Paris Werewolves

A deserted medieval town in Bretagne. Strange, grinning creatures cling to the walls of the ancient basilica. Their staring eyes make feel that you are not really alone. In the window of an old curiosity shop, Le Druide de Folle Pensée , a small semi-circle of light from a single lamp is all that drives back the shadows. A parchment in a strange foreign tongue describes a creature that must exist only in nightmares and fever dreams. A set of pistols promises protection against "lycanthropes, vampires, et autres chimères." But it is the sachet of "potion de mutisme" that speaks most loudly in the silent village. The curiosity shop seems like the only going business around, and even it sits darkened and empty. We are nearly at the gates that will lead us beyond the walls of the city and we have yet to see a soul. Maybe whatever follows us will stay on this side. Maybe we all will.

St. Paul's Chapel, Lower Manhattan I was delighted by how much my photo of St. Paul's Chapel in Lower Manhattan reminded me of one of my favorite Halloween albums from my horror-haunted childhood , "Chilling, Thrilling Sounds of the Haunted House." Chilling AND Thrilling, what a bargain! They don't really do Halloween in France. You'd think they would, given the Celtic influence of Bretagne (i.e., Brittany, or Breizh in the Celtic-Breton language) which at one time or another spread to (or originated in) Marseille and Iberia.  But they don't. I'm sure at least one doctoral candidate in folklore has written a thesis on why not. One obvious answer is that spooky Halloween as Americans know and celebrate it has only the barest origins in the Celtic Samhain harvest festivals. Like the springtime Germanic Walpurgisnacht , Samhain is most known today as the night of the year when celebrants believed that the boundaries between the natural and supernatural wo...