The Queen Mary

What I write here, I am simply tossing out for your consideration. I make no claims for the validity of the stories, and my own experiences and the photographs are open for whatever interpretation you care to give them.

The Queen Mary, the Cunard luxury liner that cruised the North Atlantic from 1936 to 1967, is now dry-docked in the harbor at Long Beach, California. She is a hotel, a conference center, a museum, and a “genuine haunted ship” (with her own paranormal research center).

It is said that the ship is home to about 150 separate ghosts, though I fail to see how anyone could actually ascertain that. But that factoid does add to the ambience of the ship. Actually, the ghosts legends have been turned into an on-board “Attraction,” complete with special effects and dramatic re-enactments of the hauntings. It is oh-so-Hollywood and has spoiled the place for real ghost-hunters who need peace and quiet to “feel the presences.”

Even though I am not a ghost-hunter or psychic, personally, I don’t care for the Attraction much either. There’s so much to be said about engaging the imagination and scaring yourself silly with a good old fashion ghost story —which is what I think happened to me a few years ago when I took one of the ship’s old “Ghost Tours” (before they made it an Attraction).

These tours (sans special effects and weird music) were simply a tour guide taking guests to all the supposedly haunted areas of the ship. There are certain areas of the ship where the hauntings are particularly pronounced. For example, we were taken to Cabin B340, which is no longer rented out by the hotel, because the cabin is subject to frequent poltergeist activity. When our group was toured through, I didn’t observe or feel anything unusual.

Another place of ghostly activity is the First Class Swimming Pool. It has been empty of water for more than 30 years, yet women and children in 1930’s bathing attire are frequently seen and heard around the pool. While we were taking the tour, we stood on the balcony overlooking the pool, in the dark, while the guide shared the spooky stories. (If you go to this image of the pool, you can see the railing where we standing). One of my friends, who is a photographer, had her camera with her. For some inexplicable reason, the flash unit on her camera unscrewed itself and fell from her camera over the railing and onto the deck of the pool. As you can see from the image that is quite a drop. The guide fetched her flash and amazingly it was not broken. Maybe she didn't screw the attachment on properly? Maybe something broke its fall? We amused ourselves by speculating on the notion that a playful spirit was having fun with us.

However, the mood changed for me when we entered the Engine Room. The Engine Room had been completely gutted and was simply a huge empty space with a catwalk over it. During our tour, the guide stopped us on the catwalk and began to explain some of the history of this area. For example, during World War II, the Queen Mary had been used as a transport ship. It collided at sea with another ship resulting in the deaths of over 300 people. It is said that the ghosts of the dead sailors can be heard screaming in this area. Also, in the early 1960’s a young engine room technician had been crushed to death by the closing of a water-proof door. It is said that he is frequently seen walking to and fro on the catwalks in this area. As the guide was explaining this too us, I felt myself becoming more and more anxious. Perhaps it was just the power of suggestion, being in a dark creepy room hearing tales of gruesome deaths. All I knew is that I needed to get out of there fast and the guide was just taking too long!

Shortly after this the tour ended, but I still felt disconcerted and anxious. We left the ship, and proceeded to the Skorpion, an old Soviet Foxtrot submarine, also a museum, dry-docked and adjacent to the Queen Mary. (See the photo above). We started the self-guided tour of the craft, but shortly after we entered, I became overwhelmed with anxiety and had to leave the vessel. Did an entity follow me from the Queen Mary or was I merely having a claustrophobic episode caused by being on a very tiny submarine with a lot of tourists?

On another trip to the Queen Mary, just this past year, I and several friends went to Sunday Brunch in the Queen Mary’s Grand Salon, another reportedly haunted area. A “White Lady” is often seen dancing by herself when the Salon is empty. I brought my camera this time and took several pictures. Most of the pictures in the Grand Salon had orbs floating about. Below you will see some of the better one where I have circled the orbs in red. You might explain the orbs as pixilated dust particles or reflections from all the glass and brass; however, in the picture with the harpist at the far right you will see a beautiful brilliant blue-white orb—that just doesn’t look like dust or light.

So, a haunted ship, a tourist trap, overactive imaginations???--- I leave it up to you to decide.

Happy Halloween, one and all!

