On the way to Winchell’s I thought of my father’s and Theresa’s different reactions to horror stories. My father was secure in the fact that horror films were made up Hollywood productions created for spine-tingling entertainment, and Theresa’s take on the genre couldn’t have been more different. She believed that the cast and production team put themselves psychically in harm’s way when they created scenes about evil spirits and ghosts. The making of a horror movie, she had told me, attracted dark entities and put everyone at risk of possession or unfortunate accidents for participating; furthermore, she said that the essence of fear that the films provoked in an audience created a weakness in people’s auras, allowing entities of the lower realm to invade. She had warned that it was best to stay away from unenlightened films.
“Mrs. Benjamin J. Vines (Alice) Born April 13, 1909 Died June 4, 1949 A Faithful Woman Faithful to B. J. Vines? It seemed an odd thing to put on a tombstone, but then everything about the white man’s burial customs seemed odd to Chee. The Navajos lacked this sentimentality about corpses. Death robbed the body of its value. Even its identity was lost with the departing chindi. What the ghost left behind was something to be disposed of with a minimum risk of contamination to the living. The names of the dead were left unspoken, certainly not carved in stone.”
“Now Fred was tired of no one hearing. This place, so horribly spick-and-span, no longer felt like home. his beloved dust – gone. His squeaks and leaks – gone. His cobwebs – gone. Who had invited these munchers and clankers? They needed to go!
And before you could say “hungry ghosts gobble air,” Fred began to moan. Ooooooo. He tossed the gumbo. Splat! He juggled the crawfish…The diners cheered.”