The
Monster Mash: adventures for toddling mini-spooks and
old souls alike.
I've always lived with ghosts. In the town where I was born
on the Washington coast, there were houses that had been abandoned
by their owners because of rooms that could not be heated
or mirrors that harbored other faces. In those pre-voice-mail
days, my aunt's sister's telephone would often be answered
by a mysterious man in her absence; at night, my grandfather
would tell of local exorcisms he'd heard about. Days after
burying his wife, one of my grandparents' neighbors begged
the mortician to exhume her body because she was "drowning."
Upon unearthing her, they found her coffin waterlogged. At
my house, it was not uncommon to hear thuds coming from closets
and footsteps overhead. Finally, my mother and father were
attacked one night in their room. My father was given a vigorous
throttling while my mother was pressed to the floor by some
invisible force. Whatever it was, it came and left very suddenly,
and we left soon after.
I saw my first ghost at 6--a very beautiful woman in white
who
didn't seem interested in my line of questioning. Later
there was a man in the woods and a woman lying in a drainage
ditch, who also seemed rather self-involved. It probably
helped that my cousins and I would hold séances in
my bedroom or bravely stand before the mirror in the darkened
guest room and evoke the name of Mary Widow. At any rate,
I've long known the dead.
Moving to England was like a move back home. My anglophilia
has always been pronounced, so much so that the mad woman
who used to haunt University Avenue in Seattle would always
cry "Church of England" when I passed her. In England, I
fell in quite quickly with unquiet spirits. I lived in Crayford,
Kent, where the local manor house (once inhabited by the
occult novelist Algernon Blackwood) sat on the edge of a
great heath, which was the last major battleground between
the Britons and Saxons in 456. A town perched on a mass
grave had to be promising, and Crayford was not a disappointment.
The house was a Victorian railman's cottage with all the
bleak charm of Britain. There were the usual strange occurrences--the
wanderings of inanimate objects, and so forth--but nothing
quite compared to "the laundry gent," a man who would materialize
on the stairs with an armful of folded clothes. He struck
fear in me, but only as a grim reminder that I, too, might
be cursed to spend eternity folding laundry.
In London, I worked at the Royal Opera House, which had
many ghosts. One, Nigel, knocked about in the understairs
loo that the carpenters used. Nigel had been a cashier at
the Opera House, who, one tea time, went down to the Covent
Garden tube station and threw himself in front of a train.
At least Nigel had the decency to come back from his eternal
unpaid leave in a pre-mangled condition, and "popping down
to see if Nigel's in" became the favorite excuse for leaving
one's desk.
In my flat in East London, I was once visited by a Victorian
woman named Katherine who said she had been murdered on
Queen's Mead Street. The London A to Z listed two
such streets, and I avoided them both, as Katherine's call
seemed to be a warning. Years later, I was attacked by skinheads
and threatened with death at a place called King's Mead.
I vowed in the future to listen more carefully.
But of all my adventures with the dead, nothing compared
to moving into a Georgian house on Museum Street in Bloomsbury.
My friend and I lived on the top floors; below were a gallery
and an antiquarian bookshop on the ground floor. The house's
first occupant was Junius Brutus Booth, manager of the Drury
Lane Theatre and father to actor Edwin and assassin John
Wilkes. Years later, the renowned spiritualist Madam Blavatsky
moved in. Blavatsky's Theosophical Society was then the
rage among spiritualists, and she attracted everyone from
Annie Besant to Yeats into her circle. She chose the site
for her operations well: Museum Street led directly up to
the British Museum, where there had long been rumors of
night rituals performed in the museum's Egyptian Room.
We lived with a benign presence upstairs, but downstairs
was a different matter. On the gallery and bookshop level,
poltergeists brought mischievousness to a high art. Windows
and doors were opened and slammed, and in the bookshop,
books levitated or tumbled from shelves. The most interesting
part of the house by far was the basement. Evil dwelled
there, and it took great willpower to descend into it. Once,
a burly team of cockney laborers came to clean out the basement.
They would go downstairs, work for a few minutes, then come
back upstairs for a cheering cup of tea. They ended up seeing
more tea than work, and when I asked them if everything
was all right, the leader said, rather unconvincingly, "Yeah,
mate, olroyt, olroyt," then he nervously brought his cup
to his quivering lips. They lasted two days. Finally, filled
with liquor, I decided to brave the basement myself. Torch
in hand, I went down and immediately was overwhelmed by
a sense of dread. I walked into a dank side room and saw
a set of French doors. When I put my hand on the doorknob,
there was a rush of wind and voices. I opened the door and
saw that it led to a tunnel--a tunnel that went directly
toward the British Museum. More frightening, directly across
from me was a matching set of French doors. The next thing
I remember was being at the top of the stairs, white with
fright and shaking--happy to be back with the poltergeists.