Images and text: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Full Moons and Wiccan Truths

What Samhain (Soo-Weeen) would be complete without a full, cold moon hovering deceptively close to the ground, and a Black Cat, to watch whatever events may transpire as the spirits of the Dead walk the earth of a Samhain night??




Since Samhain/Halloween is a traditionally Witchy holiday, what better time to share the the 'real' Wiccan Rede. This is the basis for Wiccan behaviour and morality, not quite the wicked witch in Sleeping Beauty, eh?

Yes, there are bad witches just as all faiths are cursed with bad apples, but they are not all witches. Nor are Wiccan folk Satanists. We do not worship Satan, nor do we wish to. Wiccan folk ( and most Pagan faiths as well) seek balance, harmony with, and a reverence for life in the practice of their faith.




This image calls to mind the term "Fairy Throne", that is a description of the bare patch left in the centre of a patch of mushrooms where the soil had been drained of nutrients by the growth of fungi, and now, perforce, must remain fallow and regain its fertility.

Still and all, to dance in a Fairy Throne, and meet the Queen of the Fairies would be wondrous!! If one wishes to see a non-Hollywood description of wiccan life, find the book "Cat Magic" by Whitley Strieber. You may find yourself very surprised by something much closer to the truth of Wiccan ways.

Waltz With The Devil

by Anita Marie Moscoso



There’s this expression people use when they’re telling you about some life changing event they went through. Some of them will say, ” I can’t pinpoint the exact time when I really decided to kill my children,” or ” no, I can’t pinpoint the exact time I became addicted to…”

So that little moment in time that changed their Universe and how they existed in it from that day forward is gone.

Kanden Seacross, he’s this logger that lived in a town called Red Root, Washington…he can pinpoint the exact time the world started to end because he saw it start on the day before Halloween last year.

He was driving from one little town to another little town when his car died. There’s no other way to describe it; the power was done, the engine cut off and out there on that old logging road that connects one hidden off road town to another the night sounded very loud.

It was dark and cold and foggy that night and Kanden sat there for about 10 minutes trying to make himself move. Being that he had stopped breathing he thought it would be a good idea if he could take a breath before he passed out from a lack of oxygen.

He unclenched his hand from his steering wheel, but all the while he’s still hanging on to the wheel with his other hand. ” What’s up Kanden, ‘fraid someone’s gonna drag you away? ”

Kanden would have thrown himself down onto his car floor and dug his way to the other side of the world when he heard that voice, but he couldn’t move and he couldn’t scream and he was pretty sure he was having a heart attack.

He knew it, he was going to die and he started to plan his funeral and wondered if anyone would come. He figured Mother would, so would the guy he bought coffee from in the Morning…Clay was his name. Clay was one of those good guys that really meant it when he said ‘ have a good day’

Kanden guessed his kids would show up.

Of course they would probably be listening to their music on those little headphones but at least they’d be there.

His Wife? Yeah, well providing there wasn’t anything good on Oprah she might show up.

There, it was all settled, he was ready to jump on the Pale Horse and ride off into eternity when Kanden realized that was his voice he had just heard.

At that moment he decided at least it was familiar and safe and it reminded his of a world that didn’t resemble the one he was trapped in right now.

So he went ahead and answered back after it asked, ” Come on Kanden, don’t be a panty waist, why are you hanging on for dear life there? Are you afraid? ”

” As a matter of fact I am. This place is creeping me out ” Kanden said.

” Well that’s just crazy talk Kanden…you’ve lived up here in the Olympics for your entire life. I’ll bet you’ve been down this road millions…no billions of times. `

” That’s how much you know Mr. Smart guy. I’ve never been down this road. I’ve driven by it…thought about it and wondered about it but I’ve never actually been on it before.”

Kanden heard a little hiss and the Voice went on full steam ahead.

” We could sit here an let someone find us, but you know Kanden I’m feeling like a bug in a jar here. So reach under the seat and get the flash light and let’s go. Is it me Kanden, or can you feel it too? I mean outside…”

” Something’s out there.”

Kanden heard his Voice get impatient, ” No, go ahead and be more specific Kanden…that something is coming right towards us.”

Kanden let loose of the steering wheel and now he was hanging onto his flashlight and he knew he looked just like one of those guys in the Vampire movies when they held up the silver cross.

