It’s Alive!

Well, my sabbatical went a little longer than expected.  I apologize for that.  2015 has not been very kind.  Hoping that with the seasonal transition to Spring I can rebloom and get back to the old writing habit.

I wish I could provide you all with an update on how the novel is progressing.  It still lies at the halfway point.  I am going to be optimistic and say the first draft is halfway done instead of halfway started.   Starting this week, I am going to make a slight change to the blog.  As you all know I also blog for The Sarcastic Muse every Wednesday.  That schedule will remain in place along with the Thursday posts here.  The “Before I die… Bucket List for the Macabre” will be dropping to every other Monday starting in May.  Unfortunately, I was spending more time researching weird and sinister places than actually working on stories for publication.  If only humans didn’t need to sleep…

Author Robyn LaRue has been helping me get back on the writing track.  I am sort of her test subject at the moment for The Writing Habit.  I’m not quite sure how I feel about being the “guinea pig” for once.  Usually I’m the one in the lab coat with the scalpel.  As long as my brain or fingernails don’t end up in specimen jars all is well.  If you are interested in what she is up to, send me a message.  If I don’t respond, that means I am dead in the meat locker in her basement.

So stay tuned as there is more mischief, mayhem, and macabre on the way!

The 8 Scariest Short Horror Films Online

I am going to take a short sabbatical from writing until March.  However, I don’t want to leave you all bored until then.  Fellow horror author friend, Chris Musgrave, shared this link with me and I thought you would all enjoy.

Lights Out is my favorite.  What is yours?

Are you Alive or Dead?

(c) Jie Qi (CC BY 2.0)

(c) Jie Qi (CC BY 2.0)

I once heard that when you die, you relive every second of your life all over again. This is more than just your life flashing before your eye.  Your whole “existence” relived as though you are living it for the first time.  So that begs the question, your existence right at this moment: are you living it for the first time or reliving your whole life before die (which will happen within the next few seconds)?

Why do I feel like this is like a “Schrödinger’s cat” kind of question…

If this were true, while reliving your life would you consciously know you that are experiencing it again?  If you are consciously aware, then you can most likely have the power to change things.  And if you can change things, could you live your life the way you wanted it?  Think about it… you could redo your awful high-school experience, not date that jack-ass in college, choose the career path that you really wanted, subtly hint to a dear friend they “may” have cancer and will die from it.  If you are consciously aware of this ‘reliving’ experience you can make the life you wanted.  Being consciously aware, you would already know everything and the actual outcome of the original path.

But you know… this “second chance” is not reality.  You could try to be that evil persona that lives deep inside of you.  That hidden persona that everyone has, but refuses to acknowledge.  You can act out the hurt on all the people that you have wanted to hurt.  Be the assassin, thief, marauder, sadist, monster of your dark thoughts.  Morals, ethics, everything-out the window because there is no impact on anyone in reality.  Your life is only all about you, isn’t it?  Does it really matter what happens to other people, as long as you are satisfied?  You become a serial killer.  If you got caught, so what!  You may be thrown in jail, you may get the death penalty-but that’s ok!  Hey, you are about to die within the next few seconds in reality anyways.  This whole “reliving your life again” is just playing out in your head.  And in your head there are no consequences.



Well, you did just live the last moments of your actual life in your head replaying your life cast as Jack the Ripper.  Is that really how you want your life to end?  To be an eviscerating serial killer instead of someone who actually did a lot of good in their real life.  Someone who didn’t intentionally murder anyone.

You got caught up in your last moments of who you wanted to be instead of reliving who you actually were.

So what are you:  Alive or Dead?



Aokigahara Forest, Mount Fuji, Japan

(c) 2014, Robyn LaRue

(c) 2014, Robyn LaRue

This week’s “Before I Die…” location is one that I hesitate to write as it is filled with absolute hopelessness.  The Aokigahara Forest, located at the base of Mount Fuji in Japan, is a 35 square Kilometer forest lush with trees and speckled with rocky ice caves, which sparkle from the glints of sunlight that filters through the tree’s canopy.  The forest’s trees are strong with exquisite moss-covered, gnarled roots.  A true ancient labyrinth of trees.   The Forest is situated where the wind doesn’t blow, so combined with the absence of wildlife the area is eerily quiet.  Tourists describe the atmosphere as still and unmoving.  However there may be a more sinister reason for that affect on the essence of the forest.  The Aokigahara Forest is also known as Japan’s Suicide Forest.

