September has arrived, and that old familiar fall feeling is in the air. This time of year, I can’t help but reminisce about bygone Halloween adventures. For the first time since 2011, my husband and I won’t be vacationing in Salem or Sleepy Hollow, but visions of witch trials and Headless Horsemen still practically haunt my every moment. And then there are the remembrances that hearken back even further. You know the ones: those memories that help define who you are and where you’re going. And naturally, mine involves a graveyard.
Over the years, many of the people I’ve met who harbor a love of the macabre have that one person who first inspired them. For my husband, it was his grandmother who watched Godzilla and Hammer films with him every Saturday morning. Who needs cartoons when you have a mythical monster stomping all over cities? For me, that person is my dad. In some ways, this shortchanges my mom who also fosters a healthy love of horror. But if nothing else, my dad was the one who chose our family’s favorite picnic spot, as seen below.
When I was growing up, my mom worked out of the home, which freed up just enough time each day for she and I to drive twenty minutes to see my dad for lunch. And as long as the weather wasn’t subzero, we always chose the same spot: a nearby historical cemetery in Gnadenhutten, Ohio. For as many as five days a week, my parents and I had lunch in a graveyard. Sometimes, even when the weather wasn’t so cooperative, we’d still drive along the thin paths, just to get our fill of the eerie.
Dining in the local cemetery probably seems strange to some people. That’s understandable. But for what it’s worth, there was never an ounce of disrespect, only pure reverence for the dearly departed. In fact, my appreciation for history and preservation has its roots in those near-daily lunch breaks. I’d frolic between the stones, study the names on the tombs, and scowl at any graffiti or other damage done since our last visit. I learned to dislike vandals and anyone who littered. This was sacred ground. How could people be so rude? my pintsized self wondered.
To this day, I have a predilection for graveyards and a disdain for the disrespectful. And those half-hour jaunts to the cemetery ultimately gave shape to my adult-life in which I’d write horror fiction and screenplays as well as marry a trained special effects artist (with whom I bonded over our shared love of monsters). In the moment, you never know the things that will change you, but it sure is fun to look back and see the genesis of the person you are today. And lunch in a graveyard with my mom and dad helped make me the proud Weird Wanderer I am today.
Who inspired your love for the weird and wonderful? Let me know in the comments!
Happy haunting!