To bad most of those guys DIED with those things clutched in their hands.

He flipped the switch and…there was light.

Honest to God light.

He started to cry.

” We have two choices Kanden…we can go forward and up a road you’ve never been on before in your life. We don’t know where it goes or what is at the end of it. Being this is the Hills it could end in a drop off and we could stumble down into a Gully and get mashed into a pulp when we hit the bottom…if we hit the bottom.

Or we can suck it up, and head back from the direction we came and hope for the best.”

” That’s all you can come up with?” Kanden screamed and the Voice didn’t bother to answer back.

” Okay, okay, we go back.” Kanden grabbed his car keys and his baseball cap and managed to do all of this without having a nervous breakdown.

” Good job. Now comes the hard put. We have to leave the car Kanden”

” God. ” he whimpered and he reached over and lifted the handle and his car door swung open.



For the first five minutes of his walk, it wasn’t so bad. It was cold it was foggy and of course it was dark. After the first mile Kanden thought the batteries in his flashlight were dieing because the light was dimming but at that moment his Friendly Companion decided to speak up.

” That’s wishful thinking Guy, it’s getting darker. That’s the problem. It’s getting a lot darker.”

” Of course it is ” Kanden laughed ” of course it’s getting darker ”

Then he heard, from just ahead the sound of crunching gravel, he heard slow easy footsteps. They weren’t cautious or hesitant…just the sound of someone taking a walk with all the time in the world as their traveling companion.

” Don’t run Kanden, it’s always worse when you run ” his Voice whispered into his left ear, ” whatever you do don’t run.”

The Darkness lightened in the form of a small figure with a little skip to it’s stride and then it noticed Kanden because it seemed to slow down a little.

” Keep walking Kanden…just keep walking ”

Kanden did, he walked towards the figure and then the figure was captured in the beam of light from Kanden’s flashlight.

It was a woman, just a woman he told himself. He wanted to make some kind of joke about being afraid of girls because they have cooties…something lame. Something that would say, you don’t have to be afraid…she’s just a woman for Pete’s Sake.”

Then step- by- step Kanden felt a little taller, a little more present, a little more in control and then his Voice all but roared in his ear, ” Listen to me Kanden…before you get us both into trouble.

That Cootie Factory, as you insist on calling her, is walking up a dark road in the fog to a place you’ve never been too yourself…in fact you started to cry just thinking about going there. She doesn’t have a flashlight, she’s not even wearing a jacket and it’s starting to freeze out here. So before you drop your last means of any sort of self defense will you consider those things?”

Then she was coming directly towards him and in the light Kanden saw her dark hair and dark eyes and the way she seemed to be grinding her heels into the gravel with each step she took.

There was something wrong with her walk; there was something wrong with the way she held her head. Her chin was tilted down and as she moved it swayed a little from left to right…almost like it was a little to heavy for her neck.

When they were almost face- to- face she raised her hand and turned her palm upwards just a little. Then she began to turn as she passed him and her shirttails swept up and wrapped around her hips. He could hear her grinding her heels into the gravel as she spun around and he even felt her hair brush against his arm as she turned full circle just inches away from him.

Then she was walking up that road and she was gone.

Kanden was still standing there the next morning; he was clutching his now dead flashlight to his chest and staring down at the ground.

There were little black footsteps going all the way up Brum Road, they moved in a straight line except for one spot when they widened out into a circle and then they moved forward again and up into the hills.

All the trees lining Brum Road were dead or dieing and the air smelled awful. It smelled like rotten eggs and no one would go up there anymore because of it.

That’s the reason people give anyway.

Only a week after they found Kanden…both he and his Voice never spoke a word again, everyone forgot about Brum Road because things started changing for everyone.

You’d think it was a bunch of little things that started to go wrong with the world that’s made it the mess you see now but there’s this man named Kanden Seacross who could pinpoint exactly when it all went wrong.

It all started a day before Halloween on the night Kanden Seacross Waltzed With The Devil.

Enchanteur's Mine

This is the entrance to Enchanteur's mine in the Olympic Mountains. Will you be brave enough to enter this subterranean world?

Orbs

One evening a couple of years ago I was walking around my neighborhood with my camera. I was looking for interesting night shots for a montage I was planning. I snapped this picture of the bell tower in a church (not mine). Look at those orbs flitting about the spire. Now, I have read that this is merely dust pixelating the reflected light from a digital camera flash.

