~ William Blackwell ~ Dark Fiction Author

Author: william Page 4 of 9

The Real Witch of Port-LaJoye

On June 1, 2018

Doing research recently on The Witch’s Tombstone, my latest supernatural thriller, I got temporarily stymied. I learned about a novel by Joyce Barkhouse apparently called The Witch of Port LaJoie, which supposedly documents the fate of a witch burned at the stake in Prince Edward Island (PEI) in the 1700s. Multiple searches produced no results. As I usually do when I run into a roadblock, I put the task aside to revisit it in the future, often with more determination.

In the meantime, I bought and read a novel called The Tragedy of Minnie McGee by Joanne Collicott McGuigan. This true story about a troubled and abused PEI woman who poisoned six of her children in 1912 by feeding them weak tea tainted with the heads of phosphorous matches will also form part of The Witch’s Tombstone. It’s a compelling read, rich in information, about the first woman on PEI sentenced to hang for her crimes. It’s also very repetitive and could use another coat of editorial polish.

About a week later, I again started searching for the Barkhouse novel and found no results. I started playing with the spelling of Port LaJoie and discovered there are at least three spellings for the French settlement on the southwestern part of the harbor opposite the city of Charlottetown. It is now a major tourist attraction, also known as Rocky Point. Some spell it Port LaJoie, while others spell it Port-LaJoye, the Wikipedia version. I don’t know which one is correct, but the Port-LaJoye spelling produced Joyce Barkhouse’s novel called Witch of Port Lajoye. In her book title, she doesn’t use the hyphen and she doesn’t capitalize the j in LaJoye.

Regardless of the correct spelling (for now I’ve decided on the Wikipedia version), I ordered a paperback of the short novel as part of my research. There isn’t much in the way of a book description. All I could find on Google Books was this:

A haunting legend set in Prince Edward Island. A young Basque woman learns the healing ways of the Micmac, only to be called a witch by the settlers on the Island in the early 1700s.

In any event, other research produced some fascinating stuff. On the government website upei.ca, information sourced from Fort La Joie (that’s how they spell it) Public Archives and Records Office, tells this tale of the legend of La Belle Marie, also known as Marie Granville:

In Port La Joie, during the French Regime, the Mi’kmaq and the Acadians had developed a relationship, and became allies, so it was not uncommon for French legends to include the Mi’Kmaq, or vice versa. The Mi’kmaq were well known for their beautiful folklore, which was written in their native tongue. The Legend of La Belle Marie is a romantic legend which occurred in the Port la Joie vicinity. Marie’s mother, known as Madame Granville, came to Port la Joie after the death of her father, in search of a quiet and simple life. She supposedly wandered from place to place with her daughter, never feeling quite at home, until she reached the Mi’Kmaq settlement. As the story goes, the mother and daughter settled in with the Mi’Kmaqs, and adapted into their lives. They participated in their everyday activities; dancing with them in the evenings, and settled into their dwelling at night, which lay near the haunted spring.

That autumn during the uik paltimk, or farewell feast celebrated before the dispatch of the hunters to the mainland for large game; the chief announced the betrothal of his son to the beautiful pale face, Belle Marie. Madame Granville prepared to set out on a journey to the coast of the Gulf of Mexico in order to collect a suitable dowry for her daughter who is to be the bride of the Indian Prince. The following spring the mother and daughter set off down the river to Port la Joie where Madame Granville was to set out on her journey. However, that afternoon, their empty canoe drifted out to sea with the tide. A search party was formed by her soon to be husband, Kaktoogwasees, and the following morning, two bodies were located on the banks of the river. Madame Granville was dead, and scalped. Marie showed some signs of life, and was immediately brought back to the wigwams for medical attention. She fully recovered and the wedding took place in July. As the newly wedded pair passed from the bower to the open, a crackling sound was heard in the leaves and branches. La Belle Marie gave forth a cry… She threw herself on her husband and tore an arrow from his bleeding bosom. Kaktoogwasees took his last breath and died in her arms.

Marie was now afraid of the society she had grown to love. She knew her husband had been taken down by a member of their own tribe, and felt no one could be trusted. The French inhabitants generally shunned her for her unorthodox behavior, except for the fisherman, who believed she could bring them good luck. The wives of the fisherman grew jealous and complaints were lodged against her to the Intendant at Port la Joie. La Belle Marie was brought to trial and accused of witchcraft. She was found guilty and sentenced to burn at the stake.

Yet, according to Julie V. Watson, Ghost Stories and Legends of Prince Edward Island, even the burning flames of hell were not enough to silence La Belle Marie.

She writes:

Yet even death in the flames was not enough to silence La Belle Marie. It is said that a young soldier posted as a guard on the eve of her execution was never allowed to rest in peace. That night Marie sang her wild, plaintive songs until she had his attention, then begged the young man to set her free and flee with her to seek her father’s buried treasure. The young French soldier was tempted but heeded warnings about her bewitching spells making men do evil deeds and left her imprisoned.

The next day she was tied to a stake driven into the ground between Point de la Flame and the Black Cross, an area now known as Rocky Point. And, the young French-man watched her burn, singing her songs. He ran from the scene and wandered aimlessly until found days later. He claimed to hear the melody of Mineota all of his life, plagued with it even on his deathbed.

Did racial bigotry and misunderstanding of a fey teenager bring about such unhappiness? Or was Marie truly evil, bringing the wicked ways of her father to her own generation? We will never know.

Either way, the legend of La Belle Marie is a powerful and compelling tale. Some say, if you visit the wind-blown cliffs of Rocky Point, you might even here the melodious songs of La Belle Marie dancing on the waves.

In the meantime, I wait with baited breath for my paperback novel, Witch of Port Lajoye, to arrive in the mail.

