The Guests

It's Wednesday again and here's our next spooky offering! A folk tale called, "The Guests" that we think you'll enjoy.

A young man and his wife were on a trip to visit his mother. Usually they arrived in time for supper. But they had gotten a late start, and now it was getting dark. So they decided to look for a place to stay overnight and go on in the morning.
Just off the road, they saw a small house in the woods.
"Maybe they rent rooms," the wife said. So they stopped to ask.
An elderly man and woman came to the door. They didn't rent rooms, they said. But they would be glad to have them stay overnight as their guests. They had plenty of room, and they would enjoy the company.
The old woman made coffee and brought out some cake, and the four of them talked for a while. Then the young couple were taken to their room. They again explained that they wanted to pay for this, but the old man said he would not accept any money.
The young couple got up early the next morning before their hosts had awakened. On a table near the front door, they left an envelope with some money in it for the room. Then they went on to the next town.
They stopped in a restaurant and had breakfast. When they told the owner where they had stayed, he was shocked.
"That can't be, " he said. "That house burned to the ground, and the man and the woman who lived there died in the fire."
The young couple could not believe it. So they went back to the house. Only now there was no house. All they found was a burned-out shell.
They stood staring at the ruins trying to understand what had happened. Then the woman screamed. In the rubble was a badly burned table, like the one they had seen by the front door. On the table was the envelope they had left that morning.

We hope you enjoyed this short little tale, be sure the next time you have to travel at night and stop along the way, that the place is a little more lively!

Xane and Dane Dravor

Folk tale taken from, "Scary Stories Treasury", collected from folklore and retold by Alvin Schwartz.
ISBN 0-06-026341-5

Cold As Clay

In keeping with our promise to post either an original House Morbid story or a spooky story from folklore, today we bring you a spooky folk tale called "Cold As Clay". We hope you enjoy it and perhaps read it by candle light to your friends and family to chill their bones!

A farmer had a daughter for whom he cared more than anything on earth. She fell in love with a farmhand named Jim, but the farmer did not think Jim was good enough for his daughter. To keep them apart, he sent her to live with her uncle on the other side of the county.
Soon after she left, Jim got sick, and he wasted away and died. Everyone said he died of a broken heart. The farmer felt so guilty about Jim's death, he could not tell his daughter what had happened. She continued to think about Jim and the life they might have had together.
One night many weeks later there was a knock on her uncle's door. When the girl opened the door, Jim was standing there.
"Your father asked me to get you," he said. "I came on his best horse."
"Is there anything wrong?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said.
She packed a few things, and they left. She rode behind him, clinging to his waist. Soon he complained of a headache. "It aches something terrible," he told her.
She put her hand on his forehead. "Why, you are as cold as clay," she said. "I hope you are not ill," and she wrapped her handkerchief around his head.
They traveled so swiftly that in a few hours they reached the farm. The girl quickly dismounted and knocked on the door. Her father was startled to see her.
"Didn't you send for me?" she asked.
"No, I didn't," he said.
She turned to Jim, but he was gone and so was the horse. They went to the stable to look for them. The horse was there. It was covered with sweat and trembling with fear. But there was no sign of Jim.
Terrified, her father told her the truth about Jim's death. Then quickly he went to see Jim's parents. They decided to open his grave. The corpse was in its coffin. But around its head they found the girl's handkerchief.


Thanks for stopping by to read this weeks folk tale! Stay tuned in for the next spine chilling story!

Xane and Dane Dravor

Taken from: Scary Stories Treasury. Collected and retold by Alvin Schwartz.
ISBN 0-06-026341-5

Here's to what's to come...

Here's the what's to come! Raising glasses to clink and drinking deeply.

Soon there will be new pictures up on our shop of wares. Also our other sites for meeting and greeting shall be overhauled. There will be stories for our friends to peruse and we are hoping new strips to be read as well. It is a busy time around the old crypt. Our hands are filthy, full of paint, graveyard dirt and things best left to the imagination. Life, such that it is...well is moving along.

We intend to dig up a story of our own creation or one from Dane's enormous collection to post here weekly. So stay on the look out for that.

I am doing my best to show the world that skeletons and dead things can be just as cute as other handmade goodies and twice as eye catching. Look for links to those offerings weekly as well.

The strips should roll out sometime mid August and will be linked to and posted up on this inter net contraption as soon as they are fit for reading.

