Love is Hard: Really Bad Tarot February 9 2019

First, I want to apologize for not doing my Really Bad Tarot Card Reading the last couple of weeks. Two weeks ago I was on the road all weekend (doing them in person to great fanfare), and last week…let’s just say that the weather had me in a really foul mood and I didn’t feel like it.

But of course, I know that so many of you can’t really function properly until I have shared the wisdom of the cards. Here we go…

This week’s reading comes from the Mystical Tarot. Little known fact: I get some of my best readings from these cards, but it is one of my least requested decks when I am giving personal readings. I think that is because it is not packed in a flashy box and, being one of my older decks, resides in a normal sized, slightly tattered, unassuming box.

But today is its chance to shine!

With Valentine’s Day approaching, I asked the cards to give us all romantic advice: What should we look for in our romantic lives? Continue reading “Love is Hard: Really Bad Tarot February 9 2019”

Brian Cunningham SF12 E20

Tonight Wes and co-host Holly welcome Brian Cunningham, the writer and director of the recently released feature film “Wretch”.

Wretches plot outline goes “In an attempt to piece together fractured memories of a drug-fueled night in the woods, three friends confront guilt, jealousy, and a supernatural presence that threatens to expose their true natures.”

We find out many details of the filming from behind the camera, and get to know what drives Brian forward as an independent film producer.

 

Blood Types: The Official Literary Journal of The Scarefest

In 2016, The Scarefest put together a collection of stories and poems. Some were written by published authors, others by people that just wanted to share their creativity. The one thing that they all had in common was that they were submitted by fans of The Scarefest.

The Journal created a lot of “buzz” and some incredible submissions poured in.

By all accounts it was a huge success! But what happened to it?

In the transition of ownership from our beloved founder Patti Starr to our current owners Brandon and Nicole Griffith, the Literary Journal got lost in the transfer with most of the remaining copies lost to the world. Although it was a successful project, both creatively and financially, it was nonetheless peripheral to the core mission of the convention and nearly forgotten…until now.

The Literary Journal of The Scarefest is scheduled to return in 2020 as we celebrate our 13th year.  To prepare for its relaunch, we are proud and excited to publish these great works online for the general public. In the coming months, as permissions are granted, we will be posting each and every story and poem from that original collection here on Scarefest Radio.

Enjoy.


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Rambl’n Man

By Circus Envy.

Every town had its ghost. Jersey boasted of its nefarious devil while a disembodied with echoed in the caves of Tennessee. Robert the doll retired in sunny Key West and Jodi the demonic pig claimed a charming Dutch colonial on Long Island.

Per capita, Atlanta’s Fulton Industrial Boulevard was chocked with more spirits than Gettysburg but no one cared. Notorious for crack cocaine, plebeian strip clubs, and high crime; the “FIB” (as it is often dubbed) befitted an episode of “COPS” more so than a paranormal investigation. Most sightings were dismissed because witnesses were high off their gourd. Even credible accounts were shelved after novice ghost hunters were mugged a few years back. The perpetrator held them at gunpoint demanding THC; allegedly because he he had misheard a discussion regarding “electronic voice phenomena”.

Since then, the paranormal community unanimously decided that documenting the ghosts of junkies was hardly worth facing the live ones. Nonetheless, this was a place of incessant tragedy; haunted by some taken too unexpectedly to understand they were dead while the lucid among them stayed for fear that judgement awaited them elsewhere.

At 4 AM on a Sunday morning, even the spirits were warily still. By this hour, the clubs had closed and casual partiers swerved drunkenly back to the suburbs. This was an unspoken “last call” for finding drugs, prostitutes, or both before sunrise. These darkest hours were dominated by hard criminals and desperate addicts. Only fools dare walk among them and tonight just such a fool made his way home on foot.

Envy elected his path as it offered the least amount of human interaction, reasoning that most would be too occupied with drug deals to notice him. Normally, he savored turning heads in areas thought to be jaded beyond shock but tonight he was too tired to care. At times like these, a fifteen minute detour through the valley of death was better than an hour of public transit.

Wisps of white hair frame his face, smudged with haplessly applied makeup and sprawling veins. Some would reason that a man in such attire demanded attention. Contrarily, the makeup was a sleight of hand; designed to distract and disguise features he perceived as weakness. The pointed teeth and thin skin were part of his natural appearance and an ideal pallet for the clown. When in character, he became the life of the party as opposed to being treated like some dick with a handicap. No one knew where the costume ended and the anomaly began.

