I suppose I can thank my father. Or blame him.
From the time I was old enough to speak, and maybe before then, he began leading me along the boundaries of what I’ve come to think of as the Otherworld. It’s a place of unease, dread, or even outright terror for many. But through circumstance and perhaps a smattering of inclination, I’m at home there.
It all began with the giddy thrill of fear – with the very first time my father shifted his gaze to look just beyond me, into a darkened hallway, and contorted his face into a mask of utter fright. Then, it was those marvelous Universal horror films, Dracula, Frankenstein, Dracula’s Daughter, The Bride of Frankenstein, and The Wolf Man. And as I matured, it was far too many novels and short stories to count, from Edgar Allen Poe, Bram Stoker, and H.P. Lovecraft to Stephen King and Anne Rice.
Meanwhile, my father was ever ready to reference Celtic, Saxon, or Norse legends from the distant, pagan past. One day it was the fae in their hollow hills, the next it was Merlin and dragons, and then it was Grendel and his hideous mother. All these years later, whenever I pass an untended graveyard or mist-shrouded wood after sunset, I’ll again feel that delicious thrill of fear.
Of course, for denizens of the Otherworld, there’s no moment bigger than what we know as Hallowe’en. It falls on October 31, because that’s when our Celtic ancestors – and likely their predecessors, too – celebrated the ancient feast of Samhain, when the veil between the Otherworld and the realm of the living was thinnest. And … when it sometimes frayed.
These days, I care little for trick-or-treating or candy corns. But I embrace the fearful folktale that through long centuries became inexorably linked to Samhain night. This is the Wild Hunt, when fae of the Unseelie Court, or perhaps demons, or maybe even unrepentant souls, sweep across the dark, autumn sky, howling madly, and seek souls to snatch away.
This October 31, I expect to spend some time admiring my grandchildren’s clever Hallowe’en costumes. But once darkness falls, I’ll heed the call of the stirring breeze and slip outside to gaze into the autumn night. And awaiting the Wild Hunt’s frenzied horde, I’ll relish that age-old thrill of fear.
Kurt Praschak is SCG Advertising + Public Relations’ vice president/Public Relations.