Japanese folklore depicts the Aokigahara Forest as being inhabited by demons and has become a popular location for suicides.  In 2010, there was a count of 57 successful suicides taking place within the forest.  Aokigahara Forest is the 2nd highest ranked place for suicides, just after the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, California, USA.

Throughout the forest and along the winding hiking trails there are signs in Japanese and English urging anyone who has come to the forest with the intent of taking their own life to seek help.  Other signs make a plea to people with suicidal ideas to understand that their life is precious.

Locals who live near the forest say that they can look at a visitor and know that person’s intent.  There are three types of people who visit Aokigahara Forest: Those who are at the forest to take in the scenery and hike the vast trail systems,  those who are looking to catch a glimpse of a suicide victim’s corpse, and those who are planning to never leave the forest.

The chances of finding the body of one who has voluntarily left this plane of existence is rare due to the vastness of the forest.  The Aokigahara Forest does have a team of workers whose job is to trek through the forest and locate bodies.  Retrieved corpses are carried to a building at the edge of the forest, where the bodies are housed until they are interred.  These workers have it worse than any police officer or any other official as they are the ones handling the corpses (often decayed) and staffing the storage building 24 hours a day.  The sadness of the suicide victims hangs heavy on those working for the Aokigahara Forest department.

The forest workers make it a priority to find all bodies, as it is believed that it is bad luck for the spirit of the body (yurei) to be left alone after death.  A lone yurei is said to haunt the forest, screaming through the night.  It is even believed that some yurei reanimate their own dead body: moving an arm, twitching a leg, opening an eye.

The Aokigahara Forest is one of serene beauty, but is filled with utter despair from the vast amounts of people who decided to end their lives among the ancient trees.


Aokigahara Forest (c) Jordy Meow, CC BY-SA 3.0

Aokigahara Forest (c) Jordy Meow, CC BY-SA 3.0


Aokigahara and Saiko Lake, as viewed from Koyodai (c) Alpsdake, CC BY-SA 3.0

Aokigahara and Saiko Lake, as viewed from Koyodai (c) Alpsdake, CC BY-SA 3.0


Entrance to an ice cave (c) Guilhem Vellut, CC BY-SA 2.0

Entrance to an ice cave (c) Guilhem Vellut, CC BY-SA 2.0

The Pine Barrens, New Jersey, USA

(c) 2014, Robyn LaRue

(c) 2014, Robyn LaRue

Happy 2015!  Thankfully I made it through 2014 somewhat alive.  I hope you did too.  If you are reading this and did not successfully live through 2014, then that means you are a Zombie and 2015 must be the year of the Apocalypse.  Freaking great.  Don’t go biting me yet – I have too many plans for this year. I am finally getting back on track  with my regular blog posts here and over at The Sarcastic Muse.  This week’s “Before I die…” is a post I have been looking forward to for writing for awhile.  Unfortunately, I had to get into the right mindset to write it because I flat out despise this Bucket List location… I could really have lived my life without visiting.  The moment you step foot within this location, you just feel like your soul is about to be ripped from your body and transported right to hell… ok, I am embellishing a bit on that.  But the Pine Barrens of Southern New Jersey is just a freaky, energy-sucking place.

The Pine Barrens covers about seven counties in Southern New Jersey.  It is a heavily forested area that never saw much success in any any kind of farm cultivation.  The soil is sandy and acidic… disgustingly sandy.  The majority of the forest is made up of evergreens, specifically pine (hence the name).  Orchids and other carnivorous plants can also be found in the forest (about the coolest things about the area).  For the most part, the acreage of the Pine Barrens remains undisturbed and undeveloped.  It is wild land… in New Jersey.

And a devil lives there.


A real demon of a devil.

In 1735, a woman by the name of Mrs. Leeds gave birth to her 13th child.  Apparently 13 is an unlucky number, so the child was cursed.  13 kids is a bit crazy… I would think she was cursed to get pregnant that many times.  Anywho, the 13th kid came out as a monster or a devil as the locals call it.  Maybe the devil with a capital “D”.  The baby is described as having a horse’s head, big old black bat wings on its back, sharp talons on its hands, and hooves for feet.  That little beastie popped right out of Mrs. Leeds, attacked her and her nurse, flew through a window, and into the Pine Barrens where it haunts the forest to this very day.  He is known as the Jersey Devil.

