The Twisted Biography of the author
ANTON VON STEFAN
.
Part 10 of what makes a person choose the Gothic Ghost Story as a form of Fiction!
Part ten - at the roar of a midnight fire
From that chance meeting of that most unforgettable, persuasive, radiant, young woman on the Oregon Coast came the first public reading of one of ANOTN VON STEFAN’s Gothic Horror stories. This would soon expand to other countries where many varied and unique locations became the host site.
Not far offshore from the city wherein our intrepid author lives, there are numerous groups of islands. Those to the north begin almost at the very entrance to the city’s harbour and continue up the coast along what is known as the Inside Passage, all the way up to Alaska. These cays are almost countless in number. Those to the south are known as the GulfIslands and are situated between the cities of Victoria and Vancouver, in British Columbia, Canada. The southern atolls boarder the San Juan Islands of Washington State. Made up of hundreds of smaller isles, five are large enough to have regular ferry service from the mainland, Mayne Island being one of these.
A weekend bicycle tour, hosted by one of the athletes of the Pacific Ski Club in the early 1980’s, brought the author to this one particular island. There, he met the owners of one of two hotels located on Mayne Island at that time. The two proprietors happened to herald from far off New Foundland, and soon made fast friends with the group, breaking most of the strings of the guitars the cyclists happened to have brought for the night’s entertainment. Once the owners discovered a Gothic Fiction Writer was among the group, it did not take long before a pact had been formed that would see members of the club being offered a most unique location to have ANTON VON STEFAN host one of his author’s readings. Although the hotel and all of its rooms, as well as the four shorefront cabins, were in great demand through the spring, summer and early fall, once the weather turned and the late fall winds brought the onslaught of the much cooler and wetter climate to the region, the hotel saw few visitors from the outside world.
The Spring Water Lodgesits along the shore of a bay off a marine channel known as Active Pass which is some ten minutes’ drive from Mayne Island’s ferry landing. Built in 1892, it was said, by its proud owners, to be the oldest continuously operating hotel in the province. The roadhouse itself has a ghostly history all of its own, but that mystery shall remain a secret which you, the reader, can explore for yourself by staying there a night or two. Yet, on a stormy November night, when the gales come through the Georgia Strait, known for centuries as the Graveyard of the Pacific by mariners, and these savage winds rage onto shore accompanied by the wild surge of the tides, there can be few better locations to read a Gothic Horror story at night. To this precise location in the mid 1980’s, in the month of November, on Mayne Island, ANTON VON STEFAN took members and friends of the Pacific Ski Clubto read one of his completed horror stories.
Even back then, to insure a passage on the coastal ferry, you had to book well in advance of the 7 o’clock sailing on a Friday night. As most guests, including the author, worked Monday to Friday, and as the gothic vacation package included a Friday and Saturday night stay at the Spring Water Lodge, the only sailing viable for all of the guests was this evening departure. Darkness, that late into the year and at those northern latitudes, was complete two hours before the ramp of the vessel was brought up and the propellers began to churn their way across the straight. In November, the westerly winds are never silent on the waters of the Juan de Fuca Straitor the Gulf of Georgia, waterways that urge the winds eastward toward an approaching ferry. On occasion, if the winds picked up, the tiny, flat bottom boats are often frightfully tossed about, causing the master of the vessel to point the nose into the wind. Drifting off course, and taking the least perilous path, extended the length of the crossing and increasing the possibility of a sinking. This was an added adventure, and ANTON VON STEFAN never once, in the ten years he ran these trips, asked for extra money for that bonus in any such journey.
One would think that once a vessel crossed the merciless expanse of open water and neared the shore of one of the Gulf Islands, the danger of death and a marine disaster had passed. Not so in these perilous waters. As a ferry approaches the islands, one of the narrowest channels within the archipelago, Active Pass, must still be navigated without running up and onto the granite walls which call out the name of each passing ship. With the waves pounding the rocks and gravel into ever finer pieces of sand, you let the spray hit you full in the face, hoping and praying that the current, the tide, and the power of the storm does not bring you ashore before your scheduled journey’s end at Miner’s Bay.
In the dim light of the boat deck, you return to your vehicle as the captain directs the passengers to prepare for departure. In the darkness, with the wind howling at your windows, one drives the several minutes from Miner’s Bay over the hill and into the valley beyond. There, as you turn to the left at a fork in the road, at the mouth of the next bay, lights summon you forward and the aged form of the weather-beaten hotel looms in the distance. The exterior illumination twinkles as the lights flicker with the whim of the gale. Inside, warmth, the smell of home cooked food, friendly faces, and an ample sampling of beverages helped many a weary seafarer find their land legs once more.