The debunked tale of the so-called witch called Paddy McGuinness, the true tragic account of Minnie McGee, and the legend of La Belle Marie will all form part of The Witch’s Tombstone. It is a work of fiction but will also combine many facts, legends, and folklore of PEI.

To whet your appetite, here’s a short synopsis: A troubled young woman cursed with shadowy supernatural powers believes she’s the descendant of an evil witch who was burned at the stake in the 1700s for her crimes.

THE CREATION OF A BOOK COVER

By william

On May 15, 2018

In Posts

An artist collaboration in any form is not an easy thing to accomplish. Artists have different schedules, different temperaments and, above all, different creative visions. As an independent author, I collaborate with talented cover designer Johnny Breeze on my book covers. Our goal is to get on the same page so that we might get on with the chapters and reach THE END with something eye-catching, outstanding and, since I write mainly in the horror genre, horrifying.

Currently I’m collaborating with Johnny on The Dark Menace, my latest work in progress. Here’s a short synopsis:

Mysterious and terrifying attacks by the Shadow People and the Hat Man lead a nightmare-plagued man to suspect an enigmatic doctor has accidentally opened a portal to hell.

Here’s a long synopsis:

Noah Janzen is plagued by nightmares and numerous sleep disorders; night terrors, sleepwalking, sleep talking, and a terrifying sleep paralysis that often invokes chilling images of the Shadow People and the Hat Man.

Determined not to let his nocturnal demons interfere with his successful career and newly formed relationship with Angela Rosewood, he meets her in a local pub. But when he sees a shadowy figure wearing a fedora and a trench coat eerily watching him through a window, he freaks out and battens down the hatches.

He soon learns that a hat-wearing psycho has viciously attacked Angela, smashing in her door, trashing her apartment, and nearly killing her. Worse still, Angela suspects Noah has morphed into a conduit for evil and starts distancing herself from him. She might even think he is the Hat Man.

Desperate to save his new relationship and find answers, he seeks the aid of physicist and sleep specialist, Doctor Neil Samuelson. While remaining tight-lipped on his experiments involving the Shadow People and the Hat Man, the enigmatic doctor informs Noah that an old woman has been brutally murdered at the hands of The Dark Menace.

As blood-curdling reports of Shadow People and the Hat Man escalate, Noah suspects Neil has accidentally opened up a portal from another dimension, unleashing a torrent of evil shadowy entities, hell-bent on terrorizing and destroying humanity.

He’s thrust into an epic battle to preserve his relationship and sanity and find answers to a strange and mysterious real-life phenomenon that has haunted and terrorized thousands of people around the world for centuries.

I’m fortunate that Johnny and I both possess minds that are visually oriented. We can generally get on the same page quickly. When I write novels, I take some time to visualize the scene in my mind before putting pen to paper. Before I send Johnny my vision for a cover concept, I search out images to reflect my vision and send them to him, along with a short cover vision synopsis. Usually, when I nail the vision, Johnny nails the cover and produces something amazing. But when I miss the vision, Johnny generally misses the cover. Of course, he’s just trying to incorporate my vision and add his creative talent to it, so if I don’t get it right I can hardly blame him.

That’s what happened on the first go-around for The Dark Menace. I only envisioned the Hat Man, also referred to as The Dark Menace, standing idly with a sword in his hands—his red glowing eyes staring at you threateningly. The result was a rather bland image.

I quickly realized this and called Johnny as often a short conversation will create a unity of vision. He offered some suggestions and we came up with a totally new and much better cover concept. I sent him an email to convey the new cover concept and to remind him of what we had discussed. He’s a very busy artist so I wanted him have something to fall back on when he decided to get creative with The Dark Menace.

Below is an excerpt from the email:

Possibly red for the author and book name, which matches the eyes of the Hat Man.

Hat Man upper torso clearly defined; his bottom half black and wispy, apparition-like, as you’ve done a bit in the first cover concept.

Machete or sword not needed.

Eerie graveyard scene with perhaps a few tombstones, skulls and bones. Maybe a red glow surrounding the Hat Man image that makes him stand out.

Clearly defined lines on Hat Man and Hat Man eyes. Gaucho style hat.

Maybe a full moon in the background. Maybe not. I like wild skull-like images.

Maybe the Hat Man has his arms outstretched in sort of an enveloping embrace.

I like your idea about predominant colors being black and blue and maybe gray as opposed to my original fiery background.

The Dark Menace image you see in this blog post represents my first failed vision. Playing around one day, I even doctored it up a bit. But trust me, I was just having fun. I’m not a graphic artist. I don’t mess with Johnny’s creations as far as a hands-on tampering with the image is concerned. I only offer suggestions. He has the creative license. He has the creative genius.

Expect something truly remarkable when the real cover finally emerges. Stay tuned and have an awesome day.

The Dark Menace progress

By william

On May 8, 2018

In Posts

I’m moving forward with research on The Dark Menace. It didn’t hurt that I took three days off over the weekend and had the opportunity to clear my mind by spending time on my awe-inspiring beachfront property. The beautiful scenery never ceases to invoke a sense of peace and inspiration.

I think it also helped that I had a terrible nightmare the other night in which, armed with a chainsaw, I found myself attacking and indeed slicing and dicing demons with it. It was deeply disturbing but I believe the nightmare acted as a cleansing mechanism of sorts, my mind’s way of taking out the trash.

In any event, here’s a synopsis and a sample of The Dark Menace:

Determined to prevent his nocturnal demons from interfering with his successful career and newly formed relationship with Angela Rosewood, he meets her in a local pub. But when he sees a shadowy figure wearing a fedora and a trench coat eerily watching him through a window, he freaks out and flees.