The other overhauls will be announced. You know how it is with deconstruction, demolition and all that. Takes a while to get the charges set just right. Hope we don't blow anything off this time. Fingers are really hard to sew back on!

That reminds me. The new pieces for the store will be up as soon as I can get this other picture box to work! There's a lot to be done around here. And, I thought being dead would mean less work...

Here's to the weekend! Another clink of glasses. See you again soon!

Xane Dravor

Aaron Kelly's Bones

Not too long ago we posted a folk song called the "Hearse Song" and it was a big hit so I thought we'd post another folk tale, this time a funny spook tale about Aaron Kelly and his bones.

Aaron Kelly was dead. They bought him a coffin and had a funeral and buried him.
But that night he got out of his coffin, and he came home. His family was sitting around the fire when he walked in.
He sat down next to his widow, and he said, "What's going on? You all act like somebody died. Who's dead?"
His widow said, "You are."
"I don't feel dead," he said. "I feel fine."
"You don't look fine," his widow said. "You look dead. You'd better get back to the grave where you belong."
"I'm not going back to the grave until I feel dead," he said.
Since Aaron wouldn't go back, his widow couldn't collect his life insurance. Without that, she couldn't pay for the coffin. And the undertaker said he would take it back.
Aaron didn't care. He just sat by the fire rocking in a chair and warming his hands and feet. But his joints were dry and his back was stiff, and every time he moved, he creaked and cracked.
On night the best fiddler in town came to court the widow. Since Aaron was dead, the fiddler wanted to marry her. The two of them sat on one side of the fire, and Aaron sat on the other side, creaking and cracking.
"How long do we have to put up with this dead corpse?" the widow asked.
"Something must be done," the fiddler said.
"This isn't very jolly," Aaron said. "Let's dance!"
The fiddler got out his fiddle and began to play. Aaron stretched himself, shook himself, got up, took a step or two, and began to dance.
With his old bones rattling, and his yellow teeth snapping, and his bald head wagging, and his arms flip-flopping--around and around he went.
With his long legs clicking, and his kneebones knocking, he skipped and pranced around the room. How that dead man danced! But pretty soon a bone worked loose and fell to the floor.
"Look at that!" said the fiddler.
"Play faster!" said the widow.
The fiddler played faster.
Crickety-crack, down and back, the dead man went hopping, and his dry bones kept dropping--this way, that way, the pieces just kept popping.
"Play, man! Play!" cried the widow.
The fiddler fiddled, and dead Aaron danced. Then Aaron fell apart, collapsed into a pile of bones--all except his bald headbone that grinned at the fiddler, cracked it's teeth--and kept dancing.
"Look at that!" groaned the fiddler.
"Play louder!" cried the widow.
"Ho, ho!" said the headbone. "An't we having fun!"
The fiddler couldn't stand it. "Widow," he said. "I'm going home," and he never came back.
The family gathered up Aaron's bones and put them back in the coffin. They mixed them up so he could fit them together. After that, Aaron stayed in his grave. But the widow never did get married again. Aaron had seen to that.


Thanks for stopping by! Hope you enjoyed the tale of "Aaron Kelly's Bones"!

Xane and Dane Dravor

Story taken from: Scary Stories Treasury. Collected and retold by Alvin Schwartz.
ISBN 0-06-026341-5

Independence Day

Here in America its time for the rockets red glare and bombs burstin' in air again. The sounds of roman candles and bottle rockets filling the air. The barbeques being lit with a beer or your ale of choice in hand. We like that. All the relatives digging themselves up and planting their mostly rotting asses on the lawn furniture. Fireflies flitting from one ghoul or specter to another. A real family get together. Its just good fun!

We hope your relatives and friends manage to haul themselves to your doorstep soon and help fill the air with sounds of wheezing and moaning and the smells of charcoal and ashes. Mooching your hooch and gobbling up all the weenies off your grill. Everyone of them happy to tell you about their mouldering parts and how their caskets are starting to leak. But, if that much togetherness gets on your nerves you can always send everyone home with a nice bonfire and some nifty explosions courtesy of your own munitions cabinet.

Here's hoping you have a bang up weekend from the Dravors! See you when the dust clears and we're back to business as usual here in the good old US of A.