Now, back in America, I live in a listed Victorian house
that has two ghosts--a woman and the perfect child, seen
and not heard. For me, a house is not a home unless there's
someone dead for company.
The
Monster Mash
Still not scared of things that go bump in the night? Here
are a few bone-chilling adventures for toddling mini-spooks
and old souls alike.
A WALK IN THE WOODS
This could have been the scariest
of the Halloween events, hiking a trail in a booby-trapped
forest à la Blair Witch, but this wooded "fantasy
trail" is advertised as a well-lit spooky walk with refreshments
waiting for you in the clearing behind the tape player and
slide projector. Fun for kiddies. (Arturo Diaz)
Wenzel Farm, 19754 South Ridge Rd., Oregon City, call
631-2047 for directions.
7-10 pm Wednesday-Saturday, Oct. 27-30. $3 adults, $2 children
under 12.
DEAD POETS SLAM
If a poet rolls over in his or her
grave, can you hear it? If the poet is buried under the
floor of Berbati's and it's the season for spooky-word,
then yes. For the fourth year, Portland Poetry Slam hosts
local writers and performers dressing up as their favorite
decomposing poets to have a go at the dead one's oeuvre.
(Arturo Diaz)
Berbati's Pan, 231 SW Ankeny St., 248-4579 or 705-7553.
8 pm Wednesday, Oct. 27. $5.
NIGHT OF THE MURDER BALLAD
There is a long tradition
of both oral and traditional folk workings on the death
ballad. For the third All Hallows', the Laurelthirst brings
together an eclectic lineup for an evening of murder-ballad
singing, including country-folk favorite Little Sue, an
ambient pop set from Petting Zoo's John Kwon, computer-geek
poet Brian Jones and eerie flamenco courtesy of Carmina
Piranha's Lara Michell. This event looks to stir up a plenty-morbid
atmosphere without the run-of-the-mill plastic-hatchet-in-the-head
get-ups. (Arturo Diaz)
Laurelthirst Public House, 2958 NE Glisan St., 232-1504.
9 pm Friday, Oct. 29. $4.
Back from the Grave: Dead Rock Stars Tribute
Cover
bands are usually a pointless exercise, but when linked
to a theme, these often-trivial tributes resonate with meaning.
Or maybe Halloween just seems like the right time to dig
up forgotten corpses. In any case, it'll be fun to watch
some of the city's most celebrated rockers resurrect their
heroes in song, as fully-animated folks like Sean Croghan,
the Pinehurst Kids, Crack City Rockers, Luther Russell and
others play Frankenstein with dear-departed musicians like
G.G. Allin, Kurt Cobain, Karen Carpenter and Michael Hutchence.
Hosting this night of rock 'n' roll reanimation is Young
Eduardians frontman Gregarious T. Cline. (John Graham)
Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy Blvd., 239-5154. 9 pm Friday,
Oct. 29. $5.
DAY OF THE DEAD CONCERTS
Two shows benefitting Old
Town Clinic are trying to remind us that other cultures
have their own hallowed eves. The acts range from the theatrical
lounge of Lava de Mure and savvy punk of Red Madder (both
at Mount Tabor Pub) to the down-home groove rock of the
American Girls and the synth-jazz stylings of Pope (at Medicine
Hat). That the two venues are on opposite ends of the earth
and start at the same time makes me suspect that someone
wasn't taking notes in fund-raising class. Others playing
Mt. Tabor are Color Field, Ten Pound Package and Alisa Wolfe,
while Drive also plays Medicine Hat. (Arturo Diaz)
Mount Tabor Pub, 4811 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 238-1646.
The Medicine Hat Restaurant and Gallery, 1834 NE Alberta
St., 460-3514. Both shows 9 pm Friday, Oct. 29. $5.
THE BRODY THEATER'S SCARY MOVIE
It's a completely
improvised hairy scary Halloween show featuring two horror
films they'll make up as they go. If you come in costume
you get two bucks off admission, but if you come naked you'll
probably get arrested. (Caryn B. Brooks)
The Brody Theater, 1904 NW 27th Ave., 224-0688. 8 and
10:30 pm Friday-Saturday, Oct. 29-30, and Sunday, Oct. 31
at 7:30. $8 early shows, $6 late-evening and Sunday shows.
$2 off for the costume-clad.
RABBIT HOLE HAUNTED HOUSE
The Rabbit Hole Restaurant
and Mad Hatter Lounge host two haunted houses--one for kids,
the other for adults--benefitting the Cascade AIDS Project.
No telling what the difference will be on the freakout factor,
but you can be sure they'll put the claustrophobic downstairs
cavern to good use. When the blood comes back to your face,
you can enjoy the costume party afterwards. (Arturo Diaz)
Rabbit Hole Restaurant & Mad Hatter Lounge, 203
SE Grand Ave., 231-2925. Kids' Haunted House 3-6 pm, adults'
Haunted House 7-10 pm Saturday, Oct. 30. Sliding scale donation.
