In 1824, the mother of Frankenstein wrote an essay entitled, "On Ghosts", for issue 9 of
London Magazine. Besides including a personal nightmare about a haunted house, Mary Shelley relates an account of a suicide, a headless corpse, and a bloody ghost.
I am posting an excerpted form of the article here for your Halloween enjoyment. (The full text can be read
here.) It ends as she ended it, with a folk tale about a bizarre cat funeral seen at night in a remote German forest; this folk tale is often retold and anthologized, and you may find yourself recognizing it. Her account was told to her by Matthew G. Lewis, an early writer in the Gothic tradition, and whose novel
The Monk scandalized English society. He related ghost stories to Mary and Percy Shelley during the same summer that Mary's novel Frankenstein was conceived.
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| Art by Mia Tavonatti from the 1994 Watermill paperback "Great Ghost Stories." |
Happy Halloween!
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What has become of enchantresses with their palaces of crystal and dungeons of palpable darkness? What of fairies and their wands? What of witches and their familiars? and, last, what of ghosts, with beckoning hands and fleeting shapes, which quelled the soldier's brave heart, and made the murderer disclose to the astonished noon the veiled work of midnight? These which were realities to our fore-fathers, in our wiser age—
— Characterless are grated/ To dusty nothing.
[Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, Act III, scene 2.]
Yet is it true that we do not believe in ghosts?
For my own part, I never saw a ghost except once in a dream. I feared it in my sleep; I awoke trembling, and lights and the speech of others could hardly dissipate my fear. Some years ago I lost a friend, and a few months afterwards visited the house where I had last seen him. It was deserted, and though in the midst of a city, its vast halls and spacious apartments occasioned the same sense of loneliness as if it had been situated on an uninhabited heath. I walked through the vacant chambers by twilight, and none save I awakened the echoes of their pavement. The far mountains (visible from the upper windows) had lost their tinge of sunset; the tranquil atmosphere grew leaden coloured as the golden stars appeared in the firmament; no wind ruffled the shrunk-up river which crawled lazily through the deepest channel of its wide and empty bed; the chimes of the Ave Maria had ceased, and the bell hung moveless in the open belfry. I walked through the rooms filled with sensations of the most poignant grief. He had been there; his living frame had been caged by those walls, his breath had mingled with that atmosphere, his step had been on those stones, I thought: — the earth is a tomb, the gaudy sky a vault, we but walking corpses. The wind rising in the east rushed through the open casements, making them shake; —methought, I heard, I felt— I know not what —but I trembled, awe-struck and fearful. Wherefore? There is something beyond us of which we are ignorant.
I have known two persons who at broad daylight have owned that they believed in ghosts, for that they had seen one. One of these was an Englishman, and the other an Italian. The former had lost a friend he dearly loved, who for awhile appeared to him nightly, gently stroking his cheek and spreading a serene calm over his mind. He did not fear the appearance, although he was somewhat awe-stricken as each night it glided into his chamber, and placed itself on the left side of the bed.
This visitation continued for several weeks, when by some accident he altered his residence, and then he saw it no more. Such a tale may easily be explained away;—but several years had passed, and he, a man of strong and virile intellect, said that "he had seen a ghost."
The Italian was a noble, a soldier, and by no means addicted to superstition: he had served in Napoleon's armies from early youth, and had been to Russia, had fought and bled, and been rewarded, and he unhesitatingly, and with deep relief, recounted his story.
This Chevalier, a young, and (somewhat a miraculous incident) a gallant Italian, was engaged in a duel with a brother officer, and wounded him in the arm. The subject of the duel was frivolous; and distressed therefore at its consequences he attended on his youthful adversary during his consequent illness, so that when the latter recovered they became firm and dear friends. They were quartered together at Milan, where the youth fell desperately in love with the wife of a musician, who disdained his passion, so that it preyed on his spirits and his health; he absented himself from all amusements, avoided all his brother officers, and his only consolation was to pour his love-sick plaints into the ear of the Chevalier, who strove in vain to inspire him either with indifference towards the fair disdainer, or to inculcate lessons of fortitude and heroism. As a last resource he urged him to ask leave of absence; and to seek, either in change of scene, or the amusement of hunting, some diversion to his passion. One evening the youth came to the Chevalier, and said, "Well, I have asked leave of absence, and am to have it early tomorrow morning, so lend me your fowling-piece and cartridges, for I shall go to hunt for a fortnight." The Chevalier gave him what he asked; among the shot there were a few bullets. "I will take these also," said the youth, "to secure myself against the attack of any wolf, for I mean to bury myself in the woods."