As blood-curdling reports of Shadow People and the Hat Man escalate, Noah suspects Neil has accidentally opened up a portal from another dimension, unleashing a torrent of ghostly evil entities, hell-bent on terrorizing and destroying humanity.

PROLOGUE

The muffled scream echoing eerily from the hallway leading to Noah’s bedroom didn’t alarm Barbara Janzen enough to stir her from her couch-potato, channel-surfing position. She reached into the glass bowl cradled on her lap and shoveled a mouthful of potato chips into her mouth, unaware of a few chips that slid down her gray sweatshirt, one lodging in the crotch of her sweatpants, a few others spilling onto the sofa. She grabbed the remote, adjusted her bulk, and turned up the volume. The crotch-pinned chip crunched into powder. Oblivious, she flicked the channel quickly six times and finally stopped at Bride of the Monster, a 1955 B-grade cult horror film. She leaned back and grinned, exposing crooked, decaying and nicotine-stained teeth.

“Mooommmmy… heeeeeelp me!”

She craned her neck, scanning the dimly lit hallway. The shrieking cry for help echoed off the walls and then the house grew quiet and still. She frowned slightly. Damn kid, she thought. Always having nightmares about monsters. There are no monsters. Only on TV. Raising the volume a second time, she refocused on Bela Lugosi’s cult classic, a movie she thought would take her away from the bleakness and despair of her own existence.

Five minutes later, she was lost in the movie.

The front door swung open so violently it crashed into the wall, rattling a window and knocking a cactus plant onto the floor, shattering the clay pot and spilling dirt on the beaten carpet. The cactus miraculously stood upright, a prickly phallus defying all odds. A long-haired motley-looking man dressed in torn denim stepped inside and grinned.

“You drunken idiot,” Barbara said, her eyes narrowing. “You scared the shit out of me. Look what you’ve done. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Through glazed eyes, the man gazed at the TV, then at Barbara. He took a long swill from his Molson Canadian beer can, chucked the empty outside and slammed the door. “Honey, I’m home.”

Barbara paused her movie and put the glass bowl on the coffee table, along with the remote. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. Her first instinct was to erupt like a volcano and she struggled to control the rising flow of lava. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with Garrett now. Not in his current condition. He could be extremely confrontational when he was drunk. And not just verbal abuse; a few times he’d come close to striking her. Besides, he’d just called her ‘honey,’ a word he rarely used when speaking to her, even though the term of endearment was alcohol-induced.

She rose and approached him quickly, helping him off with his jean jacket and leading him over to a tattered La-Z-Boy chair. She plopped him into it.

He melted into the chair, slouched his head to one side, and focused on the screen vacantly. “You watching that crap again?”

Not wanting to rouse his ire, she ignored the comment, grabbed a dustpan and broom from a nearby closet and kneeled down to the mess he’d made. She swept up shattered remains of the clay pot, deposited them into a kitchen garbage can, and returned with an empty glass and a dish cloth. She swept some soil into the glass and, using the dish cloth as an improvised glove, carefully picked up the cactus plant and inserted it into the dirt inside. In the kitchen, she added a little water to it and placed it on a kitchen window sill, out of the way of future intoxicated paths of destruction, she hoped.

She cleaned the carpet as best she could and stood up to evaluate her effort. It would need a vacuum to get everything, she knew. But the vacuum was broken, and had been for more than a week. She sighed heavily, returned to the couch and plunked herself down.

She looked at Garrett. His head lolled slowly to and fro, eyes opening and closing.

“I should get you to bed,” she said. “You’re wasted.”

His eyes opened. “Barney’s got a new hottie. Sweet little thing she is…”

“Barney’s always getting new girlfriends,” she said. “He wears them out faster than you do a pair of socks.”

She searched his bloodshot eyes for a response, but they were closed now. She watched Garrett for a minute or two as spittle began dripping from his open mouth. He emitted a loud nasally snore, the first of many to come. She debated trying to help him to bed, but quickly changed her mind. No sense waking the fool now. Let him sleep it off in his favorite chair.

She resumed watching Bride of the Monster with a sigh, thankful that she hadn’t married this loser. He couldn’t hold down a steady job, drank like a fish, and relied on government hand-outs to survive. And his demeanor and disposition were far from that of a model citizen. But, just like all the others, he’d probably be gone in a month or two.

Five minutes or so into the movie, even over Garrett’s snoring and the blaring TV, Barbara heard a loud crash, followed by another ear-piercing scream. This time she did react, standing up so fast, she tilted her chip bowl, spilling its crunchy contents all over the sofa and carpet.

Garrett stirred, inhaled a nasally snore and muttered something incomprehensible—the beginning of his night-time symphonic somniloquy.

At the far end of the hall, the bedroom door burst open and Noah sprang out, crashing head-first into the wall and falling on the floor. Although she didn’t rush, Barbara walked purposefully down the hall, stopped in front of her son, and knelt down. His long brown hair was sweat-matted to his head. A small cut above his left eye leaked blood down his face. His mouth was open in a large O of shock and his green eyes were wide open, fixated on the ceiling and frozen. Holding his arms stiffly at his sides, he appeared to be in a state of catatonia. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

He blinked, opened his eyes, and looked at his mother. “The Hat Man,” Noah said, the color draining from his face. “Help me, Mommy, help me… he tried to kill me.”

What do you do when the well runs dry?

By william

On May 1, 2018

In Posts

They say it happens to every writer at some point. The creative well runs dry. The last time I suffered from writer’s block was a long time ago indeed. I was working on a sci-fi novel called Orgon Conclusion, got stuck a third of the way through, and put it on the back-burner. Twenty years later, I overcame my demons, finished and published it.

And for the last six and a half years I’ve always been able to write myself out of writer’s block. Knowing the words weren’t the best, I would pound them out furiously with the knowledge that eventually the muse would visit and bless my prose with a smoothness, clarity and conciseness that some say are the trademarks of my writing style. It would be music to my ears, magic to my eyes. It would fill me with wonder and awe at the poetry and power of prose.