With such an uncanny appearance, both in and out of makeup, Envy was no contender for day jobs. Making the best of a bad situation, he earned his living as a caricature and even at that the choices were limited.

Homewreckers was renowned for its unconventional strippers. Men came here when they were tired of enormous implants and mall hair. They were keeping it real! Envy’s clown shtick and overall disdain seem to jive with the lowbrow clientele, so the club recruited him as resident shock jock. Such an opportunity would have been ideal if only it included transportation, which brings us back to the predicament at hand.

“What’s up, man” mutters Envy, attempting to disarm the first vagabond he encounters. He fishes a dollar out of his coat but the recipient is too stunned to accept. Obligingly, Envy retracts and resumes walking. Now twenty yards away, the man is finally able to muster words, “Oh hell no!” Alerted by the vagabond, watchers stir under the cloak of shadows waiting ahead.

“Should’ve taken Uber,” murmurs Envy to no one. It wasn’t too late to call and he has 20 something dollars in his pocket, “but they don’t take cash” he concludes. Too lazy to trek back toward public transit, the clown trudges on.

The next five minutes are uneventful. His mind begins to ease as he approaches the crossroad, until his cell phone begins ringing at full blast! Envy vigorously searches his pockets for what seems like an eternity. Once locating the phone he fumbles, all the while debating whether he should answer or silence it. Hoping the unrecognized number is someone with a car, he chooses to accept the call. “Yeah?” he grumbles more loudly than intended. He recognizes the voice at the other end as his sound guy, Frosty. After seconds of intangible murmur from the other end Envy decides to state his plea, “Frosty…it’s me, Envy. I need a favor.” Although Frosty remains aloof, the request does not go unheard.

Sensing he is no longer alone, Envy snaps shut the dated flip phone. The lingering glow of the screen temporarily blinds him but stammering footsteps suggest he has drawn a crowd. Moments pass but no one utters a word.

Always a clown, Envy attempts to break the ice. “Hey guys, want some VIP passes for the club?” He pauses for reaction but to no avail. Less fearful of mortality than a failing joke, he proceeds to the punchline. “Or does your Mom put you on the guest list?”, but still nothing. “Tough crowd, what I’m saying is your Mom’s a stripper…” “Why you dress like that?” asserts one voice. Before Envy can respond, a second voice interjects, “You want yo’ ass kicked?” Envy conceded, “I’m in the ghetto at 4 am dressed like a clown; I figured fighting was a possibility.” Without adieu, the men attack from all sides. More aggravated than frightened, Envy fights back. As his eyes readjust he counts five or more and knows it’s a losing battle.

Clarity is short lived as a blow just above his right eye sends blood streaming into his line of vision, tinging the night with red. Repeat kicks give way to an audible snap deep within his abdomen and his head grates violently against the pavement.

Envy dissociates, taking inventory of each item on his person and how to replace them. The cash is no big deal, but he’d have to get a new ID and that was always a pain in the ass. Fortunately, he left his cherished flask back at Homewreckers, having emptied it earlier in the evening. If anything, he worried about his shitty cell phone. It was ten years old and sure to die soon but not before he saved the numbers!

Like clockwork, the beating stops and pillaging begins. As predicted, they grab his cash and ID before dispersing.

Envy remembers clutching the phone when the attack began. Peering with only his left eye intact, he spots it lying ten feet away and beings to crawl. The pain is inexplicable but he resists groaning as the men can still be heard nearby. After dragging five feet, the damn thing starts ringing again! One of the men returns to collect the phone. “Hey, you don’t want that piece of shit…” but Envy’s reasoning is met with a kick to the face, rendering him unconscious.

Envy awakes. Though the assailants are nowhere in sight, he finds himself surrounded by onlookers. A jovial figure parts the crowd with his loyal dog in tow. Suddenly, the dog sprints ahead, greeting Envy with affectionate licks. “Tigba, don’t go loving all over that clown. You don’t know where it’s been.” The man laughs heartily at his own humor.

There is something familiar about the man but Envy fails to place him. He is elderly with a complexion as warm and rich as cocoa beans. Shimmers of white hair sprout from beneath his hat, continuing more sparsely along the chin and jawline. Though his face is etched deep with aging, the eyes reveal a childlike mischief.