When he isn’t in the Pine Barrens, the Jersey Devil can be found in West Virginia playing Parcheesi with the Mothman.  Ok, I made that last part up.

The carnivorous plants and the Jersey Devil are about the extent of my tolerance for this dismal place.  I hope I never step foot in the forest again… Here is MY story of the New Jersey’s Pine Barrens.

Just picture it, the year is 2009 and one of my best friends, Jen, and I signed up for the “MS City to Shore” bike ride to raise money to fund research towards Multiple Sclerosis.  On a cool late summer morning, the bike ride started in Cherry Hill, NJ and would ended at Ocean City, NJ.  Day 1 was 100 miles, day 2 was 80 miles.  Jen and I were avid cyclists, so 180 miles in 2 days was no sweat.  Especially since Southern New Jersey is flat.

All was going perfect on the ride until we reached the damn Pine Barrens forest.  The moment our wheels touched the area, it was like all the energy was zapped from us.  The road was incredibly flat, and I felt like I was climbing a 60 degree slope.  Every curse word known to man probably slipped through my lips as I slowly pedaled along.  Let me add, that this was probably around mile marker 50 – and I was used to riding 50-60 miles a day on the hilly roads of the Lehigh Valley.  So all these miles on flat-as-a-pancake roads should have been nothing!  Jen didn’t complain as much as I did am doing now.  However, I could tell that the area was having an affect on her too.  There had to be a vortex amongst the trees that existed to siphon our souls.

At every turn in the road, I eagerly anticipated a rest stop.  When we finally came upon it, I actually gave peddling past it a quick thought.  I am torn to state if the rest stop looked like it should have been a scene in the movie Deliverance or Wrong Turn.  The rest stop was in the parking lot of a small one room church where cannibalistic hillbillies were probably waiting behind each tree for a weary cyclist to ride past.  I never let my guard down for a moment.  I wasn’t in the mood to get noshed.

Thirst and hunger claimed my better judgement and we pulled in for a quick refill.

Unclipping from my pedal, I placed my foot right into pile of sand.  The damn sand!  Ever speck of land around that church was SAND.  We were several miles from the ocean, but the whole parking lot and grounds of the church was sand.  If you are a cyclist and wear cleats, then you know why I am flipping out.  It was in my shoes, cleats, pedals.  The sand made pedaling for the next 30 miles painfully gritty.

I was not happy to be there and the moment we left the church rest stop, I flew down the road like the Jersey Devil out of Mrs. Leeds womb.  I just wanted to get the hell out of there.  The rest of the ride though the Pine Barrens was still exhausting.  And only in the Pine Barrens did Jen and I have flat tires – 5 between the two of us.

Yet, the moment we left that hellish forest and rode out onto the ocean plains of Southern New Jersey,  we were rejuvenated.  Our energy returned.  Neither one of us was bogged down or tired – even as we rode on to our 80th, 90th, and 100th mile.  It was only in the God-forsaken Pine Barrens when the life was zapped from us.

Lucky for us, on day 2 – the return back to Cherry Hill, NJ – the route went around the Pine Barrens.  Needless to say, I felt perfectly energetic the entire ride home.  There was never a moment where I was winded or broke a heavy sweat.

Tread to this location with caution.  We were not the only ones who had a dramatic loss of energy within New Jersey’s Pine Barrens.  Many cyclist had a similar experience.  There is something odd and upsetting about that forest.

Maybe somewhere deep within the woods, the Jersey Devil was trying to harvest our souls…

Creepy little one room church.  The cannibals are around here somewhere... (c) 2009, Joe Hlatky

Creepy little one room church. The cannibals are around here somewhere… (c) 2009, Joe Hlatky


Pretty sure this is where we were going to end up.  (c) 2009, Joe Hlatky

Pretty sure this is where we were going to end up. (c) 2009, Joe Hlatky


Jen (right) and I staring at the sandy ground with contempt. (c) 2009, Joe Hlatky

Jen (right) and I staring at the sandy ground with contempt.  Can you feel our hate for the Pine Barrens? (c) 2009, Joe Hlatky