But not today.

I have two writing projects on the go and I can’t seem to get into either one of them. The Dark Menace, a work in progress, sits on my desk collecting dust. I haven’t touched it in almost a week. I recently wrote the first draft and did three editing passes. Apparently it still needs considerable revision, but I just can’t seem to find the passion, enthusiasm, or inspiration to begin the process.

Then there’s The Witch’s Tombstone, a novel I started researching and writing about three weeks ago. I’m about 600 words into it and haven’t added a single word in over a week.

Probably worse than writer’s block, some writers suffer from a debilitating writer’s anxiety that creates fear in their minds. Every time they put pen to paper, a debilitating fear prevents them from being successful. Fortunately, I’ve never had that problem. When I do write, I write fearlessly, and generally with passion and conviction.

But how do you cure writer’s block?

Well, according to the so-called experts, here are some things you shouldn’t do:

Watch TV.

Wallow in self-pity.

Wait until you feel inspired.

Procrastinate or make excuses.

Read articles on how to vanquish writer’s block. Guess I cut off my nose to spite my face on that one, huh?

Here are some things people recommend to overcome writer’s block:

Go for a walk.

Get rid of distractions.

Exercise.

Play.

Read a book.

Listen to music.

Call a friend.

Spend time with a friend.

Change your environment.

Brew some coffee.

Read some inspiring quotes or even inspiring book reviews if you have a backlist of well-reviewed novels.

The list goes on and on. I had some ideas of my own to deal with writer’s block but unfortunately the experts don’t agree with my remedies. I considered drinking wine. Thought of drinking rum. It also occurred to me to drink beer. Then I thought, hell, why not combine all three and just drown my sorrows in a dark abyss of alcohol abuse and wallow in self-pity. That might even lead to some inspired drunk-dialing.

But then the voice of reason spoke to me and I did two things. I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, which I’m currently enjoying. And the next thing I did—which conventional wisdom says is the most important thing you can do to overcome writer’s block—is to write.

It might not be much, but it’s a start. And the best start toward finding a solution to the problem. I wrote this blog post. Maybe now I’ll go read a book. Maybe I’ll go play. Maybe I’ll call a friend.

Tomorrow is another day. Here’s hoping it brings more passion and inspiration.

Have a great day and thanks for stopping by. I’d love to hear all about your writer’s block remedies. Please post your comments below.

When the truth leads you astray

By william

On April 24, 2018

In Posts

I’ve heard it said that, “You are entitled to your own opinion, but you are not entitled to your own set of facts.” I fall back on the saying occasionally when engaged in a debate where the facts will only show one answer. No gray area. Just black or white, right or wrong.

One such story is the tale of Paddy McGuinness, the so-called female witch. As the rumor goes, she poisoned children in the early 1900s and a successful witch hunt led her to the gallows where she was publicly hanged for her crimes. People say her tombstone is in The Roman Catholic People’s Cemetery in Charlottetown. The weathered statue depicts a grief-stricken woman holding a hand to her face. An old cross leans up against her, tilted at an odd angle, probably the result of Mother Nature’s powerful forces. My research shows that she isn’t buried below the witch’s tombstone in Charlottetown at all. In fact it’s a man by the name of Patrick Paul McGuinness. Paddy is a common nickname for Patrick.

As well, sources say that that area of the cemetery is no older than 1960, so the Paddy McGuinness timeline doesn’t square with the facts. In efforts to further debunk the myth, I reached out to PEI history guru Ed MacDonald.

He writes: “Jim Hornby published a history of capital punishment on PEI through Island Studies Press about 20 years ago now. No mention of a Paddy McGuinness there. I suspect the story is a complete fabrication possibly concocted by combining two incidents: one old legend about The Witch of Port Lajoie, which was made into a novel by Joyce Barkhouse and concerns a supposed witch from the French Regime on PEI in the 18th century; and the well-known case of Minnie McGee of St. Mary’s Road, who poisoned five of her children in 1912 but was not hanged. She spent the remainder of her life either in prison or a mental hospital… Minnie was no witch, just a tragically troubled mother.”

According to a news story in The Graphic, in “April 1912, Minnie McGee poisoned her six kids by soaking phosphorus matches in weak tea, and giving it to them to drink. They became deathly ill within days: they vomited, their pulses weakened, their hearts failed. The first five children died on the same day: Louis (age 13), Penzie (age 12), Georgie (age 8), Bridget (age 6) and Thomas (age 5). Johnnie (age 10) died two days later.”

In her confession, Minnie, whose real name was Mary Cassidy-McGee, reportedly said, “They will be better off. They will be in heaven.”

The Minnie McGee story is a tragic account of a woman who endured much hardship and suffering and found herself in a position of utter despair and hopelessness. Prior the poisoning, two of her children had died from pneumonia. Evidently her husband Patrick was frequently away from home seeking work and often beat her. “Pat, my husband, used to beat me quite often. He would beat me when I was sick in bed.”

Some may find it hard to have sympathy for a woman who poisons her children. But when you consider her situation—a poor, abused, troubled woman raising six children by herself in the winter of 1912, it is hard not to feel a pang of sadness for her plight. After all, she lived during a time when spousal abuse was hardly frowned on; there were few counselors, no shelters, no government hand-outs or food banks. With no one to turn to for help, the weight of her burden became too much.

Although Minnie was originally sentenced to hang, the community rallied around her and in the end her sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. She spent part of her days in jail and part of her days in an insane asylum, before passing away in 1953.

