio and your mind wanders when an adept narrator scares the living crap out of you. Weird and horrifying images pop into to your mind when you hear about two kids who were nearly kidnapped by a bunch of psychos near a cemetery — or the guy who used foxhole humor to describe his working environment in a morgue. The narrator cracked jokes about mangled corpses and organs kept in glass jars. 

I couldn’t stop laughing.

TV just doesn’t cut it when it makes a sorry attempt to frighten us with ridiculous images of a guy with chain saw dissecting another human being. It’s all fake or worse — computer generated crap.

The mind is a scary place to be when tales of terror are spun over the radio. There are more horrible thoughts or weird incidents stored in a human mind than can be recreated on television. Real-life horror stories abound in the deep recesses of our fragile brain.

The three of us gathered around the dinner table as dark skies gave way to a warm sun on a quiet, chilly, autumn Sunday afternoon.

I tuned into WBUR, Boston’s National Public Radio station, on my Mac. I love radio, and my MacBook Air offers dozens of radio stations. I really hate TV where pathetic reality shows or 24-hour news stations like FOX, which features unfair and unbalanced reporting about all the crazies from the Republican Party, permeate the air waves.

We got lucky and found Ira Glassman, the host of NPR’s “This American Life,” airing a bunch of old horror stores. After all, the devil’s night is upon us — Halloween — which is a bunch of bull, but Beelzebub's favorite holiday gives retailers a chance to fatten their wallets.

I don’t believe in ghosts, and when you die, you are dead as door nail, to quote Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” You are not coming back to haunt a house or scare some poor bastard in a cemetery. You are worm food unless you decide to be cremated.

We sat like the “The Waltons” as we listened to one horror story after another, but instead of an old Philco radio, we listened to a computer. I wonder what Johnboy would think?

The first story was about a woman who was attacked by a rabid raccoon outside her home, and her nightmares when she tried to get treatment for rabies.

But the next vignette of horror was a story I heard before with my 10-year-old son in 2006.

Ten years ago, Anthony and I sat on the bed to listen to Glassman’s tales of horror. The story was about two brothers who hitched a ride with people who resembled members of “The Adams Family.” All I could think about a group of drugged-out, disfigured, dastardly people in the front seat.

It is a true story

As the two boys traveled with the occupants of the car, they began to realize these adults were up to no good and they wanted out. The boys plotted their escape and bailed out of a running car as as those crazies drove up and down a cemetery in the dead of the night looking for their escaped prey.

My son would leave the room as this tale of an abduction grew more terrifying by the minute. The boys in the car opened the door and leaped out and ran for their lives. They raced to a house lit up in the distance where somebody was having a keg party. The car and its ghoulish occupants followed in hot pursuit through the graveyard.

When they got to the home, partygoers heard the boys’ story and saw the spooky car off in the distance in the cemetery. A few brave souls from the party tried to get the car’s license number before the ghouls disappeared into the darkness.

Anthony is now a 19-year-old college freshman who sat at the table to hear the entire story. He was amused and no longer afraid.

But what is more frightening to me than this lurid tale of abduction was where did nine wonderful years with my son go.

Now that’s terrifying to parents who adore their son.

It's beginning to look like insanity

Our tree, outdoor lights and Anthony and Terri make three.

“The best Christmas of all is the presence of a happy family all wrapped up with one another.”

- author unknown

AUBURN, Maine — The warning signs began appearing just before Halloween.

I didn't notice the first few clues of impending mayhem as I meandered around the aisles. But there they were there, right in front of my face.I figured all that madness was still a month and a half away.

When Halloween passed, that's when all hell broke loose!

Perhaps it was in the dead of night and under the cover of darkness when retailers gave the order to remove all Halloween decorations and replace them with trinkets of good cheer.

Thanksgiving was about to take a back seat to the craziest holiday of all — Christmas.

After all, Christmas was ONLY 55 days away, and there was not a moment to lose when battering consumers with good cheer. Thanks to greed, commercialism and capitalism run amok, the most wonderful time of year has become an orgy of spending.

For nearly 60 days, blatant reminders are in your face 24-7. It always begins with a just few aisles featuring Christmas decorations before all department stores reach Defcon 5, which is a level of commercial readiness that would keep the U.S. Marines on their toes. Stores go right to work ambushing customers with deals on toys, clothes and appliances.

Thanksgiving has become the gateway holiday to the most ludicrous day of all — Black Friday — a day that usually lives in infamy. Stuffed and groggy consumers rise early and venture into the night to shove aside or mace their fellow man to muscle their way in line to buy a flat-screen TV. Christmas cheer turns into jeers as herds of shoppers wait in the cold for the doors to open. They can act like lunatics during a shopping frenzy that would make any serial killer turn around and walk out the door.

The push-and-shove conflict erupts in departments stores across the U.S. and garners nationwide TV coverage. For me, it is one of those "who gives a damn" stories that dominates the news cycle for 24 hours. And it gives network cheerleaders an excuse to report that the nation has clawed its way out of this endless depression. Of course, we all know that is not true.

But all this shopping hijinks is a pleasant distraction from a planet in peril and the bunch of fools who screwed up Congress.

I avoid all stores at all costs on this particular day. I would be a no-show even if stores were giving away their products. The last thing I want to do after stuffing my face with turkey is get up at 3 a.m. and have a throw-down with ravenous consumers in the middle of a congested mall.

Black Friday is also TV's and radio's cue to begin working over consumers with 30 days of Christmas music and specials that make me want to take my chances with the Ghost of Christmas future. I search the radio dial in vain to find a rock-and-roll song. Eric Clapton's "I feel free" works for me.

But I do not subscribe to Scrooge's warped thinking. He was one SOB before three ghosts took the old man out for walk and scared the living crap out of him.

There is a beautiful tree taking up most of my parlor and outdoor Christmas lights illuminating cold winter nights. So I won't need a visit from Jacob Marley to convince me about the importance of this holiday.

For me, Christmas is a celebration of family and an opportunity share some time with those who are still here. All the hoopla surrounding this holiday is like the trimmings on a Christmas tree. For many Americans who are unemployed or lost loved ones, this is not the most wonderful time of year. There are empty seats at the dinner table, and many of us are celebrating the holiday with a skimpy dinner that Bob Cratchit would find impossible to enjoy.

All this good cheer and hope lasts a mere 30 days, and then we all jump back into the rat race. We quickly pack away decorations and throw out the tree, acting like nothing ever happened.

But I can't help wondering why we all can't keep this frame of mind throughout the year. Why only 30 days? How about making it a full 365 for the greater good? Why does all this goodwill toward men suddenly disappear?

Dickens had it right when he wrote: "and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!"

And oh by the way — Merry Christmas.