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.

The little town (Salem) of horrors, and a monster storm makes Halloween a real horror show

This is scary stuff. 

Don't look now, Terri, but something wicked comes your way.

Anthony makes is way through the throng of visitors to Salem, Mass.

Old headstones from the 1700s line Old Burying Point Cemetery in Salem, Mass.

Checking out an above-ground crypt in Salem.

SALEM, Mass. — A young man pretended to fall dead on a crowded sidewalk. A woman stepped out of a parked car and rushed over to draw a chalk outline around the body.

Pedestrians laughed as they maneuvered around the victim, who abruptly stood up, jumped into a car and drove off with a giggling woman, leaving the outline of the body intact.

Sounds strange? Not in this city of the damned.

Welcome to Salem — a community that dresses up each Halloween to proudly tout its infamous past. For the entire month of October, Salem goes out of its way to give visitors the creeps. 

You might just call it the Mardi Gras of the East. 

Who needs ghosts and or the undead when the living dress in strange costumes and parade through the narrow streets of a city where 19 men and women were accused and convicted of witchcraft and later hung at Gallows Hill in the 1690s.

Last Saturday, the three of us decided to join the rest of the trick-or-treaters to roam these haunted streets for a third tour of Salem.

It never gets old, and it is always a bizarre experience.

I used to work with this poor soul.

We were aware that Hurricane Sandy was closing in on the Eastern seaboard, but that didn't deter us from our visit even though the monstrous storm was right on our heels when we returned to Maine

My wife and son enjoy Salem's macabre atmosphere. They are always keeping an eye out for orbs and their ears open for hair-raising screams and that occasional bump in the night.

According to paranormal enthusiasts, there are  plenty of wandering ghosts who apparently won't let go of their former lives in a city where religious malevolence triggered hysteria and the persecution of its citizens, many of whom met their deaths at the end of the hangman's rope or died in prison.

Our first stop

Burying Point Cemetery is usually our first destination. For some visitors, above-ground crypts and old headstones give this cemetery a gloomy feeling.

There are some famous chaps buried in this ancient place. According to graveaddiction.com: "One of the most famous people buried in the cemetery is Justice John Hathorne, the great-great-grandfather of writer Nathaniel Hawthorne. John Hathorne was a judge during the witch trials, and he had a bad reputation. Nathaniel Hawthorne was so ashamed of his ancestor's role in the trials that he added a "w" in his name to make it different."

I am sure Burying Point takes on a new look and feel in the dark, but that could be said of all graveyards, especially ones with a mysterious past.

So much to do

If you need a respite from the macabre or the crowds, head over to Pickering Wharf and inhale those refreshing sea breezes. Better yet, take a mile walk on a jetty to check out Derby Wharf Lighthouse. While you are there, take a good look across the bay to catch a glimpse of nearby Bakers Island.

There are many small shops pedaling the gothic lifestyle. Get your palm read by a psychic who seems to have a handle on everybody's future. 

Several years ago, Terri met Salem's official Witch of Salem — Laurie Cabot — a charismatic women who charmed my wife. Terri somehow convinced Ms. Cabot to take a picture with her — at no charge.

It was a bewitching experience for both women.

During that same visit, we toured the House of Seven Gables and squeezed through the secret passage that features a narrow flight of stairs. It is a tight fit for a big man like myself, and I saw one tourist suffer a serious bout of claustrophobia as she struggled to reach the top of the stairwell.

According to www.7gables.org: "When you arrive at The House of the Seven Gables - which constitutes its own national historic district on The National Register of Historic places — professional guides will warmly greet you for an unforgettable historical experience. Outside, spectacular seaside gardens await you. Inside of The House of the Seven Gables, also known as the Turner-Ingersoll Mansion, you will discover a mysterious secret staircase where you least expect it! Built in 1668, this is the oldest surviving 17th century wooden mansion in New England. The House of the Seven Gables inspired author Nathaniel Hawthorne to write his legendary novel of the same name."