So, where am I going with all this? Well, what started out as a story of the so-called witch called Paddy McGuinness has morphed into a tale that will combine the tragedy of Minnie McGee with The Witch of Port Lajoie. A cursory search of major book retailers showed no such book currently available for purchase. I guess I’ve come full circle. I find myself once again searching for an elusive witch. Research takes you down strange and unexpected paths.

Tune in next week for a follow-up.

Thanks for stopping by, please leave comments below, and have an awesome day.

Where the hell is the witch’s tombstone?

By william

On April 17, 2018

In Posts

Where the hell is the witch’s tombstone? I’ve started doing some preliminary research on a story idea that’s gelling in my head and I’m trying to locate the whereabouts of the witch’s tombstone on Prince Edward Island. PEI is rich in ghost folklore and haunted stories so maybe there is more than one.

Searching Facebook groups dedicated to the paranormal, I’ve unearthed a number of possibilities.

Location One. The witch’s tombstone is said to be in Charlottetown in The People’s Roman Catholic Cemetery, 110 Kensington Road, behind the Saint Pius Catholic Church. The tombstone, made from concrete and wire mesh, depicts a cloaked, grief-stricken young woman, with a weather-beaten cross leaning against her. Her left arm has been amputated, probably the result of Mother Nature’s wrath.

Location Two. In PEI’s Pioneer Cemetery Road and rumored to be the grave of a pioneer involved in a shipwreck. The ground is said to be mysteriously raised in a circle around a number of graves. Problem is, a Google search produced at least four Pioneer Cemetery Roads in PEI.

Location Three. On or near Cemetery Road in Borden in Seven Mile Bay area, beside or behind Saint Peter’s Catholic Church. Apparently that tomb stands alone, in the middle of nowhere. On a night near Halloween, a group of supernatural enthusiasts reportedly decided to visit the tomb. It was a dark and eerie night and none of them were brave enough to get real close to it. Eventually they decided to return to their vehicles and inexplicably they saw a downed tree on the road blocking their paths. It was a windless and calm night and they hadn’t even heard the tree fall. They cleared the downed tree away from the road, rushed to their vehicles and beat a hasty and fear-filled retreat.

The tombstone in Charlottetown is the one that intrigues me the most, primarily because I visited the cemetery a few days ago, located and photographed it. The image of Paddy McGuinness, rumored to be a witch, is both scary and sad. Scary, because she is rumored to have started a cult that poisoned and killed children before a successful witch hunt led her to the gallows where she was publicly hanged around the early 1900s. Sad, because the portrait of grief the tombstone depicts is deeply moving.

CBC News published a story August 11^th, 2011, about a mother-daughter team who formed the Island Paranormal Research Group (IPRG) and visited the witch’s tombstone in Charlottetown. A picture shows them at the witch’s tombstone taking readings with various electronic ghost hunting equipment. Many Google searches produced no evidence that IPRG still exists.

Multiple searches of previously active PEI paranormal groups suggests all of them are now defunct.

Trying to disentomb clues, I’ve smashed head-first into a weathered and mysterious concrete tombstone. None of the Facebook group members responded to my queries. Maybe there are several witch’s tombs on PEI, but for now I’m concentrating on the one in Charlottetown. I’ve heard some students at the University of Prince Edward Island did some research on the topic but so far my efforts in that department have led to a dead end. I do have a few feelers out however, and I might hear something yet.

During my recent visit to the witch’s tombstone in Charlottetown, I noticed a phone number for the cemetery. I called the number and that led to three conversations—two with helpful cemetery officials and one with a helpful cemetery caretaker. Here’s what I learned. That part of the cemetery where the witch’s tombstone is located is no older than the 1960s or 1970s. The tombstone or monument depicting a woman painfully carrying her life burdens is probably no older than 1960. There is no record of a female called Paddy McGuinness buried in that plot number where the tombstone is. There is, however, a male buried in that plot number by the name of Patrick Paul McGuinness. I am still investigating the date and details surrounding his death, but my information suggests it certainly would not have been in the early 1900s, since that part of the cemetery is much newer than that.

As well, Paddy (with that spelling) is a common nickname for a male named Patrick.

Throughout history, hundreds of people have been falsely accused and convicted of witchcraft, many tortured, publicly hanged or burned at the stake. Misinformed people believed they’d made a pact with the devil—consummated by sex—that gave them supernatural powers potent enough to wreak chaos, harm and death. They were considered heretics who had sold their souls to the devil and had become the devil’s hand maidens—implements of Satan’s evil agenda.

The term witch hunt has come to define a reckless crusade or investigation untethered to the truth.

So, was Paddy McGuinness a witch? Was she much maligned?

Did she even exist? Is she merely imaginative fiction unrooted in fact?

Or was she actually Patrick Paul McGuinness?

Either way, I plan on resurrecting the Paddy McGuinness story or another similar tale from the grave to haunt, educate, and entertain readers. I was hoping to write a fact-based narrative but so far I have no facts to support what my online paranormal research has said about the witch, Paddy McGuinness.

Does anyone know anything about the so-called witch called Paddy McGuinness? Does anyone know the story behind the witch’s tombstone at The Roman Catholic People’s Cemetery in Charlottetown? Does anyone know of any other witch’s tombstones on PEI (exact locations would be nice) and the stories behind them? Are there any active paranormal groups on PEI that wouldn’t mind an intrepid author joining them on some paranormal investigations?

Any light you could shed on this dark subject would be greatly appreciated.

The Paddy McGuinness mystery continues.

Please post your comments below and have an awesome day.

I just got divorced

By william

On April 10, 2018

In Posts

I’m a little sad today. I just got divorced.

But, fortunately, not in the way you might think. A few days ago, I finished three editing passes of my latest novel, The Dark Menace, and my beta reader returned it with glowing praise. Just prior to doing some last-minute polishing of the book description, I emailed my talented editor Winslow Eliot, telling her to expect the manuscript soon. To my shock and despair, I received an email a short time later explaining that unfortunately she could not edit the manuscript as she had moved on to perhaps a higher calling—namely writer mentoring and spiritual counseling.