HAWTHORNE'S TRICK OR TREAT ON THE BOULEVARD
This
one's for the kiddies. Start with some face-painting at
Portland Impact at Southeast 47th Avenue and make your way
down, stopping along the way to get sugared. Merchants leave
balloons outside as their invitation for treats. Hold your
ghastly little ghouls by the hand. (Arturo Diaz)
Hawthorne Boulevard, for more information call 231-4840
or 239-4605.
Face-painting 2-4 pm, Halloween treats 3-6 pm Saturday,
Oct. 30.
THE BALLROOM DANCER'S COSTUME PARTY
Ah, elegance
amidst autumnal decay. The Ballroom Dancer's Association
hosts a swank evening of West Coast swing, ballroom and
Latin dancing with a touch of the Halloween spirit. There
will indeed be the traditional costume contest. (Zach Dundas)
Norris Hall, 111 NE 11th Ave., 321-5194. 8 pm Saturday,
Oct. 30. $3-$8.
KBOO BOO BALL
If you plan to dress up as a Red Stripe-drinking
islander, the ranking Jamaican sound of Clinton Fearon &
the Boogie Brown Band should scratch that Carib itch. Fearon's
recorded with the dreadful (in a good way) Lee "Scratch"
Perry and dropped an album titled Disturb the Devil
in '95, so this is more Halloween-y than it looks. KBOO
hosts. (Zach Dundas)
Old OMSI, 4015 SW Canyon Road (across from the Oregon
Zoo), 231-8032.
8 pm Saturday, Oct. 30. $17 advance, $20 at the door.
THE MONSTER BASH
Those of us deeply immersed in the
shadowed throes of doom year 'round will no doubt want to
be present for the last costume ball before the end of the
world. It's an '80s goth-dance thing with the neo-lounge
of Lava de Mure and the powerful darkness of Threscher.
(Arturo Diaz)
Cobalt Lounge, 32 NW 3rd Ave., 225-1003 or 261-6585.
9 pm Saturday, Oct. 30.
$5 with costume, $8 without.
THE SPIRIT OF ALL HALLOW'S EVE
The good ship Portland
Spirit takes to the sailor-haunted waves of the Willamette
for a costume party rocked by Floater, Id and Quill. Ahoy!
(Zach Dundas)
The Portland Spirit, Southwest Front Avenue, 239-5366.
10:30 pm Saturday, Oct. 30. $30.
1920'S COSTUME BALL
Indigo Swing, a smooth and stilettoed
gang of East Coast-style swing cats, hit the classic Crystal
for a night of Prohibition-style revelry. Guys. Dolls. Drinks.
Molls. (Zach Dundas)
Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside St., 778-5625. 6 pm
Sunday, Oct. 31.
$13 advance, $15 at the door.
THE RED LIGHT'S MASQUERADE BALL
This Halloween, the
best-dressed spooks in the city will be at the Red Light
Clothing Exchange. Owner Tace Chalfa has a wicked selection
of vintage/retro wear. This family event is the first of
many nightlife affairs to come at the Red Light, newly opened
on Oct. 15. Local rock-arounds the Trailer Park Love Gods
will play between 8 and 10 pm; at which time tots are welcome.
After 10 pm, the free champagne starts flowing to a DJ beat.
A $500 cash prize and $300 shopping spree for best costume.
(Christina Melander)
Red Light Clothing Exchange, 3590 SE Hawthorne Blvd.,
963-8888.
8 pm Sunday, Oct. 31. Free.
PIRATE JENNY
Arrrgh! Portland's only band of freebooters
hoists the Black Ensign above the roiling seas (of beer)
of Berbati's. There will be a sailorly gleam in me one good
eye, if you know what I mean. (Zach Dundas)
Berbati's Pan, 231 SW Ankeny St., 248-4579. 10 pm Sunday,
Oct. 31. Free.
WRITTEN IN ASHES
Ooooooooh....America's spooooookiest
subculture gathers to celebrate its ultimate high mass.
Strike another blow for the Pax Gothica with these pasty
nightcrawlers. (Zach Dundas)
Cobalt Lounge, 32 NW 3rd Ave., 225-1003. 10 pm Sunday,
Oct. 31. Cover.
DEAD MOON
From the ghost-thick frontier--out where
Doomtown meets the Wild West--these three rock-and-roll
creatures of the night ride, bearing a gospel of three chords
and a fifth of Jack. This annual date with destiny amongst
the Old Town wraiths enjoys a rep as a sloppy drunkfest
par excellence. Portland's most spectral band rematerializes.
(Zach Dundas)
Satyricon, 125 NW 6th Ave., 243-2380. 10 pm Sunday,
Oct. 31. Cover.
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Willamette Week | originally
published October 27,
1999
|