There are numerous tourist destinations including the Pirates and Witch museums, and of course, The Friendship of Salem — a 171-foot replica of the 1797 East Indiaman. And don't forget about the living who enjoy making spectacles of themselves with their outrageous costumes.

I enjoyed spending 45 minutes watching a baseball game being played by men dressed in Civil War-era baseball uniforms on Salem Common, — nine-acre park that is overlooked by an imposing statue of Puritan Roger Conant who founded the city.

But one of the best moments during my visit was having my son take a photograph 

of the two of us standing next to the same gazebo that Terri stood on 24 years ago.

I often wonder where those wonderful 24 years have gone. I guess that's why Salem's stubborn ghosts try to hold to their past.

For me, I try to hold on to every minute I have with my family in this lifetime.

FRIGHT NIGHT

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." - H. P. Lovecraft

AUBURN — Since we all have crosses to bear, I decided to build two of mine out of wood to celebrate Halloween, and maybe, just maybe, have a devil of a good time spooking trick-or-treaters on my front lawn.

I am not a big fan of a holiday that observes things that go bump in the night and turns sane adults into candy pushers who are complicit in triggering a nationwide sugar high among this nation's youth for several days. My wife and son, on the other hand, enjoy being rattled by a good ghost story as well as putting up Halloween decorations and butchering, aaah, I mean carving a pumpkin.

I couldn't care less about zombies, vampires, ghosts, the undead, and no, I am not referring to members of congress. What frightens me about this night is the spike in cavities across this great nation — and the fear of rational adults handing out healthy treats.

When I was a kid a couple of centuries ago, I thought it was a nightmare to receive a nutritious snack instead of a chocolate bar. It was like staying after school for talking too much in class. How could grownups traumatize a child who longed for a bag full of M&Ms and Malo Cups? Finding a fruit bar at the bottom of my bag was like getting pajamas for Christmas.

No toys! What was up with Santa, anyway!

But this Halloween, my son wanted to go all out and shake up the neighborhood kids with more spooky stuff. I suggested we use leftover two-by-fours and build a pair of crosses to send chills up our neighbor's spines. But I wasn't sure what names to use on our grave markers. Anthony didn't flinch when he suggested the last names of Terry Francona and Theo Epstein, the Boston Red Sox's manager and general manager who are no longer employed with a baseball team that burned up in orbit at the end of the season.

I smiled, got out my wood-burning tool and went to work on the crosses. I love the smell of burning pine as I carved deep letters into the soft wood. I put my skill-saw and tape measure to good use to make our macabre endeavor come to fruition. We stained our crosses to make our grave markers weather resistant and then surveyed the front lawn to choose a location that would induce nightmares for weeks to come. I understand that location is everything when it comes to scaring unsuspecting trick-or-treaters out of their socks.

But please understand that I had no desire to see Francona or Epstein banished from the Sox organization. These guys brought starving Red Sox fans two World Series titles after decades of disappointment. I was not happy to see these fine men leave Beantown. I didn't show up at Fenway Park with a mob, and sickles and torches in hand, demanding to see heads role. So, when you see our crosses bearing the names of these two fine human beings on my front lawn during this evening of fright, this is not a demonstration of anger toward two men who ended Boston's drought. This father-and-son duo is merely having a little fun at the expense of the Boston Red Sox.

Besides I will never understand how fans go berserk when their team comes undone or how they "hate" an opposing team. Look, I grew up 10 miles from Friendly Fenway, but there has never been a day when I uttered the phrase, "I hate those damn Yankees." I don't hate the damn Yankees, Montreal Canadiens, New York Jets or the Los Angeles Lakers. I do enjoy watching the Yanks take it on the chin when they play Boston, but I also think Derek Jeter is a class act. I do not carry a grudge against Bill Buckner. And I was hoping Francona would stay on for another year.

So the Red Sox had a meltdown and missed the playoffs. Life goes on, and there will be other seasons for Boston to make amends

So lighten up, and remember, this is not a trick, but a treat. So take this candy bar as an expression of our goodwill. But we also hope you leave our front lawn frightened and looking over your shoulder when things do go bump in the night.