Saddened, I started reflecting on how much Winslow has done for me over the years. A good writer-editor relationship is a marriage of sorts. When you find a good fit it’s worth nurturing and preserving. There’s a fine line between interfering and even undermining an author’s voice, style and tone and actually helping them become a better storyteller. Say the wrong things and you can shatter a fragile writer ego forever. Say the right things and they could become the next New York Times bestselling author. Make no mistake about it, editing is an art and special skill and talent is necessary to be able to elevate a writer’s prose from good to great.

I can’t begin to explain the ways in which Winslow helped me polish my storytelling abilities. But I’ll try. Strong characterization. Repairing plot holes. Better use of description. When point of view becomes confusing. Story arc. Grammar and punctuation rules. Tone. Cadence and rhythm. Pace. There is so much more. Winslow provided me with a mountain of information on how to construct a good story. Much more than any university course could have taught me, much more than mere words can describe.

But there was something more to our relationship than mere writer-editor. Winslow believed in me. She picked me up when I was feeling down. She encouraged me when I lost hope. Sure, she constructively criticized me when I screwed up, but I wouldn’t expect anything less than the truth from a great editor.

She was just a ray of sunshine in my life.

But, while wallowing in my pit of despair at this divorce of sorts, I started to realize something. Winslow didn’t go anywhere. Why am I speaking in the past tense? She is a ray of sunshine in my life. She’s still a great friend and always will be. She’s still an amazing person and always will be. Presumably she just decided to follow her passion and do what she does best—help other people realize their potential in life. So I swallowed the lump of sorrow and sadness welling up in my throat, dried my watery eyes, and went to work finding another editor.

I thoroughly researched three possibilities and sent out some preliminary feelers, anxiously checking my inbox every half hour for replies. What I did find was a reply from Winslow, doing what she does best—pick you up when you’re feeling down.

Here it is: “I feel you have come such a long way from your first book—how many years ago was it!? And what a wild, exciting ride it has been for you! You’ve moved, traveled, and published, published, published (and written too!!). Yours really is an extraordinary journey, and the more books you write the more fans and readers you’ll get—it will continue to get better for you. You have such persistence, determination, amazing talent, and enthusiasm. I send you love and light, dear William, and many blessings on all your future endeavors.”

I didn’t realize I would be that emotional about the writer-editor part of our relationship, but I couldn’t help my eyes from watering. Of course, I responded:

“I can’t begin to tell you how much you’ve helped me, Winslow. It is with a great sense of sadness that I write these words. As you know, a good writer-editor relationship is a marriage of sorts and when you find a good fit, it’s best to preserve and nurture the relationship. There is a fine line between interrupting an author’s voice and enhancing and developing it. You’ve masterfully developed my storytelling ability in ways that mere words simply cannot describe. I know so much more about the craft than when I started and you’ve given me a much better education than any university course ever could. Thank you so much for the high praise and the words of encouragement. You are truly an amazing person and you mean so much to me. When I look back at the first novel and I see what I’m writing now, it really is a night and day difference. You’re right. We’ve come a long way together. I know I couldn’t have done it without you. Thanks for believing in me. Best of luck with your spiritual enlightenment counseling. I always knew you were a deeply spiritual person. I send much love.”

After that reply, we went back and forth a few times, promising to stay in touch, to be there for one another, and remain great friends. It wasn’t long before the black cloud hovering above me began to drift away. I began to realize that (to use an overused cliché) people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

I’m sure Winslow came into my life six and a half years ago for a reason—to make me a better writer and a better person.

I’m also sure she also came into my life as a great friend—for a lifetime.

It made me reflect on why it’s so important to find a good editor. Writing is a deeply personal craft. It teaches you who you are, teaches you how you think—touches your heart in so many poignant, wild and wonderful ways. Novels take hard work to produce—often blood, sweat and tears. It takes courage and thick skin to write and publish a book. You spill open your heart to the world and—as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow—some will stomp all over it.

But when the validation comes—in the form of a rave review from my editor or a rave review from a reader—it makes the whole journey deeply rewarding and satisfying.

More than the money, it’s just the recognition that, as Stephen King once said, “I’ve got game.”

Thank you, Winslow, for helping me find my game.

Thank you, dear readers, for your loyalty and support. If you’re a writer in need of mentoring, or searching for spiritual enlightenment, Winslow Eliot comes highly recommended.

Find Winslow here: http://winsloweliot.com/

Feel free to leave comments below. Have an awesome day and, as always, thanks for stopping by.

Do you believe in ghosts?

By william

On April 3, 2018

In Posts

Ghost stories come in all shapes and sizes. Terrifying, funny, morally upright, morally bankrupt and some just downright unbelievable. As a young boy, I used to be a skeptic and would openly mock the veracity of ghost tales. As a sort of rebellion, I would endeavor to select the scariest Halloween costumes, would relish in scaring the crap out of my siblings and would even construct elaborate haunted tours, both outside and even in various upper bedrooms of the two-story home I grew up in. Often, I would charge admission for these haunted tours.

One night I invited a bunch of neighbor kids over for a tour of a haunted house I’d constructed in three upper bedrooms of the house. It was sufficiently ghastly, containing skeletons, candles, blood-dripping corpses and scary noises. I even hired friends to dress up ghoulishly, approach participants by surprise, and scare the hell out of them. We terrified one boy so badly he fled the house screaming in terror, only for his angry and distraught mother to return fifteen minutes later and admonish my mother for psychologically damaging and traumatizing her young and impressionable son. Needless to say, that spelled the end of my lucrative haunted tours empire.

