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December 2, 2009
Horror movies have never really been my thing. I think it has something to do with THE OMEN. I was just a kid the summer that came out. I spent much of every summer with my grandparents on the Jersey Shore. Pretty idyllic memories of being barefoot, and sandy. I knew all the kids on the block. Some were summer kids like me, others lived there all year round. All day it was fishing, crabbing and clamming, swimming and boating. Evenings were spent sitting on the fence at the corner, hanging out and comparing tan lines. Some of the kids were older. They were the ones who told me about THE OMEN, told me how I definitely had to see it. The way they said it, I felt like I had to too, then I could talk about it and tell other kids to go see it.
I can’t explain why I didn’t know what it was. I guess I really didn’t watch tv, I never remember seeing an ad or a preview. If I did, it didn’t register how scary it was. I wouldn’t have begged my grandparents to take me to see it, pleaded when they found out what it was rated. Mammy and Baba really never denied me much, including a movie night to see THE OMEN. I gritted my teeth and just barely got through it. My Baba kept grumbling every time I scooted past him for yet another bathroom trip, “Why in the world did you want to see this thing?” I slept with the light on for weeks, and no way was I gonna tell another kid to go see it.
Some people like the adrenaline rush of fear. I don’t. I never understood why a person likes the feeling of their whole body cramping tight in fright. Even riding a roller coaster is not fun to me. I’m fairly daring- but why do something that could make your head fall off? I’m sure it would, one of the times you hurtled straight down. My husband and kids love it. That’s fine- every family needs a bag holder. I’m sick of being called wimpy and ‘fraidy cat by people who come up to my waist. If I was IN a scary movie and triumphed over evil, my legendary ghost buster status could carry me…..
So, now I find myself in Louisiana making a horror movie on a 150 year old plantation with a director whose bio claims he “likes to make movies that cause severe mental damage”. Great. Hope that damage doesn’t extend to people in them. It’s a scary story, and he’s a talented guy, so I jump in with both feet, promising to bring home a recipe for the ‘best fake blood ever’. Slowly I start to realize that the story behind where we are filming is as frightening as the one we are making up. It just feels spooky, and we film only at night, so quickly rumors start flying around the crew. ‘There was a mass murder here’, ‘the owner is the murderer’, etc. Nope, he really is pretty affable and watches over his home and us filming all night, every night. People would ask him questions about the rumors and he’d sort of laugh and say things like “I never heard of that one”, or “So that’s what they say, huh?” As I watched these exchanges I got the sense that this older man knew a lot more than he was letting on, that he didn’t feel like sharing his stories with a bunch of entertainment folk. He had pride in this home, in the family that had lived there. All I needed to do was to show some true interest in his ancestry, and the floodgates opened. I should have kept my mouth shut.
I wish I could share every detail, but I can’t. I could get in trouble by breaking some sort of privacy law. I have no releases for the pictures I took, no notarized document of all that I learned and experienced. But for all the naysayers out there- I’ve got 50 people who’ve got my back! My crew has seen the pics, have had the experiences, I am not alone. I’ll share the events so far, and you make your own mind up.
The plantation is 158 years old this year. I thought this was interesting as I always claim that the #23 is omnipresent, and 15+8=23. The home was there during the Civil War. Many people died natural deaths in the house, mostly in the large bedroom in the back on the main floor. When one became infirm, that became their room so as not to have to navigate the massive staircase. There was a murder in the house about 60 years ago. The maid killed the cook because “voices told her to”. Terrible thing, but not usually the stuff of legends. Problem is, it seems that ‘hearing voices’ is a common theme in this house. Schizophrenia could be to blame, but I doubt it. The owner himself talks about who he hears, and he seems sane. He almost feels comforted by the sounds and thinks they’re deceased relatives, though he doesn’t like to sleep in the back bedroom. The grip who freaked out in front of an especially large oil painting, ruining a take, claims to have heard voices and marching. He definitely is not prone to such outbursts- according to his father who is also on the production. The home definitely feels like it overflows with history.