Or they could be angels watching over the church.

Hmmm...

(PS: If the dust theory is correct, then my apartment should be full of orbs...but it's not.....)

Images: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Nothing But The Night

NOTHING BUT THE NIGHT
by Anita Marie Moscoso



It was only five doors down to her own house; a three minute walk on a well lit street on a quiet cold night last October.

But that didn’t matter because Damiana Dergmuse knew she was in trouble the minute that door shut behind her and she heard the tumblers in the lock grind together and hold.

With that sound that half block turned into miles and she was going to have to walk it all alone.

” There’s nothing to be afraid of, ” she told herself out loud. ” There’s nothing out here now that isn’t out here when the lights are on. ”

Then she took a deep breath and it froze in her chest and she was about to run back into the house she had just come out of because that rah-rah speech she had just given herself wasn’t going to work.

In fact she was about to have a nervous breakdown right there on the street and how would that look?

It was settled she was turning back.

She could do this, she told herself.

After all it was only five doors down and she’d be there in seconds, minutes if she could just put one foot in front of the other and move.

Then each of those steps would add up until she would be through her own front door and she would find herself in the safety of her own room and the cinnamon smell that always filled her house during the winter months.

Wouldn’t that be better then sitting in front of a neighbor’s fireplace, in a neighbor’s chair, petting a neighbor’s cat in a neighbor’s house?

Of course it would be better to be in her own home so Damiana started to walk and as she passed the first house she heard a thump, thump and then a drag and a hiss and she realized that was the sound of her own heart stopping and starting in her own chest.

” Stupid woman ” she told herself.

She put her hand to her heart and felt to make sure that it was still beating and when she felt it pound against her hand she started to walk again.

And almost hidden under the sounds of her own foot steps and rapid breathing she heard something sliding across the pavement behind her.

What she heard was a dragging sound, metal against concrete and as much as she wanted to stop and turn around to find out what could be making such an awful sound she couldn’t because now she was three doors down from her own home and in the horizon she could see a thin line of orange in the skyline.

Damiana was sure of one thing, that’s not the last thing she wanted to see on this Earth, so she walked a little faster and as she did the sky filled with crows, hundreds of them and they were flying east.

The sun was coming up, and the thin line got a little wider and Damiana could hardly breath and behind her the dragging sound got a little louder and a little heavier and she was determined that sound wouldn’t be the last thing she would hear in this life so she picked up her feet and ran.

The scraping sound got louder and she heard a whoosh and she flew up her stairs and to her door and she pushed it open and without turning around slammed it behind herself.

It was morning and the sun was coming through the windows and outside she could hear birds singing and with that sound ringing in her ears she ran faster up the stairs to the top floor of her house.

” Made it!” she cried with relief, ” I’ve made it!”

Then she laid down on her bed and she said as slammed her coffin lid shut over her head. ” There’s nothing out there to be afraid of…not now anyway.”

new windows for the Chamber of Horrors

If you look carefully at the windows you will see that they are not what they seem. The images used to decorate them have come from X-rays of the human body and the leading on the windows does not follow a conventional format ....
Window no. 2 has a pelvic girdle at the apex and cloned images of the upper torso, including skull and ribs, repeated over the rest of the window. If you click on each image you can see a slightly larger version. These are just 3 windows in a fretted metal chapel which is one of the exhibits in our new museum of modern art

Rain on my Roof

Here is another of my poems from the dark side. It is strange, is it not, what the mind does while lying on that cold steel bed as it enters the sterile environment of the tube, the scanner that hides nothing and reveals all? The mind panics and fears the worst … that is the nature of the human psyche.


Rain on my Roof

Darkness closes about me
like a solitary cell.
Large drops of rain upon my roof …
a steady splat, splat, splat.
Imprisoned as I am,
confined within a body
that no longer works as it should.
I seek escape
but have not the key.
No longer is my world one of sunshine.
of hope.
Within this body’s prison I languish alone,
without soul.
My heart beats cold and stony,
no love to keep it warm,
no joy to give it hope.
Only the rain upon my roof,
a steady splat, splat, splat.

Vi Jones
©September 4, 2006