Although he had obtained that for which he came, the youth still lingered. He talked of the cruelty of his lady, lamented that she would not even permit him a hopeless attendance, but that she inexorably banished him from her sight, "so that," said he, "I have no hope but in oblivion." At length lie rose to depart. He took the Chevalier's hand and said, "You will see her to-morrow, you will speak to her, and hear her speak; tell her, I entreat you, that our conversation tonight has been concerning her, and that her name was the last that I spoke." "Yes, yes," cried the Chevalier, "I will say any thing you please; but you must not talk of her any more, you must forget her." The youth embraced his friend with warmth, but the latter saw nothing more in it than the effects of his affection, combined with his melancholy at absenting himself from his mistress, whose name, joined to a tender farewell, was the last sound that he uttered.
When the Chevalier was on guard that night, he heard the report of a gun. He was at first troubled and agitated by it, but afterwards thought no more of it, and when relieved from guard went to bed, although he passed a restless, sleepless night. Early in the morning some one knocked at his door. It was a soldier, who said that he had got the young officer's leave of absence, and had taken it to his house; a servant had admitted him, and he had gone up stairs, but the room door of the officer was locked, and no one answered to his knocking, but something oozed through from under the door that looked like blood. The Chevalier, agitated and frightened at this account, hurried to his friend's house, burst open the door, and found him stretched on the ground— he had blown out his brains, and the body lay a headless trunk, cold, and stiff.
The shock and grief which the Chevalier experienced in consequence of this catastrophe produced a fever which lasted for some days. When he got well, he obtained leave of absence, and went into the country to try to divert his mind. One evening at moonlight, he was returning home from a walk, and passed through a lane with a hedge on both sides, so high that he could not see over them. The night was balmy; the bushes gleamed with fireflies, brighter than the stars which the moon had veiled with her silver light. Suddenly he heard a rustling near him, and the figure of his friend issued from the hedge and stood before him, mutilated as he had seen him after his death. This figure he saw several times, always in the same place. It was impalpable to the touch, motionless, except in its advance, and made no sign when it was addressed. Once the Chevalier took a friend with him to the spot. The same rustling was heard, the same shadow slept forth, his companion fled in horror, but the Chevalier staid, vainly endeavouring to discover what called his friend from his quiet tomb, and if any act of his might give repose to the restless shade.
Such are my two stories, and I record them the more willingly, since they occurred to men, and to individuals distinguished the one for courage and the other for sagacity. I will conclude my "modern instances," with a story told by M. G. Lewis, not probably so authentic as these, but perhaps more amusing. I relate it as nearly as possible in his own words.
"A gentleman journeying towards the house of a friend, who lived on the skirts of an extensive forest, in the east of Germany, lost his way. He wandered for some time among the trees, when he saw a light at a distance. On approaching it he was surprised to observe that it proceeded from the interior of a ruined monastery. Before he knocked at the gate he thought it proper to look through the window. He saw a number of cats assembled round a small grave, four of whom were at that moment letting down a coffin with a crown upon it. The gentleman startled at this unusual sight, and, imagining that he had arrived at the retreats of fiends or witches, mounted his horse and rode away with the utmost precipitation. He arrived at his friend's house at a late hour, who sat up waiting for him. On his arrival his friend questioned him as to the cause of the traces of agitation visible in his face. He began to recount his adventures after much hesitation, knowing that it was scarcely possible that his friend should give faith to his relation. No sooner had he mentioned the coffin with the crown upon it, than his friend's cat, who seemed to have been lying asleep before the fire, leaped up, crying out, 'Then I am king of the cats;' and then scrambled up the chimney, and was never seen more."
All horror movies are weird, when you think about it. How often do you really find yourself fighting a psycho in a hockey mask when you go camping? Or worrying about whether your local hospital will suddenly start spitting out zombies? Not that often. Even so, some horror movies look like documentaries compared with some of the genre's weirder entries. You want a possessed bed? Evil snow? Sentient human waste? Then you're in luck. Here are 10 of the weirdest horror movies ever made, for anyone feeling brave or bored enough to give them a try. Don't say we didn't warn you, though.Immortalized in a Patton Oswalt routine, Death Bed: The Bed That Eats offers everything its title promises. There's a bed, and it eats people who sleep on it. Period. Released in 1977 by writer/director/producer George Barry — who is apparently a one-man operation for gems like this one — the film tells the story of a bed possessed by a demon that kills and eats anyone who tries to sleep or make love on it. The production values are, to put it kindly, not very good, but the final product is just crazy enough to be watchable. Just sit on a couch when you do.