I relished scaring others because I didn’t believe in ghosts. It was my way of poking fun at the supernatural and spectral entities. Even when I began writing novels, I remained somewhat of a skeptic, enjoying scaring readers who loved to be scared. They say karma is a bitch, especially when it rears its monstrous fangs and tears a chunk out of your ass. But it wasn’t until well in my adult years that I had to get fitted for a new derriere.

As part of my research on paranormal novel Phantom Rage, I joined a team of paranormal investigators on some investigations. On one such investigation, we got set up in an old house in Strathmore, Alberta, where a frightened woman had told us a story of seeing an apparition of a sad little girl playing a violin in one of the basement bedrooms. She said she’d also heard strange noises in the house and even relayed a story of an apparition attacking her in her sleep. She was convinced the only thing that had saved her was the guardian ghost of her recently deceased and beloved husband.

As we began to set up our equipment, we noticed that two of the bedroom doors had locks on the outside, suggesting someone had been locked inside against their will. I wondered if perhaps it had been the little girl. Although we did experience highly suggestive levels of electro-magnetic activity in those bedrooms, we never saw the little girl apparition. However, late that night, as we sat huddled around a coffee table in the dimly lit basement, we heard and recorded barely audible strange voices coming from the basement laundry room. We couldn’t decipher exactly what they said but one thing was clear. We weren’t welcome.

A short time later, from the laundry room, we heard a loud crash. I jumped so fast my heart just about sprang from my chest. Flashlights leading the charge, the lead paranormal investigator and I rushed into the laundry room. We couldn’t find anything amiss that might explain the crash and a few seconds later both of our flashlights died. Not five seconds later the batteries in the video recorder went dead, even though they were freshly charged prior to the investigation. Although I didn’t flee from the house screaming bloody murder, it was a wake-up call of sorts. Don’t play games with the supernatural. Don’t mock the paranormal. Don’t parody something you don’t understand.

From that moment on I became a believer. And I began writing about the supernatural with more passion, respect and conviction, borne of personal experience. I also became fascinated with information on the subject and I gobbled up everything I could read and everything I could watch. Some of the documentaries cast much light on the subject, while others infused me with a darkness that left me afraid to go to bed at night.

The single most compelling and terrifying documentary on the existence of the paranormal that I’ve ever watched is Demon House, directed by and starring Zak Bagans. In this recently released documentary, Bagans, a leading researcher on ghosts and demonology, purchases a house in Gary, Indiana, widely reported in the media as “the house of 200 demons,” and a source of demon possession.

In December, 2014, Latoya Ammons claimed that she and her three children were possessed by demons in the home. These are credible people who reported strange growling, barking, odd footprints, demonic chanting by children, even stories of levitation in which children were being hurled into walls by supernatural evil forces. Child Services, medical officials, even police verified many of the details. Staff at an Indiana hospital said one of Ammons’ sons “walked up the wall backwards… flipped over and landed on his feet.”

What Bagans doesn’t realize when he brings his film crew to his recently purchased home to conduct a series of paranormal experiments, is it might be the worst decision of his life. Strange things start happening the moment they arrive. Bagans inexplicably becomes violent and angry, pinning one of his crew against a wall and ordering him out. A camera man flips out and begins behaving erratically, believing he is possessed by a demon. A medium (and a good friend to Bagan) who claims to have contacted one on the demons winds up being murdered in a double murder-suicide. A home inspector develops cancer shortly after inspecting the property. A cop suffers a violent gash to his head after inexplicably falling. After visiting the house, a former resident, believing she is demon-possessed, must undergo an exorcism. One paranormal expert who conducts experiments winds up in the hospital with multiple organ failure. Even Bagan, after spending a night in the house, develops a strange, debilitating and potentially inoperable eye disorder that may haunt him for the rest of his life.

Dread Central reviewer Steve Barton says, “Demon House will leave you with a lot of questions about the existence of both the normal and the paranormal. It’s a masterfully created and seriously frightening account of what can happen when things just end up getting far out of control… when events occur that supersede rational human comprehension and reason. It’s one of the single most compelling documentaries on the existence of the supernatural that I’ve ever witnessed. Whether or not The Ammons House was haunted or is the portal to hell is still very much debatable. As always, there will be people who believe and those who do not. However, the effect that it has had on everyone who has ever walked through its doors is undeniable.”

Of Demon House, Bagans says, “This film is cursed.”

If you’re on the fence about your belief in the paranormal, or are looking for more evidence to back up your already strong convictions, Demon House comes highly recommended. Warning. Not for the faint of heart.

Good or bad, I would love to hear about your paranormal experiences. Please leave comments below. Thanks for stopping by.

Critically Acclaimed Assaulted Souls FREE

By william

On March 27, 2018

In Posts

Good day dear readers. As a token of my appreciation for your loyalty and support, I’m giving you a gift. From today until April 30, you can download post-apocalyptic thriller Assaulted Souls FREE.

Here’s a short synopsis:

Nathan King wakes up one day freezing cold and starving with hunger on a tattered mattress in a dark cave, and has no idea where or who he is. He meets Edward Sole, apparently his protector for the last few months, who tells him a nuclear bomb has been dropped and most, if not all of the world, has been destroyed. Slowly the realization sinks in that in this horrific post-apocalyptic landscape, there are no rules, no laws. Cannibalism is rampant, mutant animals and humans are on the attack.

With all communication cut off, and meager supplies, every day becomes a fight for survival and sanity.
To make matters worse, a band of savages called The Neanderthals have emerged who rape, pillage and murder for more than just survival. They enjoy it.

Fighting for their survival and hoping to find a more hospitable island off the coast of Prince Edward Island, Ed and Nathan team up with Cadence Whitaker, Nathan’s girlfriend whom he has no recollection of, and fierce warrior Velvet Jones to try and hatch a plan to escape the island before they’re all killed.

