magic_fella
The Back Alley of Halloweenville
We "meandered" on our way back from Shelby, stopping in every small town. Each place had something different to offer.
Take the tiny town of Champion, for instance. It should have been called "Halloweenville." Or maybe "Laststopforstupidcitypeoplewhodrivedownbackalleys-ton." This was a seriously creepy place...so creepy that you could feel...ummmm..."creepy" in the air, sort of like the way a carnival feels when the people have all gone home. Everything looked brown or dead.
There's an abandoned hotel, with clapboard walls bowing with age, a surreal display of a scarecrow doll in tiny park that rustles with the dueling corpses of brittle branches. (Both of these photos somehow showed up on Larry Talbot's photostream.) Even the obligatory small town Alberta Chinese restaurant had a sinister look that would leave you wondering if you'd ever walk out again...after dining on moo shoo pork that would undoubtedly taste just a little funny.
Sheree and I decided to drive down a couple of back alleys. Of course. That's where we saw this garage.
To the immediate left, just out of the frame, is a hulking pickup truck, battered and rusting with a license plate that says "Evil, Wicked Mean and Nasty." I've seen this plate before, of course. But it seemed to fit here, looking like a vehicle direct from a Stephen King novel, parked in a back yard where they do unspeakable things late at night while late autumn leaves dance in the wind.
We paused to look at this building and take some shots because it is, well...a really interesting building.
"Someone's coming," said Sheree...rather suddenly, I thought.
I was about 40% freaked out by Champion so I drove away with as much nonchalance as I could muster under the circumstances, trying hard not to spin the tires because everyone knows that the jerk who spins his tires as he drives away from the cannibal hillbilly is the first to die. (Right before the brain-dead-heroine-who-for-reasons-only-a-brain-dead-heroine-could-possibly-understand-goes-down-into-the-basement-of-an-abandoned-building-in-her-underwear-carrying-a-flashlight-powered-by-dubious-batteries-even-though-she-freaking-KNOWS-some-nut-with-a-chainsaw-has-just-murdered-all-of-her-friends gets killed.)
"Did you see that guy?" asked Sheree. She went on to describe a guy in a cowboy hat who looked like one of the inbred wild eyed psychopaths from "The Hills Have Eyes."
"Why did you drive away?" she asked.
It seemed pretty obvious to me, so I just looked at her, as visions of my own head mounted on the wall just under the STOP sign came to mind.
I love road trips.
The Back Alley of Halloweenville
We "meandered" on our way back from Shelby, stopping in every small town. Each place had something different to offer.
Take the tiny town of Champion, for instance. It should have been called "Halloweenville." Or maybe "Laststopforstupidcitypeoplewhodrivedownbackalleys-ton." This was a seriously creepy place...so creepy that you could feel...ummmm..."creepy" in the air, sort of like the way a carnival feels when the people have all gone home. Everything looked brown or dead.
There's an abandoned hotel, with clapboard walls bowing with age, a surreal display of a scarecrow doll in tiny park that rustles with the dueling corpses of brittle branches. (Both of these photos somehow showed up on Larry Talbot's photostream.) Even the obligatory small town Alberta Chinese restaurant had a sinister look that would leave you wondering if you'd ever walk out again...after dining on moo shoo pork that would undoubtedly taste just a little funny.
Sheree and I decided to drive down a couple of back alleys. Of course. That's where we saw this garage.
To the immediate left, just out of the frame, is a hulking pickup truck, battered and rusting with a license plate that says "Evil, Wicked Mean and Nasty." I've seen this plate before, of course. But it seemed to fit here, looking like a vehicle direct from a Stephen King novel, parked in a back yard where they do unspeakable things late at night while late autumn leaves dance in the wind.
We paused to look at this building and take some shots because it is, well...a really interesting building.
"Someone's coming," said Sheree...rather suddenly, I thought.
I was about 40% freaked out by Champion so I drove away with as much nonchalance as I could muster under the circumstances, trying hard not to spin the tires because everyone knows that the jerk who spins his tires as he drives away from the cannibal hillbilly is the first to die. (Right before the brain-dead-heroine-who-for-reasons-only-a-brain-dead-heroine-could-possibly-understand-goes-down-into-the-basement-of-an-abandoned-building-in-her-underwear-carrying-a-flashlight-powered-by-dubious-batteries-even-though-she-freaking-KNOWS-some-nut-with-a-chainsaw-has-just-murdered-all-of-her-friends gets killed.)
"Did you see that guy?" asked Sheree. She went on to describe a guy in a cowboy hat who looked like one of the inbred wild eyed psychopaths from "The Hills Have Eyes."
"Why did you drive away?" she asked.
It seemed pretty obvious to me, so I just looked at her, as visions of my own head mounted on the wall just under the STOP sign came to mind.
I love road trips.