The “Haunted America Tours” web site has some rather dubious content sometimes (their recent article about ghost hunting & sex is a hoot – not for those who don’t enjoy frank sexual content, but for those who do, get a good giggle here). But there was a bit of synchronicity today, as they published an article about “Decoding Paranormal Charged Objects: The Crystal Skull”, and a phenomenal package arrived on my doorstep early this morning.

Perhaps you recall I posted some time ago about Cora Frye & the Skull of Doom. To recap, Cora’s granddaughter Janet Ross (from Los Angeles) contacted me with information that Cora owned a “Skull of Doom”, a supposedly charmed crystal skull that she’d bring with her to séances to try to lure spirits, or more aptly, to spook her “clients”. She believes Cora’s crystal skull was present with Cora’s other accoutrement at Ellen’s famed séance. I expressed interest in seeing the skull in person.

Well my wish has come true, far beyond my broadest imaginings! Inside the parcel was a neatly wrapped present, and a gift card that reads “For your birthday: a gift from Rose Red’s past. With warm regards, Janet Ross and Cora Frye.”

My birthday is April 5th, so it arrived just in time. But I couldn’t wait until then to open it! I was absolutely tingling with excitement and couldn’t tear into the present fast enough. Inside the box I found a bundle of beautiful blue silk, and inside the bundle none other than Cora Frye’s “Skull of Doom”!

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I’m paying a heavy price for last week’s drinking session with Steve…somewhere along the line my immune system let down its guard and I developed the worst head cold in the world Saturday morning. By Monday the doctor put me on antibiotics to prevent it turning into something worse, as I was even oozing from my eyes. I’m starting to feel better but have fallen massively behind at work, and this site. I have some new things to share.

The only consolation is I’m not alone, Steve’s got it too. I’m blaming him for the germ, and he’s blaming me. He pointed out I’m the one who had saliva explode all over her kitchen. It’s a fair point, despite the fact that I’ve disinfected it about a dozen times already. I was encouraged, however, that he was cracking jokes about the paranormal events at my condo. He may be nervous about it, but at least he’s sticking to his promise to be more open about it, and to come on board.

He hasn’t been here yet, but he did do something impressive completely of his own initiative. He drafted a letter he sent yesterday to all antiques sellers, historical societies / museums, and salvage businesses in Seattle and many miles beyond. He’s asking anyone with any items from Rose Red, presumably purchased at the estate auction, to please send him photographs of their stock for this web site. I’ve included the letter here so you can read it yourself, and see how he pitched the idea to his recipients.

I also received an e-mail and a photograph from a friend of Vic’s. Read on…

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This site, by the very nature of its subject matter, is no laughing matter. But even the most terrible tragedy has some comic relief. Nick has a wicked, dry wit, and can crack jokes even under the greatest pressure. So he’d appreciate me giving a little “time out” to show you something that, now that I look back on it, is absolutely hilarious.

You may remember the publication Weekly World Digest, which was sold mostly at supermarket check-out lines and newspaper stands. It was a black and white rag that was even worse than a tabloid, because tabloids at least attempt to convey something like the truth (they have to, it’s illegal not to…). Weekly World Digest preferred to tell tales of babies born with bat wings, demons possessing ball machines at church bingo nights, vampires feeding off the First Lady, etc. All of these stories were accompanied by usually terribly unconvincing photoshopped pictures – ringing any bells now? Unfortunately, Weekly World Digest went out of business, so I can’t link you to a web site with samples. But I’m sure it’s well logged in the annals of most people’s memories.

Well, Weekly World Digest got wind of the aftermath of the Memorial Day Rose Red trip and printed what may have been the only WWD feature ever to have some basis in reality, even if the details in their version are – to say the least – highly inventive.

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What a mad rush of a weekend it was. Not in the way I’d typically mean – typically I’d mean running around doing errands, or scrambling to finish a pile of reviews, or managing a spectacularly long string of social outings (something that hasn’t happened in a very long time, and I don’t much miss it). This was by all outward appearances a quiet weekend. I simply had a friend over for a visit, right?

But time flies when you’re terrifying yourself, and that’s precisely what I did. I don’t think Emery was a fraction as worried as I was. For all my calmness in my previous post, I started working myself into a tizzy in the hours between then and when he made his way here. After all, it wasn’t a housewarming party. I didn’t just invite him over for drinks to finally see my “new” place after all these years. He came because I was capturing shadows in photographs and cleaning up ectoplasmic goo off my kitchen counters.

I wasn’t frightened for myself, but frightened of what being here might stir up for Emery, both emotionally and in adding fuel to a paranormal fire. I didn’t want too much to happen at once, that’s precisely the sort of thing I vowed to avoid when I “disappeared” back in 2002…when I tried to lure Steve here. At least this time my motives were pure, and Emery kindly volunteered the visit anyway.

But as it happened, well…not a lot happened! Surprisingly little, upon reflection. I guess part of me expected the walls to suddenly swallow him up, or his mother to come springing out of the bathroom mirror. No signs of his mother, fortunately. Nor of Nick, unfortunately. But his stay wasn’t fruitless. (Continue reading…)

Unraveling Rose Red: Piecing together the puzzle of history and “coincidence” in Rose Red.

Hotel Bremen, like Pinafore Lodge, was a very popular resort destination in the late 19th century and early 20th century. It resided on the cool, calm waters of Lake Chincopee in northern New Jersey.

After the last of the local Indians were driven from the area by white industry - primarily ice, cut in large blocks during winter and shipped around the area for storage in ice houses - the beautiful lake was prime for spring, summer, and fall retreats for middle and upper class travelers from around the country.

While one might suggest the brutality of the way the indigenous Indians were driven away could be enough to curse the entire area, their treatment was not entirely without justification. The local Indians sided with the British in the American War of Independence, as part of a confederation led by the Mohawk. They met their fate at the hands of New Jersey militia, and the rest who remained on the lake for several more decades were derided and finally shoved out of the way by the relentless forward momentum of industry. Between the ice businesses, the numerous iron mine operations on the lake’s surrounding mountains, and the growing tourism, there was very little undisrupted land left for the Indians to live on. Eventually their tribe dwindled and was absorbed into the larger Lenni Lenape nation, and descendants are rare. They are all but extinct. (Continue reading…)

Last week I proposed the idea for this post to Steven Rimbauer, and while he was naturally hesitant at first, he soon adopted his usual laissez-faire stance. That is to say when it comes to stories, he tends to let the storyteller have his or her way…and sometimes ends up butting in and telling the story himself!

There’s no chance of that happening here, since this is my blog. But after he agreed to let me talk about this “taboo” subject, he drew up notes of everything he remembered from his and Joyce’s private conversations over the course of their relationship. I’d say that’s participation in the story. And as it gives interesting insight into Joyce’s fascination with Ellen Rimbauer, and indeed her relationship with Steve, I thought it worth presenting to you for your consideration.

It must be noted that everything I am about to divulge has been approved for publication here by Steve. Even the most intimate details. Otherwise, I wouldn’t write them—his friendship is too precious to me to sacrifice over a good tale.

Warning: this post contains adult content, or at least adult references. (Continue reading…)