The 1970s and 1980s were kind of a golden era for weird American horror. The genre was still considered an illegitimate offshoot of "real" filmmaking, and it took game-changers like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Halloween to start convincing people that horror was more than just goofy shocks. That was a tough fight, too, because movies like Tourist Trap were nothing but goofy shocks for 90 minutes at a time. And make no mistake: This is a weird movie. It's all about a group of friends who stumble upon an old man who owns a run-down museum full of mannequins and wax figures that he — wait for it — controls telepathically. He picks the kids off and turns them into plastic monsters to fill up his collection. Creepy, darkly humorous, and definitely worth your time.
Mitchell Lichtenstein's slightly campy, definitely uncomfortable horror movie deals with a teenage girl cursed with vagina dentata. It is every bit as awkward and weird as it sounds — it's not uncommon for the horror to happen just out of frame, only for a severed organ to fall with a thump to the ground — and its unevenness keeps it from working as a thriller or a comedy. It's not straight enough to be scary, and it's not nearly funny or smart enough to play as a satire. It's just off-putting.
Before they got going with South Park, Trey Parker and Matt Stone did what all college students do: They made a musical about cannibalism in the days of gold prospecting. Originally titled Alferd Packer: The Musical and retitled Cannibal! The Musical when it was picked up for distribution, the horror-comedy tells the tale of Alferd Packer, a prospector involved in a cannibalism incident in the winter of 1873 on a journey from Utah to Colorado. The movie is hilarious and bizarre in equal measure, veering from upbeat songs to moments of absurd gore with a glee that Parker and Stone would later bring to their landmark animated series. Watch it for the experience, but don't be surprised if you start humming the songs. (Photo above courtesy of Troma.)
Now this is one for the books. Released in 1973, the film revolves around a social worker who starts working for a family whose patriarch is a mentally impaired man in his 20s who still crawls around and acts like a baby. The man is also regularly abused and sexually assaulted by his mother and sisters (and a babysitter). It's a psychological thriller with a bizarre execution, and it's the kind of insane flick that fell through the cracks of the world and drifted through grindhouses and cable stations in the years after its debut. The ending is the perfect capper to a twisted story. It's a horror movie, yes, but more than anything it's just crazy.
Monsturd is a haunting examination of man's own inhumanity in a postmodern age. Kidding! It's about a killer made of poop. It's a real movie, too. You can buy it and everything. Released in 2003 to an unsuspecting world, Monsturd is about a serial killer who escapes his pursuers by hiding in a sewer, only to fall into a pool of chemicals that turns him into a monster that's half-man, half-feces. Understandably unhappy about his new form, the Monsturd throws himself into a rage-fueled killing spree. Does Monsturd come up through toilets to get people? Watch and find out! Or don't. Actually, just don't. It's boring, badly acted, and impossible to watch without being dangerously drunk. Just enjoy the premise and move on.
If you know your Latin, you know that "lepus" means "hare." That's right: This is a horror movie about giant killer rabbits. Based on the comedy-horror novel The Year of the Angry Rabbit, the film loses any hint of satire or social commentary and goes right for awful scares and laughable effects. The mutant rabbits that do the killing are played by real rabbits set against miniature sets or by humans in rabbit costumes, which makes the film about as scary as an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba! and twice as surreal. All silly, no scary, and weird as can be.
This Japanese horror flick from 1977 has a considerable cult following and even earned a recent remastering as part of the Criterion Collection. But don't be fooled: It's deeply, bravely weird. It will break your brain. The plot very loosely deals with a young girl who travels with a few of her classmates to her aunt's home, only to find herself doing supernatural battle with a sentient house that wants to kill them. That description actually sounds somewhat normal (ish) until you see the actual movie. It's a masterpiece of WTFery that can never be topped.
Cheap, Indonesian, and not at all worried about making sense,Mystics of Bali is in the running for weirdest of the weird. The story follows a woman who heads to Bali to investigate the locals and their history of witchcraft; yada yada yada, she befriends a demon queen and transforms into a variety of animals before eventually terrorizing the village as a severed head on a stump of organs. You know, as one does when one goes to Bali. The film's straightforward presentation of twisted images and gore make it a surrealist's dream come true, and it relies more on sheer bizarre ideas than typical shocks and scares. Not for the faint, but a must for the curious.