In the meantime, Ed has begun a slow descent into madness, leaving the group wondering who the enemy really is. A lightning-paced, action-packed exploration of a terrifying existence in a wasteland produced by humankind’s stupidity.

My publisher says Assaulted Souls, with its raw and gritty depiction of post-apocalyptic survival, is one of his favorite novels. Ninety-nine per cent of Amazon reviewers have rated it five stars.

Eight Amazon review snippets:

The writing style evokes a lot of tension as Nathan slowly realizes he is living a post-apocalyptic nightmare and every day becomes not only a struggle to remember, but a violent and death-filled struggle for survival. He teams up with his girlfriend and along with tough no-nonsense chick Velvet and Ed, they try to hatch a plan to escape the island and the marauding Neanderthal gang who are out to get kill them.
A well-written story with a powerful shock ending. Really makes you think about the stupidity mankind is capable of. This story does not amble. The action is full throttle from beginning to end. A gifted writer.

The plot is fast paced and there are many points where a struggle or conflict is described in such detail that I can imagine it perfectly without having to fill in any blanks with my own imagination. A very interesting and impressive read. I would recommend this book to people who like fast paced thrillers and enjoy reading of a world with society ripped out from underneath us.

I thought the book also had a surprise ending while teaching a lesson. Enjoy!

Author William Blackwell weaves a Post-Apocalyptic thriller with intriguing twists and turns that will easily captivate the reader’s attention from the beginning. The author paints a raw and graphic dystopian tale in a very vivid and convincing way. In addition, the characters are drawn with great credibility and integrity. If you’re looking for an action-packed fantasy adventure that’s packed to the rafters with blood, guts and gore, this book has it all…and more.

I highly recommend this book to anyone looking for something different in this dystopian genre.

I have read several of this author’s works and find his writing consistently fast-paced with a variety of plots and sub-plots and fascinating character development. This particular novel contains a fair bit of violence as one would anticipate in this genre. These scenes are vividly described creating a lot of tension and causing the reader to fear for the survival of its main characters… or mankind, in fact. I like the clarity of the writing style and the authenticity of the dialogue. The reader is drawn in from page one and can easily read this book in one sitting. I certainly found it impossible to put down!

I would also call this novel a page-turner. Written with very intense scenes that will slowly but surely wrap you in a spider web of fear and horror. The author has done a brilliant writing job!

I was particularly impressed with Blackwell’s depiction of the action in the novel; the story flowed well, and I found it easy to follow the often vivid and stark scenes of battle. Assaulted Souls does not amble; it is well-defined and moves along. The book offers the reader exactly what the subtitle says, and it does it masterfully. I would recommend it to anyone who enjoys post-apocalyptic tales, science fiction, or action-adventure. I look forward to reading more of Blackwell’s works.

There you have it, folks. If you don’t believe me, believe the honest and unbiased reviews. In return for this freebie, I would ask one small favor. If you enjoy Assaulted Souls, please post a review on your favorite Amazon site. I don’t solicit reviews that often, but novel writing is my livelihood and positive reviews drive sales and help me pay my bills. They also help me do what I love to do—entertain you, the reader. I’m not the best self-promoter and I often find soliciting reviews like pulling teeth. Although many people enjoy my novels, most readers don’t bother posting reviews.

I’m not a celebrity author like Stephen King, whose publishing companies spend millions of dollars on book promotion. If I don’t endeavor to put eyes on my novels, with my limited promotional budget, I don’t have a lot of other options. If you’ve already read and posted a review of Assaulted Souls, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your positive comments add fuel to my creative fire.

If raw and graphic post-apocalyptic tales aren’t your thing, I get it. So here’s an idea. Why don’t you forward this email or blog post link to a friend who does enjoy such tales and kindly ask them to post an honest review on Amazon?

Six years ago when I began writing novels full-time, I didn’t have any unrealistic expectations. My publisher, Telemachus Press, said, “You have to remember, this is not a sprint, it’s a marathon.”

I understand that.

All I’m asking is for you to please give me a little push toward the finish line.

Thanks, dear readers, for your loyalty and support. Have an awesome day. Please click the link below to instantly download your FREE copy of Assaulted Souls.

https://dl.bookfunnel.com/7b7hocxqji

The Dark Menace is born

By william

On March 20, 2018

In Posts

After endless hours of research, The Dark Menace is born. I’ve completed character sketches, plot outline, chapter summaries, and am still in the throes of researching the Shadow People and the Hat Man.

After the research, the writing begins. Three drafts. After writing, editing begins.

After one editing pass, primarily concentrating on obvious inconsistencies, plot holes, grammar, spelling and punctuation, the manuscript will go to a beta reader to try and get a general sense if it’s even a good story.

On the second and third editing passes, I will incorporate suggestions as well as examining plot, character development, motivational inconsistencies, cadence, conciseness, story arc, word redundancy, pace, point of view, believability, dialogue, etc.

After a month of rewrites and revision, The Dark Menace will meet my editor. The talented Winslow Eliot, who represents New York Times bestselling authors, will apply another layer of polish and return it. After two more thorough coats of wax, The Dark Menace enters the publishing pipeline for yet one more proofread before it will be formatted for ebook and paperback distribution to major book retailers.

Wow. That’s a lot of editing and rewrites. Six editing passes in total before it’s finally released.

Here’s a short summary to whet your appetite:

Mysterious and terrifying attacks by the Shadow People and the Hat Man lead a nightmare-plagued man to suspect an enigmatic doctor has accidentally opened a portal to hell.

Look for it soon in book stores near you.

Thanks for stopping by.

Dark Fiction Author

Author: william Page 4 of 9

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