Xane and Dane Dravor

To the con and away! Heroes Con 2009 Charlotte NC

It is amazing how things change. I can remember going to Heroes Con when I was a kid with my dad and brothers. It was wonderful then, but just look how it has grown.

The Charlotte Convention Center was a buzz with the comings and goings of fans and artists and all the worker bees that help getting things moving. The ticket counters had lines, but they moved quick as any super hero. We made our way from there to the convention hall proper via a down escalator. The guards at the gates were friendly and one even stopped me to ask about my tattoos. (A fairly common occurance, they are kind of large)

On into the hall. We make no bones about the fact that both Dane and myself suffer horribly from adventures in misdirectionalism. Even with a map of the hall it was hard to find the artists and writers we so desperately sought out to ogle and have sign every thing we owned that they had a hand in. (We not only try very hard to make books and art, we are HUGE fans of those that do it for a living.)

Wandering around the hall was only slightly less confusing than finding a particular crypt in a centuries old catacomb, but we did manage to get our bearings and find Mr. Steve Niles. Who was kind enough not only to sign our moderate collection. (One of which Xane had already had the man sign and forgot. Oops! That should tell you,Dragon Con will suck the brain right out of you.) He also took pictures with each of us. Have we mentioned we LOVE his work?

From there we went hunting more artists and managed to luckily stumble across Mr.Jeff Smith's table. The artist/writer/self publisher extraordinare was not at the table at that moment, due to being in a panel. Steve Hamaker his colorist was at the table and was kind enough to sign his work and tell us when we would be able to find Mr.Smith later that day.

Of course then we were lost again. Like really grubby zombie babes in the graveyard. So we high tailed it to the information booth, which fortunately stood like a beakon in the night and was almost as easy to find as Indie Island. A very nice young lady helped us out directing us to Mr. Guy Davis, who was next on our long list of wonderful people to have sign their work. Mr.Davis graciously signed every piece we handed him. While happily giving out free signed comics. And he didn't mind at all when we came back for seconds later that day. (After we hit the evil money box that is ATM)

Our adventures in finding the way went on from there and led us to find several other artists and writers and creators of all types that we had never had the fortune of seeing before. Each one was happy to talk to us, give us a card and offer us any one of the many wares on their tables. (Oh, but that we had more money to spend. Evil, evil ATM with its limited funds.)

We did make an exception to our limited funds policy for one local publisher, who had a deal we could not help but snag up. Jester Press. We love to support local businesses and these guys were as nice as they come. (You can't beat everyone who worked on a book coming over to sign it for you.) Once we have finished reading what we picked up from them we'll send up a review for you.

(A brief intermission for a very BUSY lunch at Fuel pizza across the street and back to the hunting for us and the clan.)

Later we made that return trip to Mr. Jeff Smith's booth and did indeed get the rest of our items signed. I even purchased more while there,(hooray for plastic),while standing in line. (The man is beloved after all) Dane took more pictures of the crowds coming and going and generally having a great time.

All in all Dane and myself spent the day dragging the rest of our clan through all the wonders of Heroes Con. While carrying more than 50 pounds of graphics and comics each,no less. The end of the day came more quickly than we anticipated. Our various parts, back, feet and shoulders in desperate need of replacing. (Fortunately we keep spares lying around) We trudged back to the escalators where our adventure began and made our way home. (With a stop for really good mexican on the way)


That's all from Xane and Dane for this time! Tune in again for more trips in misdirectionalism and other adventures.



PS - Thanks to DC comics for all the free swag! Comics, buttons and a light up tiara. Oh my!

The Hearse Song

This is one of our favorite folk songs and just wanted to share it with you. There are a few variations on this tune but this is the one we're familiar with. Enjoy!

Don't you ever laugh as the hearse goes by, for you may be the next to die.
They wrap you up in a big white sheet from your head down to your feet.
They put you in a big black box and cover you up with dirt and rocks.
All goes well for about a week, then your coffin begins to leak.
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout.
They eat your eyes, they eat your nose, they eat the jelly between your toes.
A big green worm with rolling eyes crawls in your stomach and out your eyes.
Your stomach turns a slimy green, and pus pours out like whipping cream.
You spread it on a slice of bread and that's what you eat when you are dead.


Morbidly yours,

Xane and Dane Dravor

Taken from "Scary Stories Treasury" by Alvin Schwartz. ISBN 0-06-026341-5