On the nights when ANTON VON STEFAN booked his trips to Mayne Island, the owners of the Spring Water Lodge kept their kitchen staff on site. This insured that those guests who had just sufficient time to make the 7 o’clock sailing and who, due to the inclement weather and the tossing seas (or any other valid reason, for that mater), did not wish to eat aboard ship, were at least well fed. Locals awaited the arrival of the ‘city slickers’, with an abundant amount of news, tales, gossip or folklore to spread around to anyone who would listen. Some guests enjoyed a game of pool with a group of town folk on the well-worn table, taking note of where the slant of the surface altered the trajectory of a ball, as the money flowed from their pockets. With the meal finished, the hours soon passed, and those that chose to just sit and chat, relaxing with a favourite drink or two in hand, could enjoy the darkened rooms of the Spring Water Lodge, listening to the groans and moans of a rustic, aged, wooden hotel. The logs in the large, stone fireplace crackled while the lively flames surged or fell with the altering intensity of the draft created at the chimney’s rooftop. At midnight, on the day of arrival, ANTON VON STEFAN, or one of his good friends, read one of his Gothic Horror stories as the hushed crowd sat almost motionless before the roaring fire.
As an added bonus on the Saturday evening, the author was the also the host* of a murder mystery at which 32 adults took part in. This was a fully costumed party where each ‘invited guest’ would play their individual role until the vile crime was solved and the nefarious killer was brought to light. Prizes for most unique male costume and most original female costume were awarded, and this did not necessarily mean a man and a woman would win. Often, for amusement, the author had asked men to play the role of a woman, and women to be in the costume of the man. The ingenuity of dress, posture, and vocal arrangement was most interesting to see, as each player had to remain in that character’s guise until the dastardly murderer was found out, and the game concluded.
In the first few years, in the hours after dinner was served, the guests would party till the ghostly hour of 12 came around once more. On those nights, the fire was once more roaring in the giant stone hearth, and a second Gothic Horror tale from ANTON VON STEFAN’s collection was read.
In the last few years, the weekend also coincided with the world wide distribution of Beaujolais Nouveau. This yearly event from the French wine houses is reason enough for a party, but on Mayne Island, ANTON VON STEFAN had to have a friend fly the product in to insure that the guests did not miss the ‘official timing’ of the vintage’s release. This is to say, while the rest of the world uncorked their Nouveau at a few minutes past midnight on a particular Thursday in November, the long out-dated liquor laws of the province in the country our author lives in resulted in this region being a few days behind in this event. Thus, with the author’s full approval, this tasting of the wine took precedence over another gothic reading.
Each year a different Gothic Horror Story was read, and each year the guests were treated to another adventure. One year, the author had not quite found his land legs yet, although he had a drink or two to steady himself. With his back to the fire to put the greatest amount of light onto the printed paper, he was so involved in acting out the reading that he actually fell backwards into the fire during that vigorous rendition. Luckily, the waitress of the bar, who had been intently listening to the Gothic Horror Story from behind the counter, was also watching ANTON VON STEFAN read this terrifying tale. This agile listener recognized the potential disaster almost immediately; and, without hesitation for her own safety, leaped right over the bar in time to pull the author out of the flames before either page or hair were singed nor drop of drink was spilled (which everyone later agreed would have caused alcohol abuse). Without missing a single syllable, the undaunted author continued reading his terrifying tale to the otherwise mesmerized group.
On another occasion, the November gales were not to be quelled, and the power lines fell long before midnight had arrived. Candles were placed by the well prepared staff on every windowsill of the saloon, and the ghostly flicker of the flames from the various angles cast long, eerie shadows across the darkened lounge, adding to the ambience of that night’s horror story. Our author had noticed a broken gutter pipe near the back of the old hotel earlier in the evening. Anticipating a power outage, ANTON VON STEFAN had taken the time to place several five gallon buckets under the opening to trap the runoff. As the hotel was on well water, and as the water was brought up with electrical power, those guests that did not know of the well placed buckets thought the toilets no longer were operational. These same people were at a complete loss at why the author, and a few friends, were able to flush their toilets throughout the entire night, permitting these hardy folk to continue quenching their thirst without having to go out into the storm to visit the makeshift outhouse.
There are whispers of bloodied walls, hidden staircases, ice cold drafts flowing through an otherwise warm hotel room, roof top parties, ageless phantoms and bubble bath suds pouring out from beneath the locked door to the woman's bathroom. All must be 'tall tales' from the Spring Water Lodge that have only 'some' truths to them, but all are actually a part of what make up this Gothic Writer's past.
*Note: In the final year, Anton Von Stefan had a good English chap volunteer to be the evening's emcee. As part of a dramatic entrance for the start of the Murder Mystery, the plan was to ride his delapitated bicycle in through a set of doors which were supposed to be somewhat ajar. As the hinges were actually badly rusted, this good freind took quite a fall during this action, acutely bringing everyone's attention to the arrival of that year's new host.
Go to: Part 11 - A Gothic Echo off the Mountains
Go to: Home Page
Go to: Books
Copyright 2012 Gothic-Horror.com. All rights reserved.