Agh!

Ooohh, shit!

Holy crap!

Aiiee!

Burn sage throughout the apartment and sprinkle salt in all four corners. Whether it's evil or not, it's your fucking house. I have sage bundles, if you need 'em.

>Whether it's evil or not, it's your fucking house.

Well put.

I've been throwing cards for a pretty wacked out crue of, erm, "spiritualists" (I honestly don't knopw what else to call them). Till now, I've only wanted them to pay me in money - but maybe it's time to let them do a little haunted- housekeeping.

Why not do it yourself?

Handle a Portal of Doom myself? Are you nuts? I don't even touch the boiler without calling Minnegasco!

Ha.

I prefer to ignore portals of doom and just smudge and sprinkle with salt. You don't need mumbo-jumbo.

Unless you would find mumbo-jumbo comforting, I guess. Then I _do_ need mumbo-jumbo. That's what it's for, I guess -- and for making the person who does it seem Mysterious and Important.

Point of order: Smudging isn't mumbo jumo?

Nope. 'Cause I do it. :-)

Damn! You stole my counterpunch!

Hey does your kid want to be in a band with my kid?
He came up with something called Red Metal that is supposed to be "louder and scarier" than black metal.

Their first single will be called "Viking Lasagna" and they will be holding snakes and axes.
(I can't take any credit for this idea, I'm not a metal head, & the kid came up with the whole thing himself.)

My kid's a metal drummer and he's looking for a gig. Oh, and he knows all about monsters.

Perfect!
Red Metal has "Drums, an electric guitar, a trumpet beacuse they are really loud, and NO keyboards."

My kid- trumpet
Your kid- drums

We have 1 or 2 band openings now depending on if our future guitarist wants to sing/screach also.

My kid thinks Keyboards are lame, too!

Barth? Get Isiah a bass and let's get this party started!

He's already in a band with the breastfeeder upstairs, but all they have is a name so far: "Dysfunctional Suck." Maybe he's got time for a side-gig...

My son's imaginary friend is Mike, an "older boy who says he's fourteen years old."

My husband's best friend died at fourteen, and yeah, his name was Mike.

Allow me to quote the great Hannah Bowens: "Aiee!"

Wow, Barth, this kid's a natural-born horror writer! Let me know when he's old enough and I'll send him a bunch of used Year's Best Horror paperbacks and the Books of Blood. I started reading those when I was about eight, if you want a good ballpark age. :)

Oh yeah sure. Just what the kid needs: Help developing his already insidious imagination. You trying to put me in the funny farm, Mr. Pratt??

hola, mi hijo---CARUMBA----!---DON'T LEAVE US THERE !!!----QUE PASE ?-----iF HE SAYS HE "SEES PEOPLE, WE HAVE TO TALK!!


ENJOYED THE CLEMANTINE THOUHTS. ENJOYED THE BLOG, TAKE CARE! SU AMIGA, BONITA

Dead people don't worry me, Bonita! It's the "Red Opener" I can do without!

barth, :@
i thought the shining was a pretty scary movie, and this looks too much like it. Dont ask me to babysit anymore. sorry. i dont know if i can come for thanksgiving... anymore either:)
~kayla~

Come on, Kayla! You're young. You're resilient. You have a crucifix. Babysit for us while we go house hunting.

Yeesh. Let's hope he's just learning to mess with you.

It's working...

I would only worry if a crooked finger and the words "red rum" were uttered.

-Paul

How about if he wakes up in the middle of the night and looks into the dark, saying, "Eyes...."

(His other fun trick.)

Wondering how effective the hammer and baseball bat would be against The Red Opener. You may have to choose a more unexpected weapon for such an adversary.

I was once offered a tennis racket to kill a bat that had gotten into my apartment in the middle of winter. At that point, I was torn between fear of the bat, and fear of confronting my own inner killer of small mammals with poor navigation systems.

I chose a third solution, which somehow struck me as brilliantly humanitarian. I would not bash its brains. I would not turn it out into sub-zero weather. I would drown the poor creature, quickly and peacefully, in a coffee can. Sweet dreams!

In a frenzy of activity, I captured the bat, sealed the can, took it down to the laundry room, and filled the can with water. Heart beating madly, I congratulated myself on a deed well done.

Half an hour later, I went to dispose of the can and its contents. To my horror, I could hear the bat scratching around inside the can, still swimming. Oh, God! I had just tortured this small, frightened creature for half an hour. I burst into tears, sobbing hysterically, shoulders hunched over.

That sound haunted me for years. I had several other bats visit me in that apartment. I gently threw a flannel shirt over them, took them outside, and turned them loose. And begged forgiveness for my shortcomings as a human being, cowering in fear and looking for an easy way out.

So ... I suggest cautious compassion for The Red Opener. Don't bash it. Don't drown it. Swallow your own fear, understand The Red Opener is simply doing what The Red Opener does, and turn it free.

Mark

Awww. Heart-warming! Puts me in the mood for Thanksgiving....

Thanksgiving?!?! But, we'll be with you on Thanksgiving ... that means ... The Red Opener ... the half-open door ... glassy-eyed looks ... howmanyhowmanyhowmany ... I'm bringing a bag of hammers!

It's ok, I got it all figured out. We're gonna throw Kayla to the Red Opener.

Yes, Kayla! That's good. Just edge her toward the half-open door, after she's been stuffed with turkey and gravy. She's sure to be half-asleep and won't feel a thing. Or she'll have her iPod on full-blast, eyes closed, drowning out the sound of us "grown-ups" dithering on and on about this and that ... a few quick kicks, and THROUGH the door she goes, chair and all!

If that doesn't satiate The Red Opener, I vote for Craig or Heather.

Mark