Clutching a cane in his right hand, he kneels for a closer look at the injured clown. Prodding Envy’s abdomen, the man seems to hone in on just the right areas. “… think I got some broken ribs.” Envy awaits confirmation but the old man just keeps poking. The clown flinches as he jabs a particularly sensitive spot. “Hey, you a doctor?”, but he still pokes. “You aren’t as ragged as you think” resolves the old man, rising back to his feet. Tigba offers a single bark as though agreeing. “Did you see what happened?” counters Envy but the stranger seems disinterested.

Suddenly the clown is struck with a grim revelation, “Am I dead?” he utters aloud. The question stirs the crowd who anxiously whisper among themselves. The old man savors the tension, responding only after considerable pause, “Halfway” without further explanation.

“Wait. What?” Envy sits upright and the pain fades like a waking dream. “Did you all die here?” Envy searches those around him for answers. Some fade where they stand while others begin to stray. Only a third of the original group remains viable and present.

“They won’t hear it,” says the old man of those deserting.

“What about you? Did you die here, too?”

“Me? Nah. Just passing through… Lawd, I was born a rambl’n man!” The man ends his off key rendition of the Allman Brothers with a peel of laughter but Envy is not amused. “Who are you?” Ever evasive, the man replies, “Depends who you ask,” then punctuates with a laugh. “Are you the devil?” The man contemplates but offers no retort. Envy grates on, hoping to provoke an honest answer, “Cos I don’t think God would be such a prick.” The man’s brow furrows, “Those the only two in your Rolodex?” Envy replies, “Well… my phone was stolen.” The man rejoices in sweet irony.

Envy guesses it must be close to sunrise as light increases ever so subtly. Like darkness itself, the remaining ghosts fade silently until there are none. As dawn breaches Envy notices light hailing from the southwest rather than the east. “What the hell?” “La dame du cimetière,” announces the stranger. “That means nothing to me,” the clown confesses.

“She’s here!” raves the old coot. From his coat he pulls a flask and passes it to the clown, “Something to take the edge off.” Envy initially declines but nervously accedes as the light anomaly grows nearer.

“There she is,” the rambl’n man marvels. Envy’s eyes dart in the direction of his voice but he is nowhere to be seen. Tigba has also vanished, along with the street, trees and all that surrounded him an instant prior. Now there is only light, enveloping Envy in its euphoric brilliance.

A shrouded figure emerges. As the figure touches ground, the light climbs upward until swallowed by the heavens. Now the clown and his visitor are alone in the dark.

The entity is feminine; a skeleton cloaked in jellyfish skin. The translucent flesh drapes freely beyond the shoulders but girdles the neck and skull; stretched like a drum over hollow, eyeless sockets.

Her ghostly figure dissipates, extending her presence in the form of extrasensory vapor. Envy basks in her essence. Once absorbed through the skin she begins adapting his body, making it viable for possession. While imparting the gift, she offers a glimpse of her former self. The skull morphs revealing a vibrant woman with fair hair and features. Most salient are her phosphorous green eyes.

Without warning the light above rekindles and extends its beam to rapture the girl. Her essence is torn from him; reverting his senses back to mortal infirmity. Momentarily, his consciousness flickers between light and reality until the latter prevails. Envy finds himself returned to the aftermath of having just received a kick to the face. Avoiding a second kick, he catches the man’s foot midair and send him flailing to the ground. Quickly, the others rush to his aid, ready to annihilate the clown.

Envy’s eyes grow green with rage. The same energy spreads throughout, mending wounds and imbuing the clown with unhallowed power. The men babble with fear as the clown rises to resume his poise. Such an occasion would normally call for an impeccably timed wisecrack but tonight Envy doesn’t feel the need to deflect.

Continue reading “Rambl’n Man”

SFR Body & Spirit E1 I AM with Mark James

Throughout history there is one statement that has been presented to humanity in various forms, that statement is to “Know Thyself.”

Join Wes as he launches our new Body & Spirit with his first guest discussing Self Realization, Mark James.

Scarefest Radio’s Body & Spirit is presented by BluLeaf Naturals.

 

Horror News for February 4 2019

The quickest way to their heart (that doesn’t involve avoiding the rib cage) is to share a special weekend at The Scarefest!

The Scarefest wants to help you make their Valentine’s Day special this year. What does every horror and paranormal fan want? They want to come to The Scarefest!

So to celebrate this Valentine’s season The Scarefest is offering, for a limited time, our extremely popular Buy One – Get One deal on weekend passes. Give that special someone what they really want: a weekend they will cherish forever where they can meet their favorite horror and paranormal celebrities, shop with some at some of most creative and macabre vendors in the country, and enjoy the company of people that share their passion for all things weird and unusual.