There have been many incidents so far of feeling a ‘chill’, or a distinct ‘touch’. Stifled screams from crew members have interrupted filming, but no one can get upset- you get the feeling you could be next to have an ‘encounter’. Freak electrical problems have plagued us since day one. At first we sort of found glee that these things were going on on the set of this movie. It fit the mood and maybe even was a prediction of success, but as the days went by it got a little too real. I would try to explain to my husband on the phone with daily updates of who experienced what, but he was a skeptic. Then I started taking pictures with my phone and sending them to him. The outside of the house, and close-ups of some of the strangest of the oil paintings that covered the walls. The main artist was apparently a ‘carnie’ who was hired by the original family members to do their portraits. Weirdly, many of the faces seem the same whether they are on a man, woman or child. The first one I took was of the very llarge family portrait that hung on the stairwell wall, the same one that made the young buck grip whimper. I sent it off in the middle of my night. When my husband got it he sent me an email back shocked that in my description I hadn’t told him of the large 23 on the shoulder of the matriarch. He thought that that would have been what freaked me out the most. (The number 23 has always been interesting to me as it seems to show up everywhere) It would have- if it had been there. It’s not. He still thinks I’m teasing him, but my Nanny who I also sent the picture to, ON THE SAME EMAIL, knows I’m not. It’s not on his either. So, an investigation was launched. We all would stare at the painting to see if swirls of color formed the number. The lighting guys tried to figure out if a reflection could cause it. Then someone suggested I pull up the original on my phone. I did, and the gasping began. In the bottom right corner, as clear as day, is the bearded face of a confederate soldier in uniform, and off to his left is a whole line of soldiers-all outlined as if by smoke. Did I mention the grip heard voices and marching?!!!! Not only that, but more to the top and left in the painting there is a large distinguished face in an orangey glow. Hmmm, two different colors, and that could be caused by……..? My picture is quickly becoming legendary.
I showed my picture to the owner. His response? “Oh, look at that! Interesting.” Hmmmm, maybe he wasn’t as surprised as the rest of us. I told him how my husband saw a distinct #23 in his emailed version. The owner said that the #23 is an important one in the house. It is in the address, etc. (!) Oh, and then he showed me another eerie old oil painting. This one was of an old-fashioned young lady and she sported a slight Mona Lisa smile. He explained that is was painted from a photograph taken on her wedding day because that’s the way they wanted to remember her. She had died the day after on her 23rd birthday, the 23rd day of the month, in 1923. I took a picture. She is not smiling at all in mine, in fact she looks rather grim.(!!)
I could go on and on about the paintings. Lips seen moving, eyes that follow you, blah, blah, blah. It was the figure I saw that shook me deep. As it happened, the 1st asst. director broke the actors, hair/makeup and wardrobe 10 minutes before the rest of the crew for lunch. Good news- I was starving and the line would be shorter. Tables are set up on the back lawn under canopies with lights. Further back, the lawn is bordered by old barn buildings. I have to walk along next to them to get to my trailer. The walk is sort of spooky with those old barns and big Cyprus trees, and it’s pretty far. I don’t go back much. Anyway, I go out the side door instead of the back one. I’m alone and facing one of the barns as I circle back to the tables. My attention was caught by someone walking slowly in front of one of the barn’s door. My first thought was who is that? Meaning which crew member. It was immediately followed by THAT’S NOT REAL!!!!!!!! See, it was a weird glowy midnight blue. Only way I can describe it, and not like the ghosts in the movies. It seemed injured or tired and carrying something heavy. It seemed sad. My first reaction was to start screaming (babbling) I AM SEEING SOMETHING! IT IS NOT NORMAL! I AM SEEING SOMETHING WEIRD RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! I guess I was pretty loud, and a PA came running. When he came around the corner and was facing the same way, he too started yelling. HOLY F**K! WHAT IS THAT?? I SEE IT TOO!! Then it was gone. We both looked at each other and said at the same time “He was blue!” It took me awhile to calm down. I was so thankful I had a witness, and everyone was enthralled with hearing every detail. It occurred to me that it might have been one of those soldiers coming home from battle. Could it really be possible that the outside was now as scary as the inside? I dreaded the walk (run) back to my trailer at the end of the night.
After wrap, I loaded my stuff into the car for the drive to my hotel. Still unnerved by the incident I told my driver how I hate the walk back to the trailers, it is so long. I professed the wish that they could put my trailer right behind the house. “ Not gonna happen,” he said. “ The buildings behind are the old slave quarters, and lots in the crew won’t wanna go near them. Bad things happened in those buildings.” It wasn’t a soldier I saw.
When I got to my room that morning, my door was locked from the INSIDE with that swing bar lock. Maintenance had to come take my door off to get me in. The whole time they were working on it, they kept muttering how strange it was it happened in the first place. Glad we are almost through at this location.