 

Beth Darlington SF12 E19

Australian paranormal researcher and educator Beth Darlington was this week’s guest.

Beth has been traveling halfway around the world to attend the Scarefest for about four years straight. Her vibrant personality and fascination with our Kentucky culture has made her one of our most popular “fans” and many of us look forward to her appearance every year.

Beth operates “down under” as Access Paranormal where she offers tutorials and advice to her fellow paranormal investigators.

 

Dowsing Rod Holster

Wes came up with this simple idea while he was stumbling about Waverly Hills a couple of years ago, trying to carry several cameras and various other gadgetry. Basically, he kept dropping his dowsing rods every time I turned around.

Even when he wasn’t packing around more equipment than is used by your average telephone lineman, there was always the issue of how to keep the rods together and protected during transport and storage. Since he owned a leather shop, this seemed like a natural solution. Once he got around to making a couple of prototypes and started carrying his rods in the case, people started asking him to make them one too. Finally, he decided to see if there is a market for them.

The cases are made of high quality English style strap leather. This is the leather that they make horse equipment out of. It is heavy weight and durable. Pictured are the chestnut color and the black that is so darned popular with ghost hunter types.

The design includes two D rings: one located at each end. This is so you can attach a strap and carry the rods over your shoulder. All you need is a spare camera strap (and no self-respecting ghost hunter does not have a few of those laying about). The ends are tapered to a point. We found that this “slotted” design keeps the rods from swinging around quite so much.

The scabbard can easily accommodate several pairs of rods at once. We haven’t really tested it to see exactly how many will fit in it, but psychic Teri Page has been known to carry 2 or 3 pairs in hers of various lengths. The lower picture illustrates how a 24″ set of rods fit in the 24″ version.

We offer several lengths of course to accommodate different rod sizes. We suggest buying the size that best fits your longest dowsing rods as the shorter rods fit in the longer case much better than the other way around.

$25 any size
dowsing rods not included











Please allow 2 weeks for delivery.
Continental United States only. Shipping charges are $8.50 per Gift Shop combined order unless otherwise specified.





Wes Has A Day Job

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Kentucky Harness Belt with Brass Nameplate

Authentic leather “Harness Belts” handmade in the heart of the Bluegrass: Carefully cut, crafted, and hand-rubbed to the highest levels of craftsmanship.

Welcome to the day job”. We cut our belts from select bridle leather hides and use only solid brass buckles and plates. The buckle is attached with brass Chicago screws for easy replacement. We hand rub the edges and seal them to a smooth finish. We are proud of the leather we use and do not hide its quality behind dyed edges.

The heavy, beautiful leather makes this the perfect belt for dress, but is durable enough to wear every day.

Available in 3/4″, 1″, 1-1/4″, and 1-1/2″ widths.

Available in either a classic, simple creased edge or in our popular, stylish stitched edge. The stitching is done in a contrasting brown thread.

Simple sizing (just order your actual pants waist size) makes ordering easy, and if your belt does not fit simply return it to us, pay a shipping charge, and get a free replacement.

Since our belts are PERSONALIZED and custom made to order, they may be exchanged for sizing (shipping payment required), but are otherwise NON-RETURNABLE.

WORD TO THE WISE: The more print you ask us to put on the plate, the smaller the letters. We suggest no more than 20 letters and spaces MAXIMUM for a good result.

Need more information about sizing, colors or returns?


1 1/2 inch wide…Creased Style
mens work
$40.00 each
#06-2003


size
Plate to say

 1 1/4 inch wide…Creased Style
mens dress and casual
$35.00 each
#06-2002


size
Plate to say

 1 inch wide…Creased Style
ladies casual/mens dress
$30.00 each
#06-2001


size
Plate to say

3/4″ wide…Creased Style
children/ladies dress
$28.00 each
#06-2000


size
Plate to say

1 1/2″ wide…Stitched Style
mens work
$45.00 each
#06-2013


size
Plate to say


1 1/4 wide…Stitched Style
mens dress and casual
$40.00 each
#06-2012


size
Plate to say

1″ wide…Stitched Style
ladies casual/mens dress
$35.00 each
#06-2011


size
Plate to say

3/4″ wide…Stitched Style
Children/ladies dress
$33.00 each
#06-2010


size
Plate to say

Please allow 2 weeks for delivery.
Continental United States only. Shipping charges are $8.50 per Gift Shop combined order unless otherwise specified.